Costa Rica Journal...Day 8…Tuesday, February 19, 2013

I see a small sliver of light between the curtains of the window in my room…time to get up. Peter and his wife have pots of hot coffee ready and a full breakfast on the way. While I eat, Peter goes over the map of Parque Nacional de la Rincon Vieja. He’s pointing out the best rails and marking some interesting little “side hikes”.
A little after 9:00, I’m on my way to the Park. Along the way, I stop again to pay the $1.50 “toll” to travel the several feet of the road that are privately owned. By 9:30, I’m on the trail. It’s only supposed to be a three kilometer hike but, with all of the “side hikes”, it turns out to be more than double that. The first third or so is pretty easy…level and clear. But the last two thirds is tough…mostly uphill and lots of rocks and tree roots to step over. I had hoped to see some cool birds and animals on the hike, but I don’t see much of anything. A couple times, people (with a guide) are stopped looking up in the trees…monkeys. I see movement up there, but nothing that I can identify as a monkey .
Three hours later, I’m back at the Park entrance…in my car…and on the road. Peter has told me that the entrance to Parque Santa Rosa is only forty kilometers away. There’s a campground near the entrance, but the “better” campground is another eleven kilometers down a very rough road. “You will need to go very slow, and it will take a long time”, he says.
Peter is right because that eleven kilometer stretch is absolutely, positively the worst road that I have ever driven. A rock and boulder strewn, deeply rutted, narrow, twisting snarling beast of a road. I have to maintain concentration…I can’t take my eyes off the road for a second. It takes me over two hours to travel just eleven kilometers. Ah…but the drive is worth it because I am at one of the most “perfect” campgrounds ever.
As I drive into the campground, a Costa Rican man, Manuel by name, waves me over to talk. He’s been camping here since he was a boy, and he will show me the best spot to camp. And the spot that he picks for me is, indeed, the “best”. I’m only twenty feet from the beach…on the Pacific Ocean…beautiful.
While I’m pitching my tent and setting up camp, a couple from North Carolina, Chris and Emily, stop by for a beer. They are surfers, and they’re in Costa Rica for a month in search of the best waves.
In addition to Chris, Emily, Manuel and his son, I’ve also got a couple of striped Iguanas as my campmates.
I stopped in the town of Liberia along the way, and I picked up some ice. So…I mix myself a nice Manhattan and sit on a little bluff above the beach to watch the sunset…magnificent.
It is after sunset that I begin to suffer a few “mishaps” (nothing major). First, I unpack my UM tailgating chair and find that it did not survive the flight (or, maybe, the roads). It’s irreparably damaged and has to be abandoned. For dinner, I’m going to have one of my “backpack” meals…”Big Easy Gumbo” from Packit Gourmet. You just pour boiling water in the “pouch”, stir it up, wait ten minutes and eat. But, as I’m unloading the pouch, I find that it has tiny holes and tears. A week before I left, Jonesie and Mr. Lucky got into the box where I keep the backpack meals…and now I find myself the victim of…cat sabotage! No problem…I just cook it in a pan instead of the pouch.
But when my meal is ready, I can’t find my trusty “spork”. I look high and low for a good half hour with no luck. This gets me to thinking about relationships. When a couple first meet, the early times are always new and exciting. But, as time goes on, some couples they lose that excitement, that “spork” that ignited their passions. And some, like me, they never get it back.
After dinner, I’ve got my Black Diamond “Titan” lantern set up on my picnic table…it’s small and lightweight, but it only throws out a ten-foot circle of light. So…I’m sitting there enjoying a cold beer when I hear a sound…like someone walking up to my table. I think that it’s Chris and Emily or Manuel…come to join me for a beer. But it’s not…all that I see in the dim light is a flash of a tail, a furry paw…and then…a loaf of bread disappears from my picnic table. A monkey?...maybe. A raccoon?...maybe. But, most likely it’s a Costa Rican “Lomg-tailed Bread Ganker” (latin: “panaderia gankerus”). After that, I get my headlamp and make a “sweep” of my area every few minutes…vigilant for predators.
By 8:00, the campground is dark…everyone has turned in for the night. So…I have one more beer and climb into my tent to sleep. As I lay there, the sounds of the night are fascinating. When I’m on my summer camping trips, I’m used to hearing crickets, the odd bird, maybe a coyote howling at night. But here…there’s all kinds of sounds…grunting, squealing, chirping…something that sounds like screaming. And two unidentified “somethings” get into a wild fight…no doubt a fight over some newly-acquired baked goods.