JanDunlap.com

I am in Costa Rica for a week of reprieve from snow and cold. Since I’ve never visited a tropical rain forest, this is my big chance, and so I am spending the day hiking on the Pacific slope of the Rincon de la Vieja volcano in Guanacaste. My first clue that I am in for more adventure than I might have anticipated comes when Tomas, my Costa Rican guide, hands out liability waivers for everyone in our hiking group to sign. I read the form which says I won’t hold the country responsible for any injury or death I might sustain on the hike.

Injury?

Death?

I’m going on a hike, not rafting down a waterfall, or canoeing through lava. “How many people do you lose on these tours?” I ask Tomas.

“Not too many,” he assures me with a broad smile. “There are just a few things you need to be mindful of while hiking in the jungle. I will let you know. You should put on insect repellant now. Lots of it.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m from Minnesota and I know about biting bugs. I obediently slather it on while Tomas leads us to the trailhead. Leaves are thick under our feet, even on the clearly marked path into the jungle. Tomas tosses a brief instruction over his shoulder: “Do not wander into the jungle. You can go maybe five feet off the path and you will be fine, but no more than that.”

He stops at our first scenic point, which is an enormous mahogany tree, its roots rising out of the ground in sheaths that reach beyond my head.

“There are 135 species of snakes in Costa Rica, but only 17 of them are venomous,” he informs us. “We have coral snakes and pit-vipers. The fer-de-lance is one of the world’s most venomous snakes. It can be three meters long and it likes to rest in loose leaves on the forest floor.”

I look at the layers of leaves under my feet and wonder if there’s a ten-foot snake eyeing my ankles. I am wearing tennis shoes. I look at Tomas. He’s got on heavy boots up to his knees. I think I can guess why.

“We also have the bushmaster,” Tomas continues. “It is the largest viper in the world, and the ones we find here tend to be very aggressive when they are disturbed. They are very dangerous to humans because of their size, big fangs and the large amount of venom they inject when they bite. If you are bitten, you will feel the effects of the venom within ten minutes, and if you survive, you will have to be in a hospital for weeks recovering.”

I do a quick math exercise in my head. We’ve already been hiking for thirty minutes, so it would take that long to hike back out. Then, remembering the rough roads we traveled to get to the volcano, I estimate it would take at least an hour and a half for any medical assistance to arrive. If you survive sounds pretty unlikely, if you ask me. I resolve not to disturb any bushmasters.

He smiles and adds, “This is one reason we want to stay on the trail.”

No kidding, I think.

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” Tomas says as we pass through the trees, water dripping gently from broad leaves onto our shoulders, “does anyone have an allergy? Because when we go by the hot sulphur springs, it can be very bad for someone with allergies.”

“I’m allergic to sulfa drugs,” I tell him.

“Oh,” he says, considering my revelation. Then he shrugs. “Let me know if you get dizzy, or nauseous, or can’t breathe. I think you will be all right, though.”

I do the math again, but it doesn’t make medical assistance for an extreme allergic reaction any more accessible than it would be for a venomous snakebite. Needless to say, I find his nonchalance about the possibility of an allergic attack less than reassuring, but we’re already too far into the jungle for me to find my way back alone. And there’s no way I’m stepping off the path to find a shortcut back. I’ll just hold my breath by the sulphur springs, I decide.

Twenty minutes later, Tomas suddenly stops and listens to a low growling noise echoing through the jungle. “Howler monkeys,” he tells us. “Maybe we can get closer to them, so you can see them.”

At which point, he strikes off into the forest.

As in off the trail.

“I’m not following him,” I tell the hiker beside me. We both watch Tomas progress up the slope, grabbing onto tree branches to keep himself from slipping on the wet layers of leaves. To my complete surprise, legions of fer-de-lances and bushmasters don’t rise up and attack him. Nor do any hot sulphurous vapors engulf him. He simply climbs up the mountainside through the brilliant morning awash in a million shades of green. When Tomas gets about fifty feet upslope from us, he waves at us to come up.

“They are here. You can see them in the trees,” he encourages us.

“What do you think?” my hiking colleague nervously asks me.

At which point, I have an epiphany. I’m in the Costa Rican jungle, on the slope of an active volcano, and my guide wants me to bravely tread through virgin rainforest to see howler monkeys up close and personal.

This is not something that happens to me every day back home.

“I’m on it,” I call to Tomas and begin climbing up through the jungle.

As I reach out for the exotic branches around me, I wonder if I can get on that waterfall trip tomorrow….