Journey into the Jungle

     After a semester of stress, preparation, and anticipation, we finally made it. When I stepped off of my first international flight on Monday, and walked into the customs line at the San José airport, my stomach was twisted with nerves. It felt surreal. A part of me felt like the man checking passports would order me to fly back home, and the jungle would stay a figment of my imagination. This fear had felt inevitable in the weeks leading up to the trip, so passing through the line and stepping out of the airport felt like some miraculous accomplishment, even though millions of people worldwide do so everyday. I found my peers at a little cafe outside the airport, meeting for the first time all the people I would be spending the next month with. After cramming into the bus, we made our way on the winding roads through Costa Rica and finally arrived at the La Selva biological station of Puerto Viejo. That night, I fell happily asleep to the chorus of frogs, cadedes, and unknown creatures outside. The unimaginable became real: I had an entire jungle in my backyard. 

        As we settled in over the next few days, the incredulity and nerves subsided and were replaced with excitement and an eagerness to explore. In the first few hikes, I saw more species in a few hundred meters than I’ve seen in years of my life back home. There is such a wide variety of life here, the perfect place to study biodiversity. I learned that in the 4.5 square miles of the original La Selva reserve, there are more species than there are in the entire state of California. Only a few steps in, I saw a giant Macaw swoop overhead and land on a branch nearby. Flocks of toucans became a relatively normal sight. I expected toucans to be large cartoonish things similar to the Fruit Loops mascot. In actuality, toucans are smaller and come in a variety of different colors. 

       We spotted a pair of sloths lounging in a tree, in seemingly no hurry. There was another sloth outside of our classroom, which was spotted making its way along the treacherous journey from one large tree to another. The sloth made what I would consider a questionable decision to use a small branch as the conduit for his transition. The sloth moved with caution. Every arm extension used to pull himself further onto the branch took about 30 seconds. As he slowly shifted his weight outward, the branch became less stable. Every foot or so the sloth progressed, the branch would make a crunching sound and fall slightly closer to the forest floor. The sloth didn’t falter. He held on tight and waited for the branch to stabilize before making another move. I felt like I was watching an exciting action film, admittedly one that was incredibly slow. After about twenty minutes of suspense, the sloth finally made it across. I’d like to think he was showing off for his audience. 

        On a few different occasions, we sighted groups of monkeys gathering in the trees above the trails. The howler monkeys can be heard from great distances. I was able to somewhat copy their howls, and a few times they responded to me. The sad thing is my ability to howl is probably the weirdest and coolest talent I have, and it will never be utilized at home. My research project is actually inspired by the howler monkeys. I am going to compare howlers found at the edge of the forest with those found in the interior. Through observation analysis, I am going to try to determine how their behaviors change on average, and as a result, determine how deforestation is affecting their population. There are also capuchin and spider monkeys at La Selva. The spider monkeys are amazing: they swing from branches with their tails and fling their bodies effortlessly from tree to tree like they’re flying. I haven’t been lucky enough to spot a capuchin yet, but I’m sure I will soon. The monkeys make for great entertainment whenever you’re fortunate enough to come across some. 

         However, there are a lot more than birds, sloths, and monkeys at La Selva. There are also over 80 species of bats. There’s a group of small black bats that sleep in a nook of the same tree every day, but are gone every night. I also saw a pod of Honduran White bats under a low hanging leaf. These bats are cool because they make a tent out of leaves to sleep in, usually by a fig tree. Their diet is exclusively figs, which is interesting because I didn’t know that bats ate fruits going into the trip.

         Every day, I see and experience something new. And every night, I find myself pushing my comfort zone more and more. The first night, our tour guide led small groups out into the forest for a night hike. I was nervous going into the first hike but I figured since hundreds of tourists participated, it had to be safe. After what has happened this week, I have less confidence in this assumption. 

          Midway through the first hike, the guide stopped dead in his tracks. Being the closest hiker to the guide, I followed suit. I looked around, trying to figure out what was going on, but it was pitch black. All of our headlamps were pointed at the trail and all I could see was the gravel path in front of us. He turned to the group and said, “we have to go back.” He pointed ahead. I squinted and saw nothing. He said, “You see? Snake! A Fer de Lance!”

       About 5 yards ahead, there was a large venomous snake in the middle of the trail. Fer de Lances are known to be the most aggressive snake in Costa Rica, responsible for 80 percent of the bites in the area. If bit, you could die in two hours if not treated. Our tour guide comforted us by saying no one has ever been bitten under his guidance. However, with oblivious tendencies and less than optimum observation skills, I feel I would be a great first candidate. It took strenuous searching and the guide’s keen eyes for me to notice the snake right in front of my face. I realized we weren’t as safe as I thought, and this fear has stayed with me. 

        The following night, I suppressed my anxieties again and joined about ten of my friends for another night hike, this time without a guide. I was hoping the pure size of our group would make the trip less stressful. My strategy was to stay in the middle and leave the kids on the outskirts for panther bait. After about two hours of minute panic attacks, and a camen sighting, we returned back to our cabins with all limbs intact. 

        Then came the Howler Census, my most terrifying experience yet. Attempting to count a bunch of cute monkeys in the forest doesn’t sound menacing. However, two girls in the jungle alone in the middle of the night is a whole different story. 

        It’s been thirty years since the last Howler Census at La Selva, which is important for scientists to understand how the howler population is changing over the decades. We used the same method and map researchers used in the nineties to carry out the census, which will be published once the data is analyzed. We were split up in pairs, each group assigned to a plotted point in the forest. Wendy and I were assigned to a spot relatively in the middle of the reserve. It was about an hour hike to get to our spot. Once we get there, we have to stand by our flag for three hours to collect the data on the howls we hear, the time heard, as well as the direction and distance of origin. Here’s the catch: we had to be at our spot by 4 AM. 

        We began our hike at 3 in the morning. Wendy was just as nervous as I was. In the pitch blackness of the forest, every twig, vine, and branch looks like a deadly snake. Every croak of a frog or crunch of leaves sounded like a growl from the bushes near by. This time, we didn’t have the protection of a pack or the expertise of a guide to give us comfort. We tried to talk the entire time, hoping our voices would scare off anything lingering behind the tree line. It was hard to walk slow and scan for snakes when my instincts were telling me to run. The paths grew narrower as we got closer to our spot. Finally, dramatically, we made it to our flag. Our reward? Three hours, standing, in one spot, enduring the onslaught of bugs and fighting to stay awake. Looking back, I am proud of myself for participating in something far more important than my fears. The sun came up around 5:15, and the walk home in daylight at 7 made me realize how beautiful the once menacing trail really was. 

         This week, I’ve learned you have to look closer and be open to new experiences if you want to enjoy life to the fullest. From a far, the jungle seems like a mysterious, unconquerable mass of green. If you look closer, you’ll see life in every corner, of every size. It’s incredible. I can’t wait to explore Costa Rica further.