Welcome to the Jungle

The deadly snake lay coiled on the bank, poised to strike. It was a fer-de-lance, a species responsible for many deaths, an expert in camouflage. But this time, fortunately, the viper was spotted from several feet away.

Carefully sidestepping this threat, the hikers continued slowly and gingerly upstream, following on the heels of their Costa Rican guides, in the steamy shadows beneath the high forest canopy.

The first seeds of doubt had been planted, and they began growing just around the next bend, where lay the skeletal remains of a monkey.

Nearby, another skull and more bones, picked clean by jungle scavengers.

A sense of eeriness overcame the hikers, who had been told they were going to a waterfall to do some rappelling. They had come to this country simply to do some fishing, but their sense of adventure seemed to have got the best of them.

Suddenly, it was as if they were traveling up a river of no return

*

... Tom Ball and Pete Gray, avid fishermen from Southern California, began their first full day at Crocodile Bay Lodge with a jaunt out onto one of the largest and most beautiful bays they had ever seen, a shimmering body of water the size of Lake Tahoe, mirroring the pillowy clouds passing slowly overhead.

Porpoises surfaced in the distance. Closer to the boat, large patches of sardines fluttered across the surface, fleeing predators such as those the anglers were trying to catch: roosterfish, jack crevalle, large snappers and groupers.

The two had found heaven. The new lodge on the remote Osa Peninsula was living up to its reputation as an angler’s paradise.

But there is a serious side effect most fishermen succumb to during their visits here. It’s called jungle fever, and Ball and Gray -- a mere stone’s throw from the lush, forested slopes falling gently toward the sea -- were coming down with it.

“If I came all the way down here and never made it into that jungle, I’d be kicking myself all the way home,” Ball said, moments after releasing a 20-pound roosterfish. “I can catch most of these fish in a lot of places, but how often will I be able to see something like this?”

Gray nodded. Their visit was no longer a fishing trip, but one that would involve mingling with monkeys, wandering among wild orchids, marveling at large blue butterflies fluttering beneath the forest ceiling. And, finally, wandering off to scale a waterfall.

“That’s what happens here,” explained fishing director Todd Staley, back at the lodge. “For the most part, they come here to fish, but, for whatever reason, they end up doing the rainforest hike or something like that.

“Even the hard-core macho guys that end up doing the jungle tours, they come back and they go, ‘That was real cool, you know. Just don’t tell my buddies ... ‘ “

*

Staley is one of about 2,500 residents of Puerto Jimenez. He was hired by lodge owner Robin Williams -- not the actor-comedian -- who chose this area in which to build, he said, “because the southern zone had not yet been discovered.”

Actually, it had been, years earlier by an entirely different crowd. There was gold in the hills and a sparkle in the eyes of those who came looking for it. There were saloons on the streets and from each was a well-worn path to the town brothel.

“Twenty-five years ago, this was the Wild West of Costa Rica,” Staley says with a smile. “Guys used to go up into the mountains for weeks at a time, come into town with a pocketful of gold and leave with a hangover and a smile on their face.”

That was before the Osa Peninsula -- once also a haven for poachers, loggers and cattle ranchers -- fell largely under federal protection, with the establishment in 1972 of Corcovado National Park and, subsequently, of several smaller reserves as buffer zones.

As a result, the peninsula is now one of the most ecologically diverse regions on earth. More than half of the country’s 850 species of birds are found here. More than 140 species of mammals, 115 species of amphibians and reptiles, and more than 6,000 types of insects, call the jungle home.

In one area near the lodge, 386 species of trees were counted within about 2 1/2 acres. Plant life is equally varied and complex.

The coastal town of Puerto Jimenez, meanwhile, has retained some of its charm and wildness. Locals still prospect for gold, legally in some places, illegally in others. Cattle are still driven from pasture to pasture by men on horseback. Saloons are now simply called bars, and harlots are hookers, who work the bars on busy nights, prostitution being legal in Costa Rica.

Cockfights are the big event on Saturday nights.

For most tourists, though, this is merely a gateway into the interior. Several small eco-tourism lodges have sprung up within primary and secondary rainforests.

Crocodile Bay Lodge is unique in that it is a fishing resort by design, but over the last few years it has begun to attract eco-tourists as well. Serious eco-tourists, typically, don’t associate with fishermen because of the consumptive nature of fishing.

This year, fleet manager John Maynard has even added a surfing program to boost business during the slow months, which might prove to be a smart move, because the region boasts incredibly long, uncrowded waves and an average water temperature of 80-plus degrees.

Still, it’s the fishermen who keep the lodge -- and its fleet of boats -- financially afloat.

Golfo Dulce -- so-named because of all the “sweet” water and nutrients pouring in from the many streams flowing out of the rainforests -- features 80 miles of shoreline, beyond which thrives an astonishing array of game fish, including snook, a wary fighter found near most river mouths.

Outside the bay in the Pacific Ocean, sailfish are abundant during a season that peaks from January through April. Anglers using trolling lures as teasers “raise” to within casting range an average of 10-15 a day -- at times many more.

Blue marlin migrate through the area in November and December, and again in March and April, to feed on small tuna and dorado. The heaviest marlin weighed by a client -- most billfish are released -- was a 700-pounder. The heaviest tuna weighed 250 pounds.

“I interviewed an old guy over in Golfito and he started fishing when he was 10,” Staley continues, again waxing nostalgic. “And he was telling me that 50 years ago, the boats never even left the gulf. They caught sails, marlin, and all the dorado you wanted inside the gulf.”

Today, the boats travel long and far on occasion. Yet, come 4 p.m., they’re all back at the pier, their sunburned clients walking on wobbly legs to the bar to share stories about the ones that were caught and those that got away.

Then there are the stories that have nothing to do with fishing.

Gary Vawter, 56, of Riverside, was among the first in his group to venture inland instead of to sea, after some urging from his wife, Jeanette.

“It was fantastic,” he exclaimed. “[Guide] Felipe [Vivas], was our eyes and ears. He’d make these sounds with his mouth and the monkeys would shake the branches and we’d locate them that way.

“He showed us the difference between crocodiles and caiman. We saw one sloth, then another. We saw macaws. We even saw a turkey vulture flying through the air, carrying a six-foot snake.”

*

By week’s end, Ball and Gray had gotten more than a taste of the jungle. Ball had ridden through part of it on horseback and visited a well-known botanical garden. Both had taken a rainforest tour on a four-wheel-drive open-air bus, during which they encountered spider monkeys, howler monkeys, squirrel monkeys and white-faced monkeys -- all in large colonies, parading overhead.

Gray, host of a radio fishing show in San Diego, had ridden waves until his arms barely worked, but was able to lift a beer in celebration at Buena Esperanza, a charming jungle bar on whose wall hangs a surfboard said to be the one used by Robert August during the filming of “The Endless Summer.”

Now it was time for something a bit more serious: a 2 1/2-mile hike up a jungle creek leading to the 40-foot waterfall they were supposed to climb.

Guides Johnny Chacon and Joaquin Leiva led them far out of town on a day rain fell steadily and the entire region seemed in a cloud. The small creek flowed through what resembled a tunnel of trees and vines. A tunnel, at least, that provided shelter from the storm. But one, also, that surely was home to a thousand vipers.

Costa Rica has 135 species of snakes, 17 of which are poisonous. The fer-de-lance is among the most poisonous, the most prevalent and aggressive, reaching a length of nearly nine feet.

How Chacon spotted the small snake coiled on the bank was remarkable. The color of its skin was exactly that of the mud and leaves. The guide spread his arms to keep the hikers at bay, explaining that smaller snakes are just as deadly, if not more so.

“This is more than we bargained for,” said Ball, getting a nervous nod from Gray. They determined it would be wise from there on to plod directly through the creek, avoiding land wherever possible.

The bones of the monkeys, protruding from the mud upstream, appeared fresh. Chacon and Leiva, both of whom grew up in the jungle, were unable to explain how the animals had perished.

“Maybe fer-de-lance; maybe a fall,” Chacon reasoned.

Finally, a spectacular waterfall came into view, spilling through a hole in the canopy, over a terrace and down into a small pool. Leiva, carrying a rope, scrambled up the mountain like a cat, wrapped the rope around the trunk of a tree and sent a second line back to Chacon.

Chacon motioned for volunteers. Gray went first, using a device attached to the rope that slides up but not down. He struggled but made the summit, and swung through the waterfall during his rappel back down. Ball went next, and after three times apiece both were out of breath.

It was grueling work for men in their late 40s, early 50s. So grueling, in fact, that a lazy day of fishing was starting to sound pretty darned good.