Highlights of Backpacking in Costa Rica
November 14 - December 12, 2018
Costa Rica really is somewhat of a paradox. It is neither a third world country nor a first world country. Tap water is drinkable, modern technologies are present (even wifi in the mountains and the jungle), policies focus on recycling, environmental protection and conservation of biodiversity, but consumerism is huge, and cars choke the narrow city streets that are littered with garbage.
Travel in Costa Rica was more challenging than we’d expected due to the lack of spoken English and the fact we were backpacking and relying on the chaotic public transportation system. And yet, I think, had we rented a car we wouldn’t have had a chance to connect with everyday Costa Rica. We found that Ticos were, for the most part, friendly and eager to help us. (We spent very little time in the capital, San Jose.) I also rediscovered the thrill of travel from my younger days – experiencing new tastes, sounds and smells.
Travel in Costa Rica was more challenging than we’d expected due to the lack of spoken English and the fact we were backpacking and relying on the chaotic public transportation system. And yet, I think, had we rented a car we wouldn’t have had a chance to connect with everyday Costa Rica. We found that Ticos were, for the most part, friendly and eager to help us. (We spent very little time in the capital, San Jose.) I also rediscovered the thrill of travel from my younger days – experiencing new tastes, sounds and smells.
Week 1 Playa Junquillal
We arrived in Liberia on a hot afternoon, the only ones on our flight to take the local bus from the airport into the city. Despite feeling exhausted – we’d hardly slept on our flights due to cramped seats and crying infants – my eyes feasted on the lush vegetation outside the bus window, and I let the upbeat Spanish music wash over me. From the downtown bus stop we walked with our heavy packs to our pre-booked hostel. I began to wilt quickly when we couldn’t find the hostel, but later in the afternoon, after a cool shower (no hot water!) and a nap, we ventured out into the city to familiarize ourselves with this novel and captivating environment.
We spent the next few days walking a lot, in search of kerosene for our camp stove, and trying to buy bus tickets for the coastal town of Cuajiniquil where we planned to hire a taxi to Murcielago Park to do some camping. This was greatly hampered by our inability to communicate in Spanish! Henning’s Spanish was zero (he tried using Google translator on his phone, but older individuals weren’t tech-savvy), and I frustratingly tried to rely on the little Spanish I’d learned in the Yucatan ten years ago. Fortunately, some of the younger people could speak English, and a young woman finally helped us to discover that there was no ticket office for a bus to Cuajiniquil. Instead, we needed to line up at a specific berth and watch for a bus with a sign for a certain destination; a bus that we would never have identified among the vast numbers of buses from many different companies arriving one after the other.
Week 1 Playa Junquillal
We arrived in Liberia on a hot afternoon, the only ones on our flight to take the local bus from the airport into the city. Despite feeling exhausted – we’d hardly slept on our flights due to cramped seats and crying infants – my eyes feasted on the lush vegetation outside the bus window, and I let the upbeat Spanish music wash over me. From the downtown bus stop we walked with our heavy packs to our pre-booked hostel. I began to wilt quickly when we couldn’t find the hostel, but later in the afternoon, after a cool shower (no hot water!) and a nap, we ventured out into the city to familiarize ourselves with this novel and captivating environment.
We spent the next few days walking a lot, in search of kerosene for our camp stove, and trying to buy bus tickets for the coastal town of Cuajiniquil where we planned to hire a taxi to Murcielago Park to do some camping. This was greatly hampered by our inability to communicate in Spanish! Henning’s Spanish was zero (he tried using Google translator on his phone, but older individuals weren’t tech-savvy), and I frustratingly tried to rely on the little Spanish I’d learned in the Yucatan ten years ago. Fortunately, some of the younger people could speak English, and a young woman finally helped us to discover that there was no ticket office for a bus to Cuajiniquil. Instead, we needed to line up at a specific berth and watch for a bus with a sign for a certain destination; a bus that we would never have identified among the vast numbers of buses from many different companies arriving one after the other.
Leaving the hostel at 4:55 am, we walked in the dark and mostly deserted streets, and somehow managed to get on the right bus. We were happy to be heading out on our first adventure. The bus descended, zigzagging its way through a lush valley, and ultimately came to rest in a town that we thought was Cuajiniquil. A single person got off before the bus started to retrace its route. What the hell?! Henning ran up to the driver and motioned that, according to Google Maps, we needed to get off. The bus driver spoke no English. We got off the bus and started walking back into town. The dirt road was dry and dusty, but I was excited to spy a green parrot high in the treetops. Although only 7 am the sweat was already dripping, and my pack felt heavy. Google Maps directed us to a store in the town – I needed a cold drink! And maybe we could pick up some more food for camping. But as we approached what we believed to be the main street, there were only a few shops and they were all boarded up. The place seemed practically abandoned, with only the odd person sitting outside their ramshackle home. And there was no hotel or taxi to enquire about a ride to Murcielago Park. What to do?!
We decided to approach someone, and after some time I conveyed, in my halting Spanish, that we wanted to hire a driver to take us to Murcielago: “Taxi, cuanto?” (how much to drive us?) “Vente dolar” ($20 U.S.) Eventually we piled our packs into a beat-up little Toyota and drove off. Henning conferred with Google – all I could think was “we’re relying on Google in the middle of nowhere?”. We soon came to a wide river crossing that was, fortunately, shallower than it looked. We made it through two more river crossings, the last steeply banked on either side. I’d wondered if we should offer to get out and walk the rest of the way, since the vehicle wasn’t a 4-wheel drive. In hindsight, it’s a good thing I didn’t mention anything, because when we got to the park gate it was locked and a park ranger who also spoke very little English managed to convey to us that the park was closed. Due to bad road conditions we think. He suggested we try Junquillal Park. There was nothing to do but get back in the smelly car (exhaust fumes) and head back.
We could give up on our plan to camp near the Pacific Ocean and take the evening bus back to Liberia or pray that we’d have more success getting to Junquillal. A rental vehicle would definitely have been advantageous right about now. Fortunately, our driver agreed to take us, so we took the chance. The road was paved so it seemed more promising. And, yes, our fortitude paid off: we landed at a beautiful, tranquil bay and campsite. We later learned that this site was popular with the locals, but today only three families were tenting. We rested a while at a picnic table in the shade, gazing out onto a cobalt blue sea and white sand beach. Waves lapped onto shore, birds sang in the trees and children played in the shallows. We swam to cool down.
A soft evening glow lit up distant forested islands and pelicans and frigate birds were silhouetted as they dove from the sky. Idyllic? Absolutely. And yet, our first night made me seriously question staying another day in paradise.
After returning from a beach walk just after sunset, we learned that raccoons had visited the campsite and dragged my little pack from under the tent fly. They’d punctured a drink mix pouch that had cast green powder on everything! Little did we know that they’d be back, coming out of the forest en masse to sneak up on the campers and pilfer food. As we shone our headlights into the night, we watched dozens of pairs of eyes glowing in the dark and coming ever closer. We were vigilant throwing stones to try to keep them at bay. Once inside the tent, we heard the raccoons shrieking and fighting to get at the food in our bear bag which was secured around a tree. Henning claimed that it was a good test of the bag, but I wasn’t so sure and insisted that he rescue the bag. He hung it from some beams in the shower house.
Unfortunately, we’d pitched our tent in sand, in the sun, and by nightfall the light daytime breeze had died down to complete stillness. This meant it was sweltering in the tent – we stuck to our sleeping bags and to the beach sand we brought into the tent. To make matters worse a vicious sounding pesky raccoon hung around outside our tent, so we dragged our big packs into the tent, making even less room inside. Needless to say, I got very little sleep. When morning brought the realization that the raccoons had bitten through the bear bag and punctured our oatmeal breakfast packets, some of our energy bars and even
After returning from a beach walk just after sunset, we learned that raccoons had visited the campsite and dragged my little pack from under the tent fly. They’d punctured a drink mix pouch that had cast green powder on everything! Little did we know that they’d be back, coming out of the forest en masse to sneak up on the campers and pilfer food. As we shone our headlights into the night, we watched dozens of pairs of eyes glowing in the dark and coming ever closer. We were vigilant throwing stones to try to keep them at bay. Once inside the tent, we heard the raccoons shrieking and fighting to get at the food in our bear bag which was secured around a tree. Henning claimed that it was a good test of the bag, but I wasn’t so sure and insisted that he rescue the bag. He hung it from some beams in the shower house.
Unfortunately, we’d pitched our tent in sand, in the sun, and by nightfall the light daytime breeze had died down to complete stillness. This meant it was sweltering in the tent – we stuck to our sleeping bags and to the beach sand we brought into the tent. To make matters worse a vicious sounding pesky raccoon hung around outside our tent, so we dragged our big packs into the tent, making even less room inside. Needless to say, I got very little sleep. When morning brought the realization that the raccoons had bitten through the bear bag and punctured our oatmeal breakfast packets, some of our energy bars and even
We awoke to the strange calls of parrots and parakeets, and punk-looking jays and black grackle-like birds joined in to make us feel like we were camping in the middle of a jungle.
I relished my lovely morning swims and our cool-down afternoon swims – after walks through mangroves and dry forest of giant agave, giant cactus and tree trunks covered in thorns. I didn’t venture out too far on my own, because Henning had seen colourful snakes undulating on the surface of the water and even rising vertically out of the water. Also, during a forest walk, after emerging onto the beach, we saw our first crocodile slowly waddle into the ocean, not far from where I’d been swimming!
Without a vehicle, we had to walk the 4 km road from the park, packs strapped to our backs, to the true Cuajiniquil where we hoped to catch a bus back to Liberia. Fortunately, large trees shaded most of the road and my pack was lighter, having consumed much of our camping food. There was also a supermarket at the end of the road where I bought us a litre of delicious mango juice and local galletas (cookies). When our bus finally came, it was packed. Someone tried to help us put our packs in the storage below, but it was already so full that only one pack fit. The driver had already taken our money but wasn’t willing to allow the pack on board the bus. We probably wouldn’t have been able to squeeze onto the bus anyway. The driver returned our money, and there we stood at the side of the highway watching the bus drive away.
Without a vehicle, we had to walk the 4 km road from the park, packs strapped to our backs, to the true Cuajiniquil where we hoped to catch a bus back to Liberia. Fortunately, large trees shaded most of the road and my pack was lighter, having consumed much of our camping food. There was also a supermarket at the end of the road where I bought us a litre of delicious mango juice and local galletas (cookies). When our bus finally came, it was packed. Someone tried to help us put our packs in the storage below, but it was already so full that only one pack fit. The driver had already taken our money but wasn’t willing to allow the pack on board the bus. We probably wouldn’t have been able to squeeze onto the bus anyway. The driver returned our money, and there we stood at the side of the highway watching the bus drive away.
Week 2 San Gerardo de Dota valley
We purchased tasty empanadas from a street vendor and boarded a ‘luxury’ bus for San Jose, actually having purchased tickets the previous day in an air-conditioned bus station. I’d also made a hostel reservation – at least I hoped I’d made one considering the woman I spoke with didn’t speak any English! It was a long 5.5 hour bus ride (4 hours according to Lonely Planet, hereafter L.P.) due to heavy and chaotic rush hour traffic the last 45 minutes. I convinced Henning to walk the 3 km to our hostel – mistake! We encountered crazy traffic lights – you didn’t know from which side the cars would start moving – sidewalks were crowded with people lining up to catch buses; cars honked; music blared from nightclubs already open at 5 pm; garbage was piled up everywhere. When we got to the hostel it looked boarded up. Before panic could really set in, I called the hostel and was able to make myself understood that we were standing at the door. After a pleasant overnight stay, we succeeded in purchasing bus tickets for San Gerardo, but not until we were directed to a different bus station than the one given in L.P.
The bus trip was enjoyable, climbing into the hills and lush cloud forest, but we were not without anxiety that we’d be let out at the right place on the highway. I’d carefully written out our request on paper and shown it to the bus driver. It must have been correct! We regret not taking a taxi from the highway to our Quetzal Valley Cabin, but we wanted to stretch our legs and the view descending into the valley was lovely. We hadn’t anticipated the torrential downpour, and although we put on our pack covers, we failed to put on our rain pants or get out the tarp to wait out the rainstorm. By the time we arrived at the cabins we were soaking wet and the pack covers hadn’t been able to keep much dry. After some confusion about our reservation, and the caretaker not being able to understand us, a woman arrived to let us into a cabin. Relief!
The wooden cabina was rustic but dry and cozy. We proceeded to try to dry out everything with the single portable heater. I was reluctant to leave the cabin in search of a meal, especially since the temperature had dropped to 8 °C – not surprising given our 2000 m elevation. Our spirits were, however, not dampened, and we were rewarded with a sunny morning to finish drying our wet clothing and boots.
Quetzal Valley Cabins agreed to take us further down into the valley to the Suenos del Bosque campsite. The road was narrow, steep and winding – in the narrowest of sections oncoming traffic was hazardous. Small rural homes, sodas (local open-air eateries) and lodges dotted the picturesque valley.
Quetzal Valley Cabins agreed to take us further down into the valley to the Suenos del Bosque campsite. The road was narrow, steep and winding – in the narrowest of sections oncoming traffic was hazardous. Small rural homes, sodas (local open-air eateries) and lodges dotted the picturesque valley.
The campsite was alongside the river, surrounded by the beautifully landscaped grounds of the adjacent lodge. We had our own outdoor covered kitchen area and clean bathroom. No one else occupied the site.
We found a trail that led us from the campsite on a lovely cloud forest walk to a waterfall. We were enthralled by the layers of luxuriant vegetation, the colossal ferns, the myriad of epiphytes – lichens, mosses, orchids, bromeliads – carpeting virtually every available surface. We supped at the lodge that evening. Unfortunately, when I climbed into my sleeping bag, my throat felt raw and irritated. I hoped I wasn’t coming down with a bad cold.
The next morning we got an early start to visit the Batsu Gardens just down the road. Here there were hummingbird feeders, apple trees planted to lure parrots and parakeets, posts with papaya, bananas and pineapple to attract the emerald toucanette, flame-coloured tanager and so many more wonderfully colourful bird species. Henning was like a kid in a candy store! Three hours later we lunched on fresh river trout and fruit juice at the scenic Café Kahawa, then returned for teatime in the sun by the river.
As much as I tried to convince myself that my sore throat wasn’t worsening, I feared that my cold was moving into my chest. And just days before our strenuous pre- paid hike up Cerro Chirripó! I napped in the tent while Henning birded nearby. That night, although warm enough (the outside temperature did not dip below 8 °C), I awoke feeling considerably poorer. Henning booked us into a lovely $180 room at the neighbouring upscale Savegre Lodge where I had a hot shower for the first time since we arrived in Costa Rica and rested in bed until supper.
By morning my cold had moved into my head. I was relieved, but still
very tired. And in no condition to join Henning who got up at 5 am,
walked 50 min uphill and returned by 7 am with 140 photos of the
rare quetzal. I was so envious! Although tiring me out quite a bit, I
insisted on going on a short 1.5 hour hike in the Savegre grounds
forest where we were fascinated once more by the lush vegetation
of the tropical cloud forest.
Elusive Male Resplendent Quetzal
Week 3 Cerro Chirripó, highest peak in Costa Rica
The evening before our departure for Cerro Chirripó I was both excited and anxious: my cold was hanging on (got a little winded walking the steep road from the bus stop at San Gerardo de Rivas to the hostel) and my shin, injured on our Mt. Edziza trek in the summer, was acting up. But after all our efforts to obtain the required permits, carry out the pre-booking of accommodation and meals at the mountain hut, we were finally here! I fell in love with our hostel, Casa Mariposa, so colourful and beautifully decorated, built on the edge of the cloud forest and run by a very welcoming American couple.
The evening before our departure for Cerro Chirripó I was both excited and anxious: my cold was hanging on (got a little winded walking the steep road from the bus stop at San Gerardo de Rivas to the hostel) and my shin, injured on our Mt. Edziza trek in the summer, was acting up. But after all our efforts to obtain the required permits, carry out the pre-booking of accommodation and meals at the mountain hut, we were finally here! I fell in love with our hostel, Casa Mariposa, so colourful and beautifully decorated, built on the edge of the cloud forest and run by a very welcoming American couple.
Casa Mariposa
Upon our host's suggestion we stopped at a trout farm earlier in the day. It had seemed closed (perhaps due to it still being low season for tourists) but a woman came out and opened the gate for us. With very limited communication she was able to convey to us that we’d have to catch our own trout for lunch! I let Henning do it. The woman fried up our freshly caught trout and served them with fries, rice, salad and, of course, a refreshing fruit drink. We lingered a while, enjoying the tranquility and splendour of the lovely gardens and trout ponds. We made it back to the hostel before the torrential downpour set in at 4 pm. It lasted 3 hours. If this was the seasonal norm, we hoped that tomorrow we’d reach the Chirripó lodge before the downpour.
Lovely Gardens of the Trout Farm
The morning of our ascent to Cerro Chirripó base camp, we got up at 4:50 am and breakfasted on delicious homemade granola, milk, pineapple and a boiled egg. We left Casa Mariposa by 6:00 am, knowing we had a long strenuous day ahead of us – a climb of 1500 m! Although we had done numerous challenging hikes in the past, neither of us had completed this much elevation gain in a single day. We learned that some folks were packing light, but we didn’t want to sacrifice the essentials for mountain travel, so our backpacks were still far from lightweight despite not needing a tent and sleeping bag.
As we began the steep ascent from the park entrance, 50 m away from Casa Mariposa, Henning told me to slow down. We needed to pace ourselves. And to consider altitude sickness. Within the first few km I spied a pair of toucanettes in a tree, and not long after Henning made our first sighting of spider monkeys. The grade of the trail remained steep. With signposts appearing every km it was easy to gauge our progress: we were averaging 1 km every 30 minutes. Vistas of valleys and surrounding farmland gave way to magnificent tropical forest with big ferns, big palm trees, big everything and dense, low cloud drifting in and out.
I was relieved when we finally reached the rest station at km 7 to refill our water bottles and have an energy bar. So far, so good. At this rate we’d make it to the lodge before 2 pm.
Within the next km we heard and glimpsed a pack of peccaries (wild boars) crashing down the hillside. Soon after, as bamboo forest and pendulous lichens became more prominent, it began to sprinkle. We were diligent in donning our pack covers. By km 10.5 we entered the tropical alpine tundra, a world of low-lying shrubs (some in flower but not like any alpine flowers I knew), grasses and bamboo. And the rain began in earnest. It was 11 am – we hadn’t expected to encounter a downpour so early in the day! We pulled out our tarp and sat under it on the hillside to wait out the deluge. But the rain showed no sign of stopping. And I started to get cold – we were above 3000 m. While still under the wet and clingy tarp that started to show signs of leaking, we somehow managed to get out our rain jackets and fleece jackets and pull on our rain pants.
Within the next km we heard and glimpsed a pack of peccaries (wild boars) crashing down the hillside. Soon after, as bamboo forest and pendulous lichens became more prominent, it began to sprinkle. We were diligent in donning our pack covers. By km 10.5 we entered the tropical alpine tundra, a world of low-lying shrubs (some in flower but not like any alpine flowers I knew), grasses and bamboo. And the rain began in earnest. It was 11 am – we hadn’t expected to encounter a downpour so early in the day! We pulled out our tarp and sat under it on the hillside to wait out the deluge. But the rain showed no sign of stopping. And I started to get cold – we were above 3000 m. While still under the wet and clingy tarp that started to show signs of leaking, we somehow managed to get out our rain jackets and fleece jackets and pull on our rain pants.
After about an hour we knew we couldn’t sit here much longer. We were still 4 km from Crestones Lodge, with no idea when, or if, the rain would let up. I realized then that I’d forgotten to bring an extra pair of pants – my rain pants would only keep out water for so long before my only pair of hiking pants was soaked! Additionally, I didn’t relish having wet feet for the next two days. Fortunately, Henning came up with a very creative solution: we walked single file with the tarp draped over the two of us, each of us hanging onto the tarp with outstretched arms. Since I was walking behind Henning, I couldn’t see where I was going, but at least I stayed dry. To any observer it must have been an amusing sight!
Tropical Alpine Tundra
The lodge had no heat. Everyone was sitting around at the dining tables in wool hats, fleece or down jackets – two Belgian girls that had got soaked in the downpour were wrapped in their sleeping bags. We went straight to bed after a tasty ‘comida’ of beans, rice, plantain and chicken. No one braved the cold showers. Many got up at 2 am to hike to the peak of Chirripó in time for the sunrise. We thought that was too crazy! I’d already done that in Nepal, Henning on Kilimanjaro. Instead, we left by 6:30 am, figuring we’d make the peak under clear skies by 8:30 am. But it was not to be. My body felt heavy – the altitude? The lodge is located at 3400 m. I struggled the last 30-40 minutes, needing to push myself. I was elated when I got to the top of Chirripó (3850 m) though the view was very marginal. Within minutes everything was socked in and the rain began to fall. Out came the pack covers, rain jackets and pants and the tarp.
Since the rain was short-lived, we opted to hike a loop that led back to the lodge. The loop took us up a second peak (Cerro Terbi). I was pretty tired by the time we gained the ridge, but it stayed dry and massive rock formations that appeared out of the low cloud made for a delightfully eerie scene. We’d gained another 850 m in elevation! In the evening the skies cleared, and we watched an orange glow spread across the rock face of Cerro Crestones. It was a bitter cold night. Unfortunately, having given me the extra blanket in the room, it was Henning this time that woke up with a sore throat.
It was lovely to have sun for our descent. Though weary the last few km, afternoon rains did not materialize, and our knees and my shin injury held up to the 2000 m of downhill! I treated myself with a decadent Brownie and a warm shower at Casa Mariposa.
The bus from San Gerardo de Rivas wound down the valley from village to village, picking up people at each stop, all of whom seemed to know one another. Spanish music filled the bus and the villagers conversed animatedly. It occurred to me that the villagers seemed to be very well off. Jill, from Casa Mariposa, told us how important tourism is to the valley. Apparently, once the National Park became established, and the villagers were told that they could no longer hunt and farm, a few forward-thinking elders guided the people to re-invent themselves and embrace tourism.
We got off the bus at San Isidro where we had to locate yet another bus station (different from the one for the bus to San Gerardo de Rivas and the one where we’d been dropped off coming from San Gerardo de Dota). So many bus stations and so many different bus companies! It was all very confusing. Thankfully we’d asked Jill for help. The bus to Puerto Jiménez was over an hour late, the bus seats were uncomfortable, and we didn’t arrive until after 9 pm. Fortunately we had booked accommodation – my Spanish was steadily improving!
We got off the bus at San Isidro where we had to locate yet another bus station (different from the one for the bus to San Gerardo de Rivas and the one where we’d been dropped off coming from San Gerardo de Dota). So many bus stations and so many different bus companies! It was all very confusing. Thankfully we’d asked Jill for help. The bus to Puerto Jiménez was over an hour late, the bus seats were uncomfortable, and we didn’t arrive until after 9 pm. Fortunately we had booked accommodation – my Spanish was steadily improving!
Week 4 Corcovado National Park
We booked our Corcovado trek with Osa Wild (a Costa Rican company that contributes directly to the local economy while promoting sustainable tourism) and then toured the fishing village of Puerto Jiménez in the hot sun – yes, we were back
in the heat of the tropics. Although more touristy than other places we’d been, a village atmosphere was present – dirt streets, a fishing pier for the locals, neighbourhood sodas – and the tourist season was still a few weeks away.
To my delight the scarlet macaw were hanging out in droves (maybe 15-20 individuals) in the trees near the soccer field – and making a big raucous!
The next morning, together with two other couples and their guides, we climbed aboard a 4x4 for the two-hour drive on the dirt road to Carate. There were several river crossings that looked iffy given the heavy rain the last few nights. There was one in particular where a line up of vehicles quickly developed behind us – all were waiting to see if we’d make it across. Fortunately, we did!
We started the 20 km walk to the Sirena Ranger Station by fording a muddy thigh-deep creek (this would not be the last creek crossing) and walking on the beach to the park entrance at La Leona Ranger Station.
The roar of the big surf, the sparkling turquoise water, the waves breaking on shore - it was mesmerizing. I took off my hiking boots and walked barefoot occasionally getting caught by the powerful incoming surf that rose up to my knees. Any deeper and I believe I’d have been swept off my feet! Our guide, Bolivar, cautioned me about the hazardous undertow. I was reminded of my Bamfield days on the west coast of Vancouver Island, carrying out research in the low intertidal zone where during the winter storm season rogue waves tested my balance.
After a quick rest at the park entrance, our trek alternated between hiking in the humid tropical rainforest and
walking long stretches of beach in the intense heat. I welcomed the ocean breeze and shaded sections of the beach
when we’d emerge dripping from the forest.
walking long stretches of beach in the intense heat. I welcomed the ocean breeze and shaded sections of the beach
when we’d emerge dripping from the forest.
Yet I was captivated by the forest vegetation and couldn’t stop myself from photographing one giant tree – with massive roots – after another. Some of the roots rose up a metre or more off the ground forming walls that extended across the forest floor. I’d never seen anything like it. Nor had I encountered strangler trees before – plants that begin life as epiphytes but after making contact with the ground encircle their host tree and "strangle" it, usually causing the death of the host tree. Bolivar seemed to be on a mission to get us to the Station in good time. He said that we’d have plenty of time and opportunity to take photos on our second day. Did that stop me from taking pictures? I had to run to catch up every time I stopped to take yet another photo, and sometimes I got a little anxious lest I lose the trail.
Unfortunately, only a few hours into our trek, Henning looked bad. He’d been coughing the previous night (yet insisted we didn’t postpone Corcovado) and I worried that he might develop bronchitis if he overexerted himself. I offered to carry his SLR camera and clothes bag to lighten his load. When he accepted, I knew that he had to be struggling.
Osa Peninsula is the last tract of humid tropical forest on the Pacific coast of Central America. Fifty percent of Costa Rica’s biodiversity and 2.5% of the world’s biodiversity is here. I was already impressed by the tropical vegetation, but when Bolivar spied an anteater lounging on a branch up in a tree, I was ecstatic. Initially Henning and I had been dismayed to learn that new regulations required everyone entering the park to have a guide, but Bolivar had grown up in the park and was exceptional at spotting wildlife. We would never have seen the anteater on our own; we probably would have missed half the animals our guide was to show us on this 3-day trek.
Before reaching Sirena Station we would see toucans, coati, squirrel monkeys, spider monkeys, white-faced monkeys and a boa constrictor. Exciting! With only an hour to go of our 8 hour trek, Henning and I were out of water and felt that the forest seemed even more humid than before. We dared not express our discomfort or ask how much further because Bolivar had just commented on how hardy and uncomplaining we were compared to others that he’d guided. And persevere we did, arriving at the Station before dark.
We were shown to our beds – open air dorms and beds enclosed in mosquito netting – and had a welcoming cold shower. Henning and I had also been disappointed that camping and even cooking was no longer permitted in the park, but, as tired as I was, I was glad not to have to set up camp now and to have our meals prepared for us. I was famished and ate ravenously at supper. Henning, unfortunately, went to lie down, forgoing supper – now that got me really worried! Bolivar suggested I convince Henning to eat a little which he did.
It was a unique experience climbing into our screened bunks and listening to the cicadas and night noises coming from the forest. We were all up at 4:30 am to hit the trails in the vicinity of Sirena. The howler monkeys were active just before dawn – we heard their eerie-sounding howls mix with strange foreign bird calls. We wandered down to the beach. It was low tide, calm and quiet, with the waves breaking in the distance. Bolivar spotted two crocodiles in a lagoon, a flock of toucans high in a tree and the already familiar coati digging in the sand.
We sat on a log, mesmerized by the morning calm, hoping a tapir might make an appearance.
Back at the Station we had a hearty breakfast before heading into the primary forest. Here it was very wet and muddy. Vines hung from 500-600 year old trees, wall-like roots traversed the forest floor (as in the secondary forest), blue morpho butterflies flit from place to place, bird sound permeated the forest, and everywhere our eyes landed was verdant green. The experience of walking among these giants felt to me much like walking in our old growth temperate rainforest. Bolivar pointed to a small snake curled up on the forest floor right next to the trail. It was extremely well camouflaged and deadly. That stopped me from wandering off the trail on my own! Bolivar told us that in the past many people died from the snake’s bite, including his older brother at age 20, because they couldn’t get him to the hospital fast enough. Now with cell coverage extending even into the heart of the forest, there were almost no more fatalities.
Back at the Station we had a hearty breakfast before heading into the primary forest. Here it was very wet and muddy. Vines hung from 500-600 year old trees, wall-like roots traversed the forest floor (as in the secondary forest), blue morpho butterflies flit from place to place, bird sound permeated the forest, and everywhere our eyes landed was verdant green. The experience of walking among these giants felt to me much like walking in our old growth temperate rainforest. Bolivar pointed to a small snake curled up on the forest floor right next to the trail. It was extremely well camouflaged and deadly. That stopped me from wandering off the trail on my own! Bolivar told us that in the past many people died from the snake’s bite, including his older brother at age 20, because they couldn’t get him to the hospital fast enough. Now with cell coverage extending even into the heart of the forest, there were almost no more fatalities.
We also encountered a number of lounging howler monkeys, and yes, they were howling – in fact we’d heard them for quite some time, with the howling getting ever louder as we got nearer.
The next morning we embarked on the return trail around 5:30 am after picking up a bag breakfast. Since we hadn’t encountered a tapir yesterday (Bolivar had conferred with the other guides and none had been seen), this early start was our best shot. |
Late into the morning while walking on the beach we came across some rather large footprints in the sand. Bolivar said that they were tapir tracks. I thought nothing of it until he gestured for me to follow quietly and, suddenly, there, behind a large boulder lay a sizeable animal with koala-like ears, small eyes and a longish snout. A tapir resting in the shade! Bolivar explained that tapirs would usually be in the forest by this time of day but that this one had likely come out to cool down in the ocean breeze. How lucky for us!
Our last days in Puerto Jiménez were restful. We relaxed in the beautiful gardens of Cabinas Tropicales where colourful tanagers came to feed on fruit, cycled to the nearby deserted white-sand beach aptly named Playa Precioso, strolled to the village shops where rhythmic Spanish music reverberated. I felt I could understand the appeal for Americans (or Europeans) to live here, at least for a while. Only one major drawback for me though: the heat!
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