Today was our most eventful day to date. We awoke at five thirty a.m. in the Refugio Nacional Silvestre Curú, in our own private cabina overlooking the Gulf of Nicoya. Curú is a wildlife preserve in the Southern tip of the Nicoya Peninsula, itself located in the nothwest part of Coasta Rica.

After a brief survey of the beach, we sat to watch the sunrise. The vista was dotted with small islands and our beach curved outwards to form uniquely shaped peninsulas on either side. At a distance, we could observe the hazy mountenous ridges of the coast from which we came. We had arrived the day before via Paquera, via Jaco, which we left by bus to Puntaneras to take a ferry across the gulf. In Paquera, we me Luís Scutt, of Curú travel – a small service he runs out of his livingroom/office/porch. Luís organizes day trips to the Park followed by snorkeling at Isla Tortuga (Turtle Island) — all for $25/person + $5 for the snorkeling gear.

We opted to stay overnight inside the park (an even more affordable option) and set out in the morning for Tortuga, as sunset was only two hours away by 3:30pm. Instead of paying a taxi driver, we paid Luís to chauffeur us, since we were cutting into his profits by not taking the full package. We crossed the bridge from Luís’ his porch, over the small bog which fed the fruit-bearing Carambola (aka starfruit) tree at the side of the house, to his new white European-made compact pick-up.

Thirty minutes later, we passed throught the gate of the refuge. The 4×4 was soon flanked by lethargic cattle of the bony, humpbacked, off-white variety. Moments later, we’d sight teeny tiny deer grazing in the meadows created by passed deforestation, as well as our first white-nosed coatis. The coati, a member of the raccoon family, have an upturned snout which they use to forrage the forrest floor, short, yet agile legs and an extemely long, faintly ringed tail which sticks straight up in the air when it is looking for food. Equally agile on the ground as in the trees, the coati has adapted marvelously.

After a few minutes, the transport stopped completely, and Luís directed us to look by the side of the road, which was garrissoned by small orange and blue crabs which were quick to dart back into their sand burrows at the slightest gesture on our part.

The park administration belied its name, consisting of a collection of farm equipment at all stages of thier lifecycle, and a group of shacks: some on stilts, some on concrete slab, one on the dirt directly, and all wood-pannelled. Luís bid us farewell and we were shown to our cabina, which is where our story began, but much would happen still before we would sleep in it.

Tavelling light, we quickly settled and headed towards a trailed billed as a 45 minute hike. Off the main road, the trailhead was signaled by a long series of interconnected rope and wood bridges (Indiana Jones style) that crossed a fast moving river, which in the dry season have been but a stream, but was now engorged due to heavy rainfall over the past four days, which also flooded most of the trail. To be more accurate, the path we followed was shared by the streams that fed the river. The water performed a kind of natural maintenance, keeping ground cover from overtaking the path and depositing sediment in the network exposed roots, forming steps and slopes for us.

The smells, vegetation and vistas were impressive. At one point, I noticed a baton sized stick hovering at waist level right before me. Fascinated, I stopped, then followed its orientation upwards to a sturdy, extra-large pizza sized web with, at its centre, located right in front of my face, a menacingly large spider. Daylight fleeting, I charged the flash and snapped away at this curiousity. In reaction to this foreign light, an animal in the distance began a frightening, deep, groaning wail.

Something was after us! On first impression, I thought it might be a wild boar, notorious for charging through woodlands after its foes. The word was out in the jungle that the best defense was a good offense.

By the second growl, it was unmistakable. Images of dark, hulking, angry primates baring yellow fangs flashed before my eyes. The thought of being lost in a jungle where scary creatures abounded this fast approaching night was not appealing. Sanaz’s fight or flight instinct had kicked into high gear; she plowed around and ahead, leaving me behind as an appetizer.

We moved hastily over root and stone, through mud and stream, over bridges, under branches, and back to camp by dawn. Barely.