Surf, Turf and Kayak

On a sunny, Chamber of Commerce afternoon, four novice sea kayakers are paddling in the Pacific Ocean off the west coast of Costa Rica. As we move, all of us are thinking about the neophyte kayaker’s worst-case scenario: flipping over and having to execute the dreaded “self-rescue” maneuver underwater.

My wife, Pat, and I had sea kayaked just once before--in the Gulf Islands of British Columbia--and encountered unexpected turbulence, otherwise known as a tide rip. Fortunately, our boats hadn’t flipped. But there’s always a first time. And our friends who had come along were total beginners.

Although this Central American country has become an increasingly popular destination for North Americans, not many folks get beyond the usual--posh resorts, beaches and volcanoes, tennis clubs and golf courses, maybe an easily accessible rain forest. We were on the path less taken, staying at a rustic camp on the Osa peninsula.

Pat and I chose Costa Rica for a winter trip because of its rich biodiversity and wealth of national parks, and because the outfitter we used in British Columbia also offered kayaking here. Five days of paddling around the surf-side jungle of Corcovado National Park sounded just challenging enough.

After flying into the capital, San Jose, and staying the night in the small, charming Hotel Grano de Oro, we took a taxi to the small Pavas airport for a 45-minute Taxi Aero flight to Drake Bay, scheduled to leave “somewhere between 8 and 9 a.m.” Pat, not exactly a devotee of any kind of flying, distracted herself from the turbulence over the mountains by flipping through her dictionary and learning the Lord’s Prayer in Spanish.

The pilot set us down on an airstrip where a small boat waited to take us to Drake Bay Wilderness Camp, 10 minutes away. (Drake Bay was visited by Sir Francis Drake in 1579 during his circumnavigation of the globe. His name is pronounced DRAH-kay here.)

“Wilderness camp” is a bit of a misnomer. We were put up in one of the camp’s four tents, but this was the first time we had slept in tents with beds, electricity and daily linen service. No candies were left on the pillows; maybe that’s the “wilderness” distinction.

The lodge also has 20 cabins with private showers. And the price includes three meals a day, served in a screened dining pavilion close to the water.

The outfitter, Gulf Islands, had a kayaking instructor and guide on-site, Doug Tyrrell, an affable Canadian. There were only four of us in his group: Pat and I, writers; George, a lawyer; and Larry, a business executive, all from Chicago.

The afternoon of our arrival, Doug gave us a skills check and pointers on proper paddling techniques (sit up straight and keep your elbow locked--easier said than done) and the requisite safety lecture. Then he showed us how to perform, ah, self-rescue.

After that, we had a short shakedown cruise on the Rio Agujitas, just outside the resort, to get us used to the feel of the kayak before the next day’s paddle on open seas. Drake Bay is known for its predictably calm seas and light winds in the December-to-April (relatively) dry season, which meant there was little likelihood we would have to come ashore in rough surf. The sun, Doug said, would be our biggest problem, so we would be on the water only in the early morning and late afternoon. Oh, yes: There were white-tipped sharks out there, but not to worry.

This trip on the river also gave us a preview of the impressive variety of birds and animals we would see during the next week. For starters, we spotted a bare-throated tiger heron, a blue-crowned motmot and a family of howler monkeys. In time we became familiar with the distinctive silhouette of the scarlet macaw, and several mornings we admired the impressive flight formation of brown pelicans, known locally as “the Costa Rican air force.” (Joking aside, Costa Rica has no army or air force.)

On our Monday morning maiden voyage, half a dozen black vultures circled ominously overhead as we paddled out into the ocean. It was bright and warm, with a welcome but not intrusive breeze, prompting someone to crack, “Just another day in paradise.” Our half-day trip covered about four miles down the coast in the direction of Corcovado National Park. After an hour or so, our initial apprehension started to wane as we established our individual rhythms. Periodically, Doug would offer tactful but pointed suggestions.

In 10 years of leading sea kayak trips, he told us after we arrived safely back at camp, he’d never needed to execute a rescue on the open water. In fact, he had seen only seven or eight people flip over, all while getting in and out of the kayaks in shallow water: “Some people have trouble balancing.”

During our daily kayaking, Doug taught us such skills as how to “brace”--getting into and out of the kayak using the paddle for leverage.

Drake Bay Wilderness Camp is owned and managed by Herb Michaud, a Wisconsin native, who previously ran a Florida trailer camp, of all things, and his wife, Marleny, who is Costa Rican, or tico (a local).

Pat and I were comfortable in our roomy tent (complete with electric fan), perhaps 15 yards from the sea, where waves pounded against the rocks at high tide. And it was only a short walk to the modern bathroom facilities, which included hot showers. Another bonus, some said, was the presence of playful resident squirrel monkeys, who readily greeted and climbed on the guests. “They’re really cute,” a staff member told us, “until they pee on your head.”

One day we took a long paddle, a round trip of perhaps nine miles. We were to stop for lunch at a beach near Corcovado Park, then walk to nearby Rio Claro to swim and hike to its waterfall and pool. Between the sea and the sandwiches, however, was a potentially dangerous maneuver, especially for novice paddlers. Just offshore was a series of rocks that created a tricky surf. Only by guiding our boats through a narrow channel of opportunity, Doug told us, would we be able to get onto the beach without mishap. He went first, effortlessly, and once on shore proceeded to direct us, one by one, as if he were overseeing a quartet of baby ducks.

During our kayaking on the ocean and Rio Agujitas, we saw squirrel monkeys and howler monkeys, a huge iguana and all kinds of birds, although Doug, of course, saw many more. (By the time our binoculars found the tree he pointed out, much less the creature, it was long gone.) Among those we did spot were the brown booby, great kiskadee, yellow-crowned night heron, neo-tropic cormorant, spotted sandpiper, scarlet-rumped tanager, black-throated trogon, red-legged honeycreeper, chestnut-backed ant-bird and a magnificent frigate bird (fittingly, “magnificent” is part of its name).

Those times we weren’t paddling were easily filled with other activities. One morning during a hike to a nearby village, my wife and I encountered a local woman who, Pat found out through practicing her Spanish, was an artist. Inviting us to her home to see her work, she sold us a lovely mola, a colorful cloth designed in a style associated with the San Blas Indians of neighboring Panama. She even trusted us to pay for it later at a resort where she displays her art.

Another day we hiked into the jungle where a young American entomologist was building a spectacular house with materials brought in by oxcart.

Our activity was supported by simple but delicious meals, starting with an American-style breakfast and strong Costa Rican coffee. Lunches--sandwiches, fruit--were packed for day excursions, and for dinner there was chicken, fresh-caught fish, vegetables and tropical fruit, homemade bread and desserts and the national dish, gallo pinto (rice and black beans).

Every afternoon at 5:30 (more or less) in the charming, open-air, fully stocked bar, we sampled hors d’oeuvres, or bocas, which could be anything from the mundane, such as pizza and raw veggies, to the exotic--hunks of raw just-caught barracuda.

One morning, George and Larry went deep-sea fishing with a local guide. “Fish were jumping into the boat,” they told us after bringing back yellowfin tuna (which the chefs cooked for lunch), bonita and a ferocious-looking, 150-pound dogtooth snapper.

Still another day, all of us motored for a hike in the 103,000-acre Corcovado National Park, which hosts the highest population of scarlet macaws in Central America and is home to almost 400 species of birds, 140 species of mammals, 117 species of reptiles and amphibians, 40 species of freshwater fish and 500 species of trees.

Under the leadership of an excellent native guide, we saw, among other things, spider monkeys, white-faced capuchin monkeys, an agouti, ingenious leaf-cutter ants, the beautiful blue morpho butterfly and an Indian burial ground (3,000 were killed hereabouts by gold-seeking Spaniards, the guide said).

Other activities (at additional cost) include horseback riding to a nearby butterfly farm and a boat trip to Cano Island Biological Reserve, a reef-rich diving and snorkeling spot 12 miles off the coast.

After the kayaking trip, Pat and I stayed in Costa Rica for 10 more days, hooking up with a tour centering on some of the country’s other wondrously lush national parks and preserves.

The experience proved quite a contrast. Instead of a tent, we slept in rather plush lodges (but not plush enough for some of our fellow Americans; two of the women on our rain forest trek kept moaning that they couldn’t plug in their hair dryers).

It was the memory of the kayaking, though, that stayed with us. One afternoon, Drake Bay became a little rough, but not enough for panic. Under Doug’s direction, we just paddled on. Especially Larry, who had “found his rhythm.” Before we knew it, he was so far ahead that he couldn’t hear Doug yelling at him to slow down. This from a guy who’d initially been nervous about tipping and being pursued by sharks.

By the final day of paddling, we were moderately proficient and reasonably confident. Best of all, there hadn’t been a single disastrous moment.

After two weeks immersed in the natural world, San Jose was a shock, with its crowded streets and honking horns. But the sense of relaxation stayed with us all the way back to Chicago. I am an avid sports fan, but I didn’t learn until Wednesday, three days after the fact, which team had won the Super Bowl. And much to my surprise, it didn’t matter.

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GUIDEBOOK Tropical Kayaking

Getting there: United, Continental and Lacsa (Costa Rican) fly from Los Angeles to San Jose (one stop, no change of plane). Round-trip fares begin at $781.

Getting wet: Gulf Islands Kayaking offers seven- and five-day tours priced at $1,195 and $875. This includes the air charter and boat from San Jose to the camp. Telephone (250) 539-2442, Internet https://www.seakayak.bc.ca/tour.

Mountain Travel/Sobek has a 10-day active tour of Costa Rica for $2,290, excluding air fare. It includes four days of “easy” sea kayaking and three days’ rafting, among other activities. Tel. (800) 227-2384 or (510) 527-8100; Internet https://www.mtsobek.com.

For more information: Consulate General of Costa Rica, 1605 W. Olympic Blvd., Suite 400, Los Angeles, CA 90015; tel. (800) 343-6332, Internet https://www.costarica.tourism.co.cr.