Monteverde Cloud Forest Is a Costa Rican Wonder

A legend among travelers, the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve is a high and beautiful primeval world of golden toads, quetzals and Quakers, kept innocent by a bad road that connects it to the rest of Costa Rica.

Only nature lovers weather the bumps and grinds along the way. When they arrive, all is forgotten amid the thousand trills of the birds, the mist-soaked vines and the overarching trees.

Our minibus turned off the Pan American Highway at an unobtrusive spot called Rio Lagarto north of San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica.

The dirt road from there took us into hilly backwoods communities of little churches and clapboard houses, dusty forests and rugged banana plants, ox carts plowing alongside buses from San Jose or Puntarenas on the coast, and men on horseback who sometimes ride the 40 miles to Santa Elena and Monteverde.

As we climbed higher, a ghostly vapor settled over the landscape, barely penetrable by our headlights. Through it came the whir of crickets and the smell of the cool, wet wilderness.

After a bit more than two hours, we arrived in Santa Elena, the pueblo nearest the cloud forest. Our hotel, the Hotel de Montana, was one of those homey mountain inns with a knotty-pine interior that falls halfway between a lodge and a log cabin, altogether heartwarming.

Set at 4,000 feet, the hotel looks out to the Pacific Ocean many miles to the west.

From the covered porch along the back length of the hotel you get a different view, one that made my pulse quicken: A smooth, civilized lawn dropped steeply into a dark jungle 100 feet away. Something furtive and mysterious lay at our back door.

The Monteverde Cloud Forest is a privately owned biological reserve of 6,000 acres, a favorite haunt of bird watchers and rain forest fanatics.

The reserve rises to 6,000 feet, literally swathed in clouds, and has miles of hiking trails spotted with 320 species of birds, 2,000 species of plants and a bizarre menagerie of wildlife that includes the turquoise ant, 600-pound tapir, jaguars, ocelots, monkeys and metallic, scarab beetles, butterflies galore and the golden toad--an amphibian found nowhere else on Earth.

Monteverde was founded in the early 1950s by Quakers from Alabama. They settled on Costa Rica because, after World War II, the country abolished its army and declared its devotion to education, health and culture instead. It has remained without a formal military establishment to this day.

When the Quakers settled in a lush farming region just below the cloud forest, they realized that its rich ecology had to be preserved. So they set aside some of the land.

Eventually, in 1972, conservationists founded the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve, a protected area that continues to grow.

The Tropical Science Center, a Costa Rican group of scientists, biologists and academics headquartered in San Jose, now owns the reserve. But the Quakers run it, through the Monteverde Conservation League. It’s funded by entry fees and contributions.

Since the 1950s, the Monteverde community has grown to 3,000 people. It is equipped with a kindergarten, a grammar school and a high school, several inns and pensions that cater to nature lovers, a horse stable, even a new disco called El Sapo Dorado (The Golden Toad).

The 21 Quaker families in the area operate a cheese factory renowned for its cheddar, jack, Gouda and spreads.

Wilford Guindon, one of the original Quaker settlers of Monteverde and a leader of the Conservation League, met us at the entrance to the reserve the day after we arrived.

We had high hopes of seeing some golden toads, but we only saw two--in a terrarium at the biological station, where one pays an entry fee of $5. They were as brilliant as little orange lamps.

Guindon, wearing hard hat, jeans and hiking boots, said that this particular species was discovered in 1960 and that its only known habitat is here in the Cordillera de Tilaran mountain range.

This also is a prime nesting area for the resplendent quetzal, denizen of the Central American highlands and the national bird of Guatemala.

The name is derived from the mythical Mexican feathered serpent, Quetzalcoatl. It’s probably the most beautiful exotic bird in Latin America, with its iridescent green plumage, cascading tail and scarlet crest.

Monteverde’s quetzal population has grown to about 200 mating pairs.

Our guide, Pedro, led us into the forest on a moist green trail sweetened by birdsong in the overhanging canopy. The notes flooded into a symphony of whistles and chirps like a fabulous Tower of Babel.

Pedro had cautioned us not to speak, as our voices might frighten away the sensitive quetzals. As silent as churchgoers, we climbed in single-file line over roots, smoothed away shimmering cobwebs and followed hand-hewn stairs made of stumps that were slick with mud and mushrooms.

We hiked five miles of man-made trails, from the biological station to a gorgeous jungle waterfall and back, in time for an afternoon downpour typical of the May-to-November rainy season.

The jungle kept to itself at first--very closed and secretive, nothing but visible steam swirling around us like a veil. I couldn’t decide whether to scour the ground or search the treetops for signs of life. Then, a rain of vegetation.

High in the trees, a band of white-faced monkeys tossed leaves and twigs at us. Afterward, some howler monkeys swung through the boughs and the faint whistle of the quetzal stopped us in our tracks.

Pedro let out a plaintive whistle, a mating call, to attract the elusive bird. We stood still. A sweet call answered--a smitten female, unaware that her suitor was a man in a green T-shirt.

Pedro then gave a gentle, mellow, yearning call, to which the female replied with increasing ardor. I began to feel sorry for her, knowing how she was being misled, but just a glimpse was all we asked. Then we would let her go.

Pedro crept along the trail, eyes scanning the boughs. Soon a shadow soared through an open space between the trees, its magnificent tail feathers silhouetted against a blue patch of sky.

A quetzal. A male. It lighted on a branch over the trail, with its tail dangling like the train of a kingly cape. It was like seeing a phoenix or a magic nightingale, a fairy-tale bird.

In a moment it vanished--a flash of beauty, an emissary from Paradise that seemed too exquisite and fragile for our material world.

We continued to climb, our faces showing perspiration. We saw lavender orchids, orange bromeliads and red blossoms like full, painted mouths. Breaks in the forest yielded gorgeous panoramas of green-clad valleys.

A bamboo bridge took us deeper into the jungle. Our guide assured us that we would arrive at the waterfall in 20 minutes.

At one point a rough-scrawled note tacked to a tree gave us pause: “Dr. Livingston--We have about given up. Stanley.”

Fortunately, however, the trail opened onto a clearing lit with riots of purple and white impatiens. We rested and got our bearings. Another 20 minutes to the falls.

An hour and a half later, we arrived at the waterfall. We heard the water long before we saw it--breathing, hissing, pouring down the forest wall with a rush.

The waterfall poured from unseen upper levels to a busy stream and a pool set with moss-covered boulders. Never was a weary bunch of pilgrims happier to see their promised land.

We staggered down, peeled off our socks and sank our feet into the water. Red dragonflies and blue-black hummingbirds flitted by so fast that they were like after-images, like the shock effect of the water charging the air with a lovely spark.

Then the complete and utter repose of the place began to sink in. Ethereal birdcalls echoed up the leafy walls.

We saw two female quetzals frozen in time on a distant limb--dark turquoise with red underbellies, more modest plumage than the males.

Out of that green canyon we hiked--wet, pink-faced and famished. One of our group who had waited behind met us back at the biological station as we trooped out.

He couldn’t help but comment jovially that a group of 80-year-olds had just sailed out of the jungle ahead of us without a drop of sweat on their faces.

“Yeah,” said Jerry, the oldest among us, as chipper and game as a kid, “but they were 40 when they went in.”

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LACSA, the national airline of Costa Rica, flies regularly to San Jose from Los Angeles. There are daily flights during December, and flights from Thursday through Monday during the rest of the year. Round-trip tickets cost $573 during the week, $600 on weekends or $475 if reserved seven days in advance.

Buses leave daily from San Jose and Puntarenas for Monteverde. Currently, buses leave Puntarenas for Santa Elena, the town nearest Monteverde, at 2 p.m. and return to Puntarenas at 6 a.m. The trip takes about 3 1/2 hours and costs $1.40 each way. An express bus runs from San Jose to Monteverde four days a week. It costs about $3.50 each way. Taxis from Santa Elena to Monteverde cost about $4. You can also rent a car in San Jose to make the trip.

There are about half a dozen small hotels and guest houses in the Monteverde area. Prices range from $50 to $70 a night at the Hotel de Montana, meals included. It’s about $12-$20 single at the Hotel Belmar. If there’s room, you may be able to stay at the Tropical Science Center Field Station in Monteverde for $3 a night.

Almost all local hotels have cafes serving meals from $4 to $8. Many include meals as part of a package.

For more information on travel to Costa Rica, contact the Costa Rica Tourist Board, 3540 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 707, Los Angeles 90010, (213) 382-8080.