Real Jungle

4:30 was way too early to wake up.

I crawled out of bed to a still dark, slightly intimidating jungle-scape. Creatures enjoy this time of day. Well, most creatures, present company excluded. Waking up that early here was always a test of courage. Without my glasses and a head lamp, I was putting myself in a potentially unsafe situation. Fer-de-Lances could be slithering beneath the brush my feet walked through, jaguars could be stalking my thin, lanky, timid body – although, I’m not sure jaguars would waste their time on skin and bones. I couldn’t believe that in less than one hour I was going to leave this tropical yoga resort for one of the most biodiverse forests in the world.

Years ago as I was planning a trip to Costa Rica for a class I was suppose to TA, I specifically wrote “dangerous” next to the name of this forest. The only way my horrible memory remembered that, is because I ended up bringing that document with me. But as fate would have it, I did unearth this paper from my suitcase until after we had made arrangements to hike and camp through the forest. No sirens, red flags or bells went off. I guess I can’t really trust myself to remember dangerously important things.

But, now I’m here. I was living in the Osa Peninsula, how could I not visit this forest? Travelers spend thousands of dollars just to get here and experience this treasure that was basically my backyard. Despite the potential for danger crawling out of the woods – I couldn’t leave without experiencing the Corcovado National Park for myself.

My friends and I gathered our final supplies and stuffed them into our bags, we probably had more food, clothes andthing than we needed but, we were planning on surviving this adventure. Steven Chacon, of Corcovado guide Osa Green Travel, our private tour guide picked us up from our lodge, about an hour and a half from the closest entrance of the park. The drive was long, but nice. The road continually got bumpier, dustier and smaller as the increasingly thick jungle flora encroached on us. Every few feet a Blue Morpho would daintily dance across the path with it’s iridescent blue wings as we inched closer to the park. Every time I saw one, my tired eyes widened and I yelled, “Blue Morpho!” This was going to be my spirit animal for the journey, I could tell. Along with the beautiful butterflies, more and more families of monkeys greeted us with their cute presence. We were entering the real jungle.

photo credit // Azahar Aguilar

We arrived at the entrance at around 7:30 am, a bit late, but ready to go. The earlier the better, the animals tend to be more active and the sun is less powerful. A large portion of the hike to the Sirena Ranger Station in the Corcovado was on the beach, so we had to get ourselves moving or suffer midday heat that would seem like were walking through the desert. I grabbed a stick off the ground and entered last into the jungle.

I quickly learned in my time in Costa Rica that I like to hike jungles with a walking stick. It makes me feel like a shaman. I also feel more in control and protected when I have one. After all I was walking into the Corcovado, a place that houses an estimated 2.5% of the entire world’s biodiversity, a place National Geographic has famously called “the most biologically intense place on earth”, a place with very dangerous and beautiful animals. I needed a walking/shaman/protection stick. The stick is my connection to nature, with it I feel like one with my surroundings.

We walked and walked, taking short breaks as we trekked through humid, unforgiving jungle air and sun blazing heat. Every once in a while we’d cross paths with coatis, adorable raccoon looking creatures, different species of sleeping bats, tapirs and other jungle creatures. Everything really except for the big cats. Where were the cats? I want to see a jaguar, or ocelot, or puma.

photo credit // Sarah Barnes

A companion of mine were lagging a little bit behind. Not because we’re slow. But, because I feel like there’s this mathematical, spatial phenomenon that happens when you’re walking in groups, particularly in a line. Somehow the last two people are always really far behind… Or maybe we were just slow.

Steven called us over, he and the others were looking at a leaf. As soon as we reached the point they had been calling us from they continued walking. I looked at the bush they were looking at, wondering what they were stalled there for. It was a dead Blue Morpho. Sad but beautiful.

photo credit // Sarah Barnes

I spent a few moments admiring it’s wings. I was hypnotized in a beautiful trip of shiny blue love. As I was in this trance, I heard awhisper yell (a whisper with the inflections you would have when angry or yelling), “hurry up, stay close.” I get it, I’m slow… I’ll be right there. I didn’t want to leave the Blue Morpho. Should I bring it with me? No, I totally cannot do that. Then I’d be depriving other people of it’s amazing beauty. But, wait! What if right after I leave it a small gust of wind throws the butterfly on the floor, backside up and someone steps on it. Then no one will have the chance to truly admire it again.

So I grabbed it. I carefully picked it up and placed it in my palm, still mesmerized by its beauty. Steven said, “stay close, and stay quiet.” Huh? As we slowly tip-toed along the path, he turned and said, “don’t show any fear, they can sense it!” Who can sense it? I lifted my eyes from the wings of the butterfly and looked at my companions. They all seemed a little unsettled. As my focus came back to the reality I was surrounding in, I started hearing pigs grunting in the distance. There must have been 20 to 30 of them. Making their way closer to us. Why are we scared of pigs? Snakes, yeah, charging pumas, for sure, but pigs? Haven’t you ever read Charlotte’s Web? Pigs are cute and harmless. I went back to staring at my butterfly. A smile on my face and fear nowhere inside.

“Ok, stay close and hurry up”, he then softly demanded. We hurried to a large tree, all us within arms length of our guide. The pigs to our right continued to grunt and unbeknownst to us more were hiding around where we just moved to. Now I was a little freighted. Steven grabbed a large stick and smashed it against a thick ceiba tree. It made a large sound. The pigs grunted harder and louder. Another pack of maybe around 20 started coming out from the bushes to our left. I tried to meditate, thinking that if they were to confront us, I’d whip out my crystal I carried in my hiking backpack’s waste pocket, hold up my new Blue Morpho and hold my decorated medicine (walking) stick in a way that slightly resembled Rafiki from theLion King. This, I was certain, would have all of the Pumbasbowing down as in the beginning scene of the film. But luckily, they just scurried away.

“Steven, what were those and why where we so scared of them,” I asked. They were peccaries. Malicious pig like creatures that would surround you in their packs of 30 pigs and then attack with their sharp tusks from every direction. Known to seriously harm, even kill hikers. As much as I’d like to think the whole Rafiki act would have worked, I’m glad I didn’t have to test it out.

photo credit // Azahar Aguilar

We hiked the rest of the 8-hour/16 kilometer hike to the Sirena Ranger Station with much less unexpected “excitement”. Showering, eating then sleeping was the only thing on all of our minds. Well, sort of. There was also the psychological pain knowing we’d have to do that exact same trip back.

The next morning we woke up a little later than the day before, 5:00 am this time. The night brought heavy rains and thunder that was subdued to a light misty drizzle. It was going to be much easier to walk the beach portion of the hike, but also less desirable through the jungle because of the mosquitos.

Nevertheless, the way back was much smoother. Except for being completely soaked from the waves of a rising tide, the jungle and trek was quiet. Rain will do that. Not even peccaries like getting wet. In fact, most animals head deeper into the jungle where the thick patches of trees will keep them drier.

As we neared the entrance which now served as the exit, we walked out as different people.

Each of us, quiet, tired and pensive. The jungle had taken it’s toll on us and all we could do was turn inside and keep moving.

Would I do the Corcovado again, probably not. For the time it takes to hike and the coordinated effort of finding a guide and gaining entrance into the park, I didn’t see many animals or particularly feel like I was in the “real jungle.” You can sometimes see more on a guided 30 minute tour of small patches of jungle with some of the local lodges.

photo credit // Sarah Barnes

But, am I happy I did it? Yes, for certain. In retrospect it was an amazing journey, one that I would have never pictured my fearful self doing. I’m just glad I didn’t come across a Fer-de-Lance.

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