Into the wild...

Deep into the southern depths of the osa peninsula, around the golfo dulce to the tip of cabo matapalo.
The frontier town of Puerto Jimenez is not what a frontier town conjures up in one’s mind being at the end of civilization. Expectations of cowboys and renegades hiding deep from civilization are quelched when we roll up into a typical Costa Rican town. Denielle had read that we needed to obtain a park pass for Corcovado National Park here before reaching the actual park, so we began our search for the National Conservation Office. Driving up and down the main street a few times failed to locate our target, so I pulled into the local police station to ask for directions. The reply from the policeman sitting at his desk doing paperwork did not inspire confidence that we would find it however, as the description was long and drawn out with many landmarks, turns and twists involved. All I knew was that we needed to find the beach and keep driving. So we navigated some small side streets, heading towards the ocean, and crossed a small bridge to get to the waterfront. We cruised that strip twice before Denielle got out and asked directions for a second time. These directions of 200 meters back from where we had just come resulted in us finding nothing but a restaurant. They say that the third time’s a charm, so I went in to the restaurant and asked for directions that eventually led us to the building. For those of you finding yourself in the same situation, the building is located across from the airport runway next to a car rental company.

Entering the National Conservation Office, we registered for two days in the park and overnight camping as the lodge was full. We were issued a piece of paper that we then had to take to the bank to pay the fees, and return to get our passes after doing so. Now inside the bank, we stood, puzzled, trying to decipher the instructions on the Star Trekesque door leading to the interior. You had to push the button, and one of the sliding doors would open, leading you into a chamber. Then the door would close behind you, with only room for one person at a time, before the next door leading to the inside of the bank slid open. They are very serious about their security here. Once gaining entrance, we grabbed a number and waited for our turn. After paying the fees, we tried to leave, but a long line of people trying to enter the bank gave Denielle pause at the door. She didn’t realize that after the person coming in had left the chamber that the person trying to leave was supposed to enter. So we waited for 4 people from the other side to come in before the security guard realized we had no clue what was going on and held both of the sliding doors open, freeing us from our air conditioned high security imprisonment. We raced back to the park office and picked up our passes and were on our way to Cabo Matapalo, 18 kilometres south.

The road leading to Matapalo was fairly fast, with a few scattered potholes and river crossings, and a few old metal bridges that gave us quite a concern. These narrow one vehicle bridges had thin metal strips going in the longitudinal direction, and quarter inch rebar in the latitudinal direction to prevent tires falling through the spaces just large enough for a tire to fall trough. In some cases the rebar had broken free, posing serious tire shredding threat if to make contact with the edge of the tires. So we carefully crawled across each and every one, marvelling at the large trucks passing before us that caused the entire structure to shake, rattle and roll. The sign for our turnoff was facing in only the other direction, so we missed it and continued up some steep loose gravelly hills before deciding to turn back and find our road. We encountered two German tourists who were hitchhiking that looked quite distressed. So we moved our baggage as best we could and fit them in the back of the car. They had said that they were going to Matapalo, so I figured they could help us find the way. This time we found the turn off and dropped down the steep hill entrance to the road, where upon the German lady proclaimed that this was not the right way. They were in fact staying at Playa Sombrero, a few kilometres up the road. So we backed up the hill and continued on for a long way. Did they think we were some kind of taxi? After dropping them off, we returned to the proper turn off and began to scrape the bottom and sides of the car through and over large dips and depressions in the road until finding a nice spot to camp where the road deteriorated to an exaggerated walking path.

Setting up camp on the beach amongst a plethora of crab holes, we had little time to do much else but watch a handful of surfers ride some overhead waves coming in across the rock reef in the most amazing light blue turquoise water. That night, large land crabs like Macdonald’s double cheeseburgers invaded our campsite. I was reading a book by head lamp light, and had to keep poking back the large creatures finding shelter below our tent. These bright orange and purple crabs are nocturnal, and we had placed our tent above many of their homes, so as if in some kind of zombie movie, we defended our tent space throughout the night from these ten legged adversaries. Abounding wildlife in the area made for lots of great photo opportunities. I would say you had a better chance of seeing monkeys here than you would in a zoo. We witnessed a single howler monkey walking along the bamboo trees, and each evening before sunset, a troupe of capuchin monkeys would feed in the fig trees high over our head, tossing bits and pieces down below, venturing down to the ground to fetch the larger pieces that slipped away. There were some other tents set up but nobody was actually staying there. The view from our tent showed the other side of the Golfo Dulce, with Panama looming on the other side of the hills.

After the initial night’s crab invasion, we fell asleep in the hot humid tent. I awoke a few hours later to Denielle proclaiming that it had started to rain. We had left our tent fly off to decrease the sauna effect, but were now being bombarded by large raindrops from the heavens. So I sprang into action, getting out of the tent and applying the tarp just before the real downpour began. Then, as quickly as it had started, the rains subsided, but by this time it was approaching sunset and the howler monkeys would make it difficult to get back to sleep. That morning the skies were overcast, and after having a quick breakfast I decided to go out and catch some waves in the crystal blue water. I opted to not wear sunscreen as there was no sign of the sun, but of course after a while in the water the sun reappeared and began burning all of my exposed skin. With me in the surf were three other people, one guy from Saskatchewan that made the trip every year. The waves were big and fun, providing a large fast wall that you needed to race before sections would break in front of you. Not knowing what lay beneath, I had donned my reef booties, the equivalent of wearing socks with sandals on the coolness scale. But I caught a lot of waves, even saw a sea otter, and went back into the beach.

Later that afternoon, after a failed fishing attempt, Denielle and I went for a walk around the point and saw a scarlet macaw, a dead tuna, and some surfers using a sailboat as transportation around the peninsula. We returned to camp and began to prepare our bags for the early morning trip to the national park so we could make a quick escape and tackle the large hike ahead of us. I was a little upset that we were leaving such nice waves and such a beautiful spot, but we had little time before we had to return to Dominical to meet up with Nicole once again.

Tyler.

“Itchy bights and sea monsters...”

The rational mind has no place inside a heavily bug-bitten body. The brain knows that scratching a plethora of bights will result in only temporary satisfaction at the expense of broken skin and continued itchiness. One careless sunset, taking pictures on the beach was definitely not worth the hours of torment spent trying to ignore the itch on the feet, the legs, the hand, the back. Where had these bights come from? I give in to the temptation and scratch a bight here, a bight there, thinking, okay, just a little bit to feel better and then that’s it. But it doesn’t end; a little scratching becomes like a drug as you need more and more to satisfy the urge. There is no satisfaction. The more I scratch, the more I itch. It’s a never ending feedback loop that drives a person insane. So I continue to itch and scratch until the thin layer of skin between my overactive immune response and my fingernails gives way and the blood starts to flow.

This is the torture that I endure across the Nicoya peninsula, on our way from Santa Teresa and Mal Pais up to Tamarindo. And fortunately enough, we are out of Benedryl, the one remedy to help stop the itch, and when we arrive at our destination, all the pharmacies are closed. I focus all night, trying to distract my mind from the ever-present urge to tear the skin from my body, but the urges always win. So I scratch, and scratch some more, and continue scratching until the morning when the pharmacies open up and obtain the only cure. The urges stop, but the scars still remain.

We left Tamarindo this morning, driving Skay to the Liberia airport for his flight back home to Calgary. It was a great week having some company, and now we still have Nicole with us on our adventure for the next couple of weeks. We dropped the two off at the airport while we continued along the road a couple of kilometres to the Aduana to get our car import permit problem looked after. The last police check stop upon leaving Playa Hermosa had resulted in us not getting a ticket if we promised to get my name added as an additional driver on the permit. So we quickly took care of this, and at no cost to our surprise, and were back at the airport before Skya had departed. We said our goodbyes, and as he got in line for customs we headed back south towards Dominical. Promises of bad roads between Quepos and Dominical from both the Lonely Planet guide and our friend Peter whom had visited the area in the past had us wondering whether we would make our destination before nightfall. We stopped briefly at the crocodile river just before Jaco, and continued on south.

To our delight, we were treated with one of Costa Rica’s newest highways from Quepos all the way to Dominical, and made short work of the trip. With only two small sections of gravel where they were installing new bridges, the rest was prime new blacktop with very little traffic. So we arrived in Dominical just before 5, and quickly found the Spanish school that Nicole had arranged prior to our arrival. While she was checking into the school, Denielle and I went to find a place to stay for the night. We quickly secured a thin-walled room in front of the beach for 20 dollars a night and went to enjoy the last bit of the sunset. This was a great sunset with lots of fun shaped clouds and good colours. One really becomes a sunset connoisseur living on the beach for a few months, and this one was definitely a dandy. Watching the mediocre waves come in for a while I spotted something large further out in the water. Some kind of sea monster for sure, I alerted Denielle and pointed out the general direction and depth in anticipation of seeing the beast surface once again. A few seconds later we saw what appeared to be a large dolphin, or dolphins, arching above the surface. Very cool indeed.

As Nicole would be living with a Spanish family for the week, we decided that we would travel south for the week and return for a week after in Dominical. Our destination would be Cabo Matapalo, on the southern tip of the Osa Peninsula, next to Corcovado national park. This is really the middle of nowhere in the heart of the jungle, and truly a wilderness beach. The waves and surfing promise to be great there as opposed to the tiny closeout waves here at the moment, and we can really live feral for a couple of days with no giant mansions on the beach, and only monkeys and anteaters to share the view with. This is supposed to be one of the last great untouched areas of the country, so we’re really excited to take it in for a while. After that, when the water and food run out, we’ll be heading back north to Dominical, where we can already see that the humidity is approximately 3.6 gazillion times greater than the Nicoya Peninsula we just came from.

Welcome to the jungle.

Tyler.

“A small scorpion problem...”

I kneeled into the back seat of the car to set down the camera bag when what appeared to be a dead bug fell from the bag onto the seat. I reached down to grab it with my thumb and forefinger to remove it from the car when it suddenly moved. With my fingers not more than a centimetre or two away, I thought that this little bug must actually be alive. Worried that it may be a bee, I pulled my fingers back and leaned my head forward for a closer inspection. Then it became clear that this little arthropod was no bee at all, but instead, a tiny little scorpion, about the size of a dime. If I’ve learned anything from Indiana Jones, it’s that the little ones are the most poisonous.

“Denielle! Can you get me a piece of paper or a pen or something?” I enquired.
“What for?” She replied.
“It seems we have a small scorpion problem in the car.” Actually, the problem seemed somewhat large in comparison to the diminutive beast. We were just in the process of packing up the car to leave Santa Teresa with Skya and Nicole, so I had been trying different forms of luggage stacking and packing to ensure that we would all make it up to Tamarindo for the night, so we could have a quick trip to drop Skya off at the airport in the morning. Before fully exercising my tetris skills of moving luggage around, I had come across this little poisonous guy, trying to hitch a free ride out of evil country. And now it would be my duty to safely remove our uninvited guest from the car, lest he emerge mid-trip and sting one of the rear passengers. That’s probably not something either Nicole or Skya signed up for during the trip.

Denielle brought out a newspaper, and I folded it in half to provide a gentle ramp for Mr. Scorpion to climb up off the seat onto, with a little encouragement from a pen prodding from behind. My first pokes resulted in a full defensive posture, with the scorpion arching his scorpion back and raising his scorpion tail while opening his tiny little claws. Scorpion ready position. I donned my own ready position and tried valiantly to encourage the little guy onto the newspaper, but he quickly turned and ran to the space between the seat back and seat cushion. Fiddlesticks. I would need a better approach. I asked Denielle to fetch some tweezers as I folded the seat back down to get a better vantage of my prey.

This time Denielle returned with tweezers and a look of weariness as thoughts of scorpion residue residing on her tweezers ran through her head. I carefully positioned the tines of the tweezers and moved in towards the enemy. This was now full-fledged scorpion warfare. With barely enough space to insert the partially-opened tweezers between the seat’s edge, I plunged forward and made my strike. The little beast executed evasive manoeuvres, probably learned at some point in scorpion combat school or scorpion basic training, and disappeared under the seat. Well. Crap. Do inform our travelling partners about the renegade scorpion loose somewhere in the car, now agitated from battle, or just hope that the little fella doesn’t reappear until much later on his own accord when he can simply get out at his desired destination?

Too late, the news of the scorpion had broken, and soon Skya emerged to help with the scorpion hunt. We were able to pull the bottom seat cushion up and off to expose the plastic and metal below. After finding a bottle of Ibuprofen and a pair of socks escaped from a bike-bag many months ago, the search began. This was no small feat, as our tiny nemesis could hide in any number of nooks and crannies. Perhaps after Toyota addresses the recall issues, it could then work on scorpion-proofing the underside of back seats in all of its models. And then, right before giving up the search, I spotted the little guy behind the seatbelt anchor point. I reached in with the steady hands of a surgeon and clamped the tines of the tweezers down upon its body. The tiny tail swung violently from side to side, hither and fro, trying desperately to strike whatever had grasped its body. I removed it from the car, walked towards the hill at the edge of the property and flung my adversary into the grass. Victory.

I went back into the house to grab my backpack, and upon lifting it off the ground, I had now uncovered scorpion number two. We were now on scorpion awareness level 3, one step before full-scorpion lockdown. This scorpion was quite a bit larger than the first one encountered, and looked to be a little more aggressive. I grabbed the broom from the closet and swept this adversary towards the open door where he then stopped, turned around and adorned full battle posture. I went and grabbed my camera and got a quick picture of my second foe, approximately an inch long, or 2.54 centimetres for the metrically-inclined. After putting my camera away however, the scorpion had managed to scurry under and behind the door. I went back to grab the broom for defence, and upon opening the door, found that my latest adversary was nowhere to be found. Not my problem anymore. A quick check of the shoes and Denielle’s purse lying on the floor failed to turn up any scorpion evidence, so we turned a blind eye to the possibility of carrying another passenger and finished packing the car.

Tyler.

“Gentle giants...”

The winds blew strong all day from across the continent, out into the ocean. That morning we had ventured out into the water for a long surf session, with the winds shaping the waves ever so perfectly. Large walls of water approached the shore, gradually pushed up higher and higher as the bottoms dragged along the sandy bottom, while the wind feathered the top, sending spray far up and behind the incoming waves. The good conditions had drawn the masses to the water, much to our dismay. A few good waves were had despite the crowds, and our bodies were left tired from the effort. Tired was the general consensus amongst the house, and soon people dropped off one by one for afternoon naps. I stayed awake for a while, eating some late lunch and getting inspiration from a few of the surf movies downloaded onto our computer. Some time passed and I decided that a short nap would be in order with still plenty of time to venture down towards Playa Carmen for the pre-planned evening surf session.

Four in the afternoon came quickly, and those in the house began to rise. We scurried about for a while collecting our things, and were on the road with the surfboards loaded by five. The more people there are, inevitably, the longer it takes for everything to get organized, but alas we were mobilized and prepared, at least mentally, to take to the surf. With just under an hour of light left, we arrived and quickly took to the water. Large waves were breaking far offshore, and I tried to make my way out into the lineup. With the large waves came large bands of white water, trying ever so hard to impede my progress. Duck under one wave, paddle paddle, duck, repeat as necessary. I began to wonder if I would ever make it out, as each passing broken wave pulled towards the shore. My arms, tired from the extended morning session, valiantly punched through the water, left, right, left, right, as every cell screamed for a break. Just breathe through it, think of the yoga, controlled breaths delivering life into each and every cell.

After what seemed like forever, I arrived in the lineup. Three older gentlemen, grey-beards we’ll call them, eyed me suspiciously as I threatened to encroach on their waves. A quick greeting and a nod seemed to ease the tension. Would I still be surfing when I was that old I wondered? No time to ponder the question as an overhead set approached from far out. Man the battle stations, every surfer took to their boards and began paddling outside, part fear of being caught inside, part hope of catching one of these large giants. I made it safely up and over and watched one of the grey-beards make one of the waves, catching it very late as the stiff offshore wind held up the wall until the last possible second with the wall approaching vertical. I took this information in and decided whether the next wave would crash on my head, or if would hold up just as long. I started paddling across towards the peak of the next wave, in direct competition with grey-beard number two. He was already closer to the peak, so technically he had priority, but I wasn’t going to pull off until this geriatric gentleman physically stood up on his giant surfboard. The wave approached fast, and to my delight as I looked over my shoulder, the section directly behind grey-beard went beyond vertical and pitched forward. I was left alone on the wave and surged forward atop this overhead giant. No time to think, the body relies on the muscle memory as the hands switch from the feverish paddle to plant firmly on top the surfboard, with the feet springing up quickly behind. I race down the face of the wave, shift my balance and execute the bottom turn, carving hard back towards the face of the wave which is now looming a couple of feet above my head. I come up high as the wave gets near vertical and turn back down the face of the wave. A few more pumps have me racing too far ahead, so I twist my upper body back towards the already broken section and my feet and surfboard follow in a large sweeping arc. Now going the wrong direction, I make the same move in the other direction with another juicy full turn towards the right. The wall of the wave is holding up for a long time, and not breaking too fast, so I am in complete control to carve forward and back. This is definitely a top ten wave of the trip. A few turns later and I lean too far, too hard into the turn and I don’t have the speed to hold my edge, so I fall back and become consumed by the wave.

This was one of the bigger waves that I had caught all trip, but the slow breaking nature gave this beast the demeanour of a gentle giant, a friendly companion helping me along in the water. Once again, getting pounded by the incoming waves, I weakly manage to make it out to the lineup. I watch as a few of the grey-beards catch some of the waves while I catch my breath. Then another large set comes in, much like the first, and again one of the grey-beards is sitting in position to take the wave. For some reason though, he doesn’t go for it. I quickly turn and paddle hard to make the wave, and to my delight I surge forward and pop up. This wave goes even further than the first, and I am left to carve back and forth, up and down the face and well down the beach. I paddle back out at the end as it has nothing left to share with me. But that would be it for my session. The sun sets on the water and the wispy clouds turn a bright pink, reflecting in the water in a slightly darker tone on the glass-like surface. I sit for a while and take it all in. Then I am forced to paddle further inside to catch a smaller wave in the near-dark. Another great session, another great day.

The next day we would come back to the same beach, catching some more great waves. But the crowds arrive and currents get strong, leaving us well down the beach towards the rocks. I would go out later in front of our house for sunset and capture some pictures of the other surfers while my arms recover for one last session in the morning. I plan to go out early to beat the rush and catch some rising sun and offshore winds. And then we pack up camp and head north towards Tamarindo for a day so we are close to the airport to see Skya off the next day before driving back south on the mainland.

Tyler.

“A bicycle built for two...”

Whenever I hear of a bicycle built for two, I think of the Muppets movie, in which Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy are riding a bicycle built for two through central park. The bicycle that I rented was originally designed for one, but apparently yearned to be two, as it fell apart piece by piece throughout our journey. Our week had been very enjoyable, with Sky and Nicole coming in to meet with us on Sunday in Santa Teresa. Two days ago we rented bicycles to ride along the beach at low tide up past Manzanillo to a river that may have crocodiles to see. The bikes we rented looked to be in great condition, a couple of fancy beach cruisers, complete with front baskets and kick stands. The terror began almost immediately.

Skya had rented an amazing house at the north end of Santa Teresa for the week, a very large, luxurious place high atop the hill with a great view of the ocean. It also happened to be up the steepest gravel dusty road known to man. While the car was just barely able to make it after a couple of attempts up the steep driveway, the single speed beach cruiser bikes tempted like sweet siren songs to try and ride down this precipitous road. Now, on a normal bike, this endeavour would not have raised a single concern, as front and back brakes would surely guide all but the most timid down the loose gravel slope in one piece. The beach cruisers however, had no brakes, except for the act of pushing backwards on the pedals. The siren songs won out, and soon, loaded with 10 pounds of water in my basket and a heavy backpack with more on my shoulders, I mounted this shiny red beast and started the descent. Just a quick movement of the feet to engage the brakes and nope, we’re pedalling forwards and out of control. My eyes darted to the side of the road for a place to gracefully crash uphill, but a deep cut ditch soon thwarted that plan. I would have to make the next corner and try to adjust my feet once I had gained control on the straight.

The pedals flipped around and I jammed my foot down hard, locking up the back wheel, skidding to a nice barely in control stop at the next corner. Catastrophe averted, for now. Skya managed to navigate down the entire hill without incident, and the two ladies walked their trusty steeds down to the paved road. A quick turn down a path brought us to the beach at low tide where we really opened up the speed of the cruisers. Weaving in and out in formation around the pebbles and stones on the beach with the wind in our hair, we were on our way. These things really moved, but if I were to have only one gear, it would surely be easier than this. With a seat that only raised so far, my lanky legs were stuck between 80 and 110 degrees, insufficient to harness the full potential of the big gear. Our quick pace soon slowed as the beach turned into raised rocks and mushy sand. We decided to take the road for a while until we found more hard packed sand. Water weighed heavy on my front basket, and my front fender had taken to rubbing on the wheel. Annoying as it was, the rubbing did not seem to be slowing me down much, so I pressed on. A little while later all hell broke loose. Coming down one of the rocky hills with some speed, suddenly my front tire locked up. My sweaty hands were incapable of maintaining grip, so my hands slid down the handlebars to the stem. Now completely out of control with a front tire locked up, I slid all over the road, all the while wondering where I was going to crash. I managed to hold on hard enough at the bottom of the handlebars to engage the brake. With both wheels locked up, I quickly came to a stop. But the fender had to go. The nut had fallen off the back after being bombarded by ten pounds of water on every bump in the road.

The heat and effort was taking its toll, so we took a break for a while in the shade and had some snacks, some avocado and tomato sandwiches that Denielle made up, and rehydrated. We pressed on for a little while longer, but unclear as to how much further the river was, and the impending rising tide was quickly reclaiming the beach leaving nowhere to ride, so we turned back. We soon had to cut back up to the road as the beach was becoming impassable. The next thing on my bike to go was the handlebars. The nut holding the handlebars had worked itself loose, so I was then left with unattached handlebars that flipped and flopped in my sweaty hands. Beauty. We arrived at a restaurant in Manzanillo, totally fatigued and in need of drink and food. This also gave us a chance to get out of the hot sun for a while. We took the road all the way back in to town, and arrived at the house, exhausted but alive.

Our first day here we had a great time at one of the local bars that was showing the gold medal hockey game. The crowd was intense, split between Canadians and ‘Mericans just slightly in favour of the Canucks. We had entered during the second period to find the Canadian team ahead, but a late goal with a pulled goalie took the game to overtime, with tensions running high amongst the bar goers. Chants of go Canada go were interspersed with U-S-A, and everyone was having a patriotic time. When Crosby scored the final goal however, the place erupted in cheers and even the singing of the national anthem. It was a fun time indeed.

Yesterday we made the trip down to Montezuma to show Nicole and Skya the waterfalls and the hippy town. We had a great time, and managed to hike up to the two higher water falls that we hadn’t been to before. The path leading there was steep and full of roots, bringing back memories of the volcano hike in Nicaragua. There were a lot of people at the higher falls, and a very large jumping spot to the lower pool. Skya is crazy, and made the leap. He appeared to fall through the air for ever, and plunged into the cool water below with a thunderous splash. One of the more brave individuals, or perhaps foolish, tried a back flip. I’m not sure of the actual height, but I would guess at least 30 to 40 feet. One old hippy performed some yoga on top of a tree branch above the upper pool before diving in below. I had a couple of nice back flops from the rope swing. We had a scare on our exit from the falls as Nicole slipped near the top towards the big drop to the lower pool and almost fell. But we managed to get out unscathed, and even got a ride down the long road back to town, where we gorged ourselves on pizza.

Surfing has been very good here as of late, especially since Nicole brought some rivets to take in the waist of my board shorts, and Skya and I have been going out each morning and catching a plethora of wavy goodness. Each day has been getting a little bigger, and today had a nice offshore breeze shaping up the waves, but apparently word had got out, and the lineup was stacked with people from one end of the beach to the other. This made for aggressive paddle battles for every wave and few opportunities to get a good ride trying to avoid the throngs swimming back out. But we caught some nice waves, and will be back again in the morning as the swell continues to rise. Nicole went out for some waves this afternoon and almost got up a few times in the white water. Denielle and Nicole also had an epic two hour yoga session, saw through time, and are now at one with mother earth. We’ll be doing much of the same, surfing and general beachyness for the next few days, which are running out rather quickly. Skya leaves on Monday, and then we’re off to the south for Nicole’s Spanish classes and more surfing.

Tyler.