Travel, Photography, Life.
Corcovado National Park
A “Mini-Amazon” national park.
Back To Town
May 22nd
February 19-20, 2008
Day 816-817
Corcovado National Park Trek Day 3
This morning we walked with Martin and Helen, a German and British couple who recently had been spending most of their time living and working tourism and nature conservation in various parts of Central America. The walk out of the park had a few more knee-deep river crossings, but otherwise was uneventful. We eventually ended up on a road and took the opportunity to get a ride the rest of the way back to Puerto Jimenez. The weather was cooler but with constant rain, and I needed a whole day just to clean and dry out all of my stuff.
For me, Corcovado National Park was unspoiled and full of wildlife, but it still was lacking something intangible. I think if I had chosen to travel through Central America at the beginning of my trip instead of the end, I would have viewed it differently. After all, how could a tapir in Corcovado get my heart pounding after coming face to face with a puma in Noel Kempff Mercado in Bolivia and a jaguar near Blanche Marie Falls in Suriname? How could the antenna-laden view atop the 3475 meter Baru Volcano in Panama be awe-inspiring when I had already reached the 6000 meter summits of the Cordillera Real in Bolivia? How could seeing some coral and a single stingray while diving at Bocas del Toro, Panama dazzle my eyes when I had already swum with dozens of sea lions and fifty eagle rays in the Galapagos? And how could Panama City’s ten-minute parade of an excuse for Carnaval quench my thirst when I had witnessed the massive acts of hedonism in Brazil and Argentina in previous years? One of the downsides of travel is that it becomes increasingly difficult to be impressed the more places you go.
Through the Jungle
May 22nd
February 18, 2008
Day 815
Corcovado National Park Trek Day 2
Richard and I left camp as soon as it was light enough to see. We were heading northbound, away from the ocean, and as the sound of the waves faded away, the rain forest came alive. Howler monkeys were making their horrible dinosaur-like roars all around us and a few white-faced and spider monkeys jumped around the trees near us to let us know they were there. Then the sighting of the day happened when a tapir crossed the path about ten meters in front of us. Being a shy creature, it only looked at us for a second before running into the forest and remaining hidden. This all happened withing the first thirty minutes of walking.
In the middle of the day, a group of fourteen gap year kids, mainly from Britain, passed us in the other direction. They talked to Richard in strange dialects of their hometowns ending in names like “hampton” “-shire,” and “-ford,” and were about to sit down for a cup of tea, but I reminded Richard that we were, in fact, walking through the jungle and not the English country side, and we moved on. Soon thereafter, we passed a young, fully-clothed guy walking with his parents who were wearing nothing but sandals and skimpy European bathing suits. The mosquitoes and sand flies must have had a field day with them, biting them in legendary places of bug lore.
The jungle was thicker and seemed more authentic by midday, and we stopped for lots of breaks near some of the dozens of river crossings on the path to listen to the multitude of sounds of the wildlife. The howler monkeys especially never seemed to leave our sides, and there were also lots of macaws , smaller parrots, and woodpeckers to keep us company. After hearing the horror stories yesterday of how difficult today’s walk was going to be, I was surprised to arrive at the Los Patos ranger station after only six hours, including abundant breaks. Then I remembered that the people who had warned us had been in their offices in Boston only a few days earlier.
Today’s camp was much more tranquil as we were joined by only four others and had a large grassy area in which to put our tents. Yesterday’s ranger was in a state of perpetual anger from having to deal with too many campers, but today’s ranger was going crazy with boredom as he ran around the camp with his arms flailing out at his sides while obnoxiously singing Spanish love songs. The rest of us exchanged a few stories of our other travels and enjoyed an early bedtime in the peaceful night.
How Much For the Little Girl?
May 22nd
February 17, 2008
Day 814
Corcovado National Park Trek Day 1
Richard and I were ready before dawn and were joined by a few others for our ride into the park in the back of a truck. Along the way we passed a bunch of oceanside mansions owned by rich Americans. A construction worker got off at one of the works-in-progress, explaining that rich people were his favorite to work for. A few hours later, we were in Carate and were officially in the park.
The trek started with a short walk along the beach. It seemed as though we were walking at the beginning of our own movie, with the waves gently crashing to the shore and the thick rain forest awaiting our arrival at our side.
Soon there was a sign for La Leona, the first ranger station of the park. We left the beach to find a location that was far more luxurious than we had expected, with private cabins surrounding the main building and a group of patrons having a large breakfast, polishing their huge camera lenses for birdwatching, and relaxing on their beach side hammocks. We sat near them and began cooking porridge on my stove, but soon an employee told us to leave. I protested, stating that I had obtained permission to enter the park, but the employee explained that this was the La Leona resort, not the La Leona ranger station. So they gave their place the same name as the ranger station and were not at all sympathetic when I pointed out how confusing that was. I think we were just too grungy for the other patrons, who were staring at us like that scene in The Blues Brothers where they try to recruit their maitre d’ friend. Apparently being boated into this luxury hotel for a few days was actually some peoples’ idea of going into the jungle.
We found the much-more-rustic La Leona ranger station a few minutes down the beach and checked in with the real rangers. They sent us on our way as the path went slightly into the jungle, but still within earshot of the ocean. We got poured on in the middle of the day, but it was actually a relief from the heat. The path was moderately interesting, and we saw lots of crabs and a raccoon-like coati, but it was still too close to the ocean to achieve that “out there” feeling. Just before reaching our camp, we had to wade through a knee-deep river, thus ruining my hopes of keeping my shoes dry.
La Sirena ranger station was filled with commotion. It had a landing strip, so most people’s “jungle experiences” consisted of flying in, looking at birds from the rangers station for two days, and flying back home. We were forced to camp under a shelter packed in tightly with a dozen other people because of the threat of creepy crawlies outside. Most people were doing the same trek in the opposite direction and warned us of the long, arduous journey in store for us tomorrow. It was nice to have a little camaraderie with the other campers, but most of them had no idea what a real adventure was.
The photo album for this entry is here.