Costa Rica: Into the Rain Forest

There are places where you arrive, take a few photographs, see the sights and move on. Then there are places that surround you so completely, that the outside world seems to disappear. Costa Rica’s Caribbean rainforest was one of those places for me. A world of tangled jungle, mysterious waterways and some of the most remarkable wildlife I had ever encountered.

Costa Rica is a relatively small country tucked between Nicaragua and Panama, with the Pacific Ocean on one side, and the Caribbean Sea on the other. Despite its size, it offers an astonishing variety of landscapes, from volcanoes and beaches to cloud forests and tropical jungles. My destination was Tortuguero, on the northeastern Caribbean coast. A wilderness of dense rainforest, rivers, lagoons and canals where boats are considerably more useful than cars.

First, however, I had to get there. From San José, I could travel several hours overland and then continue by boat, or I could fly. Anyone who knows me, knows that sitting on a bus for hours is not high on my list of favourite travel experiences, so the airplane seemed the obvious choice. That was before I saw it.

Instead of heading toward a large commercial aircraft, I found myself walking toward a Twin Otter sitting on the tarmac with its propellers slowly turning. There was room for fewer than twenty passengers, and I made the questionable decision to sit near the front, where I had an unobstructed view of the pilot (yes, only one) and his instruments. Why was he turning that knob? Why was he staring at that gauge? I quickly decided that watching the pilot fly an airplane is a little like watching a surgeon operate. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

Once airborne, however, my apprehension disappeared. Costa Rica unfolded beneath us, as coffee plantations covered the hillsides and pineapple fields formed neat patterns across the countryside. Gradually the cultivated land gave way to an endless carpet of green, and the brilliant blue of the Caribbean beyond.

When we landed, the heat hit me immediately. The humidity was even more impressive, and within minutes my shirt had apparently decided there was little point in ever being dry again. Tortuguero National Park protects one of Central America’s remarkable natural environments. The region is famous for tropical forests, wetlands, wildlife and Caribbean beaches, particularly the nesting grounds used by green sea turtles. What fascinated me most, however, were the waterways. 

Roads are scarce here, and rivers and canals form a transportation network through the jungle. Boats carry residents, visitors and supplies between communities and lodges, making the water the perfect way to explore.

My guide possessed that remarkable ability good naturalists have, of spotting an animal hidden among thousands of leaves while I could stare directly at it and see absolutely nothing. He would point toward a wall of green and quietly say, “There.” I would look, nod knowingly and see nothing whatsoever. Then a branch would move and an iguana would suddenly appear, staring back at me, as though I were the one with the problem.

The waterways were alive with wildlife. Caimans rested almost motionless along muddy banks, monkeys moved through the canopy overhead, and toucans appeared among the branches with colourful bills that seemed almost too extravagant to be real. Parrots flashed through the treetops, egrets stood patiently along the shoreline, and vultures watched from above. Then there were the spiders. Some appeared to be roughly the size of pancakes, although I admit my estimate may have been influenced by the fact that I do not particularly enjoy sharing personal space with anything possessing eight legs.

After several days exploring at water level, I decided to see the rainforest from another perspective. That was when someone suggested a canopy tour. It sounded harmless enough, although I had failed to appreciate one important detail: I would be hanging from cables high above the ground.

A horseback ride took me up the mountainside, where a guide fitted me with a harness, and led me to the first zip line. I looked over the edge. The ground was about 50 metres below, while the cable disappeared across the forest. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. Judging by his expression, he had heard that before.

Before I had time to reconsider my enthusiasm for adventure travel, he clipped my harness onto the cable and sent me on my way. Suddenly I was flying above the rainforest. For the first few seconds, I was too busy wondering what on earth I was doing, to appreciate the scenery, but eventually I relaxed enough to look around. Below me stretched an extraordinary canopy of green, rolling across the landscape as far as I could see.

The first line ended at a small platform wrapped around a tree, where I discovered the reward for completing one zip line was another zip line. One cable stretched hundreds of metres across the canopy, and by then I was becoming slightly more confident. Nine zip lines later, I finally reached solid ground, exhausted, exhilarated, and with a much greater appreciation for walking.

Costa Rica’s Caribbean rainforest remains one of those travel experiences that has stayed with me. It was not simply the wildlife, scenery or thrill of soaring above the treetops. It was the feeling of being surrounded by an environment following rhythms that had existed long before I arrived. Places such as Tortuguero remind me why I continue to explore. Sometimes the greatest reward is finding somewhere that makes you stop and appreciate just how remarkable our planet really is, although I am still not entirely convinced that dangling 50 metres above it, was necessary.