Beautiful Jungle

A few days ago The Kid went on an impromptu deep-sea fishing trip with a few friends of his. He showed up at our place late two nights ago, clearly exhausted and wearing someone else’s shoes. No matter, he carried el dorado and a deep-colored other fish in the tuna family. I put the bag in our fridge (since he doesn’t have one) and we made arrangements for a fish fry dinner at his place for last night.

I went alone to have dinner with The Kid and my grandkids. Because it was an evening event, I would stay over. I packed up an overnight bag and a canvas cooler for the fish and drove the brakeless jeep a little over a mile to where this remote dirt road dead-ends in a jungle clearing. This required careful maneuvering in lowest gear. The road-builders had opted to create 90-degree turns in the narrow road without first giving notice or bothering to be sure that the sharpest part of these turns was as wide as, say, a jeep. All four wheels came along just fine, the rear ones alternately going airborne to hover over the few creeks and gullies that I passed.

At the dead-end, I slung the cooler over one shoulder and my overnight bag over the other. It was about 5 p.m. and the evening clouds were rolling in, right on schedule here in the cloud forest. It would be dark in an hour. I picked up a stick for protection on the half-mile hike but quickly discarded it as it was easiest to move along with both arms free for balance. Despite being strewn with leaves and stones, the steep clay path was very slippery due to the moist air. I trudged through the tunnel of jungle, carefully eyeing the dense undergrowth on both sides of the path and the overhead branches and vines and the ground for any sudden movement of reptile. That would have sent me sprinting at high speed.

Instead, all was peaceful as the clouds moved in to form a heavy, misty fog. I could see only about 20 feet ahead, where the path seemed to lead into another dimension, a lighter-shaded path-hole that kept pace just ahead of me. Behind me, dense fog. The birds and cicadas had stopped chirping when the cloud sat on us. I was completely alone in the silence. I walked my narrow path, inside a thick cloud that had settled on a high ridge in truly the middle-of-nowhere Costa Rica – this rugged ribbon of land connecting two massive continents. One slip, and I would slide down the nearly vertical mountainside on my left. I stopped to ponder this and realized it was too steep to climb back up if I fell and that the spongy undergrowth likely wouldn’t hold me up. I edged closer to the jungle on my right, brushing past giant houseplants and vines while trying not to think of snakes or spiders.

Finally the jungle fell away and I was on a grassy stretch of path. The cloud was rolling upward and now I could see further ahead. Drops of water hung from everything green. I stepped along past scents that were flowery, fruity and earthy. I kept thinking each turn would bring me to the head of The Kid’s finca – but no, the grassy path closed up and there was another shorter stretch of jungle to walk through. I felt braver this time – at least there was no drop-off here – and I could scream for help if needed. It would soon be dark. Rounding the last turn, a large mossy bell hung from a tree. I rang it hard and hiked through the avenues of fruit trees to come to the casa, the heart of this finca belonging to The Kid and his sisters and their husbands and children back in the U.S.

This casa is a beauty. Two stories tall, masterfully designed and built by The Kid with assistance from local Ticos, this unique wood structure features a large rock in the multi-leveled, high-ceilinged downstairs, which is edged with stone steps. Two large sleeping lofts are reached by hand-worked mahogany steps. The kitchen features custom-built counters and shelves. Interior walls are tiger-striped dark and light woods and window and door frames are dark natural wood. Electricity is provided by solar panels, backed up at times by the generator. The setting itself is stunning as the house is situated at the edge of pristine, mixed jungle and hardwood forests that overlook the Pacific far below.

As I entered, The Kid was reading aloud to his kids. All were in a hammock. They hadn’t heard the bell. We relaxed for a little while before dinner. A paca stepped from behind a tree twenty feet from the front doorway. By the time I grabbed my camera, it darted away. This peaceful little fruit-eater looks like a short-haired guinea pig on foot-high skinny legs.

A beautiful blue-velvet butterfly nearly as big as a dinner plate flew in through one window space, hovered around a bit, and then flew out the wide opening for the eventual double doors.

Yes, this casa does not yet have windows or doors. The Kid is deep in outdoor projects, including moving water lines around, and such securities are not an issue with him. “If I had windows or doors already up, that butterfly would not have floated through here,” he said, but also assured me this project is next on his list. I avoided discussion of potential visits by jaguars, bats and other nocturnal creatures and we had an incredible fish dinner, eating through much of the evening in the well-lit, open downstairs. Clouds drifted in and out a few times, once nearly obscuring the kitchen in a misty fog.

I was offered the daybed downstairs, set in a corner with huge windowless openings at bedside. I casually mentioned that I was willing to sleep upstairs – (after all, how many wild animals would attempt the steps?) – and my seven-year-old grandson urged his dad to let him sleep on the daybed as he sometimes does, thus giving up his bed upstairs to his dear grandmother. It was decided, and I was very grateful although admittedly guilty for leaving my fearless grandson to the wilds.

It wasn’t quite daylight when ear-splitting roars suddenly broke the silence. Lions! No – howler monkeys! – and very close by! Truly, these tree-jumpers do not howl – they ROAR. They sounded exactly like a herd of lions escaped from the circus, roaring free on a wild rampage. They bellowed over and over at the same time, seeming to shake the trees and ground with their deep bassoon tones. The roosters started crowing, including the one sleeping high in the tree just outside my windowless window in the loft. The monkeys kept up their roars for twenty minutes before subsiding.

I ran toward the jungle to see them, but by then they had moved deeper into the dense growth. The Kid said that most mornings he watches them leap from tree to tree near the house. While I looked for monkeys, a dark brown pizote emerged, looked me in the eye, and then stole some bananas from the ground by a nearby tree before running back to the forest. This sweet little thief looks like a raccoon-panda-dog.

This morning I walked up the steep path with bright sunlight rays shooting through the jungly forest. I admired the wildflowers and listened to the birds, insects and rustling leaves all sharing a wild rhythm, the pulse of this place. Dew dripped heavily from the thick jungle and a rich, deep foresty scent – almost tangible – filled the air. It seemed that for the first time ever I smelled the true scent of the Earth itself. Would anywhere else ever seem as rich, green and alive as Costa Rica? 