Hello friends,
Back last night from three weeks in Costa Rica and Panama. It was a great trip with lots of adventures which I am looking forward to sharing as I nurse the wounds that are now free to dry and heal for the first time in three weeks.
I am still pretty beat from traveling but want to get started on writing down some of the memories so here is the first installment:
My girlfriend Stephanie, another couple and I flew into San Jose picked up our 4X4 and drove it down to the Osa peninsula. We spent a tired night in the tiny town of Puerto Jimanez and next morning made camp in Matapalo, a picture perfect point at the end of a gnarly dirt road that should be a testing ground for land rovers.
Two days later we upgraded to a two story shack (now affectionately known as the 'Stick House'), complete with water tower which we shared with about one hundred iguana's of all sizes. Aside from the occasional pee shower (they lived in the roof) we were happy to know they were there, feasting on bugs and scorpions that fortunately made no appearances.
The waves were small and we made friends with the neighbors who were very hospitable but full of guests so it was several days before I was able to get a boat ride. In the meantime I tried to made do with a couple of beach dives however a red tide and other circumstances made the visibility almost nil.
On our second or third day we drove a few miles into the gulf where my friend Danny and I swam 1/4 mile out along a rocky reef to a small outcropping. Visibility ranged from 2-10 feet as we made our way out and the tide was just starting to rise. At the rock outcropping we saw the first few reef fish and after a few dives to 30 feet or so I found a pair of Parrot fish which I took for dinner with my trusty spear. The rock was soon covered by the incoming tide and we decided to head for shore. Simple enough however an hour later, swimming against the current, we were less than half way there. By the time we got to shore my feet were blistered like a drop out from a tap dancing marathon.
Back at the stick house I washed my wounds, cleaned the fish and, with four lemons off the neighbors tree, one onion and a red chili pepper made delicious ceviche for lunch.
Van is the name of the guy who owns a house right at the point where the rocks are. Its a beautiful spot sheltered by rocks on either side with a new beach (thanks to recent storms), a fresh water spring and lots of vegetation to shade the back of the house. Paradise. And Van has a boat.
After our ceviche lunch (hey it was good enough to mention again) the girls went to visit Van and Danny and I lazed in our hammocks overlooking the water. Brilliantly colored macaw's screeched as they flew from tree to tree over head. It was like being in a national geographic magazine.
A few hours later the girls returned with great news. Van would take us out in the boat tomorrow morning. Oh, and by the way, shooting parrot fish was a no-no.
By now the blisters on my feet were so bad I could hardly walk. Then I remembered the boots. Tucked away in a storage room there was an old fridge that hadn't seen electricity in years. A colony of mold spore's had made a pretty comfortable home there as did two pairs of long forgotten neoprene booties. I had come across them in my initial look-around upon our arrival at the stick house but decided it best not to risk actually touching them for fear of contracting some rare incurable disease. That was days ago. Now, with seeping blisters on both feet, and the prospect of fishing where there might actually be some fish I didn't hesitate. I gave the booties a thorough washing and promptly chopped them off at the toes and just above the ankle. Almost perfect. My feet felt better already.
Perry Gladstone
Posted by pike at February 21, 2002 02:55 PM