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Day 8: Snakes, Frogs, Insects, Hanging Bridges and a Canopy Tour
January 13th, 2009
I was up at dawn. Today, Vincent and I would visit Selvatura, one of Monteverde’s most popular tourist spots. An all-in-one adventure, the large facilities include a canopy tour, hanging bridges, serpentarium, insect museum, butterfly garden, hummingbird garden and many nature walks. We had tickets to see it all.
Again, we ate a light breakfast in preparation for the canopy tour. 
We left our hotel by 7:15, and drove up the dirt road to the Selvatura entrance, located at the base of the Santa Elena reserve. Arriving at 8 a.m., we were scheduled on the 8:30 canopy tour. A friendly employee handed us our attractions vouchers – they were color-coded for easy recognition. She suggested that we begin with the canopy tour and hanging bridges, followed by lunch and then any other activity that tempted.
The Selvatura canopy tour takes less than two hours and spans 11 cables –the longest, at over 1650 feet, allowed for speeds up to 30 mph. Another Tarzan swing also waited, and I was eager to give it a try. 
This time, instead of screaming and closing my eyes, I wanted to enjoy my jump.
We took a van to the canopy’s beginning point, and our guides began by checking our gear and giving us a brief introduction to canopy safety. Climbing up to the first tower, I readied myself for fun. Directly in front of me, two women were conversing in German – I soon learned that they were sisters, and that the older of the two, at 80 years old, was about to embark on her first canopy adventure. I was impressed.
The first cables went smoothly, but our third cable disappeared into cloudy mist. I was excited to fly through a cloud, but nervous: if I couldn’t see the platform, how would I know when to break? Zipping along the cable, I soon felt the telltale up-and-down bouncing that indicated I should slow down. Reaching far out behind me, I placed downward pressure on the cable. Before I knew it, I had arrived at the platform and the guides were helping slow me to a stop. My face was wet from the cloud, my heart was racing, and I was having a blast.
Hiking through the jungle, we arrived at the Tarzan swing. I stared up at the platform that looked much higher than I had expected. I climbed up the stairs, mentally working up the courage to jump into nothingness for a second time. When my turn came, the tour guides opened the gates and herded me off the platform. Downward, I plummeted, this time with almost-open eyes; I wasn’t even scared.
I swung back and forth on the giant swing, a smile painted on my face. The wind in my hair felt fantastic, and I felt safe enough to enjoy myself. Too quickly, my ride was over, and as I waited for the rest of our group to finish, I wished that I could jump again. Several cables later, and we had finished our canopy tour, landing just a few steps from the base station.
After getting the harnesses off, Vincent and I took off for the park’s eight hanging bridges, interconnected by beautiful nature trails. Walking over the dirt pathways, we kept our eyes trained on the treetops: though we are tempted to look around at eye level, most forest life lives in the trees.
The first bridge measured almost 215 feet long, and took us up into the canopy. Instead of being above the trees, we walked almost through them, giving us a very unique vantage point. Keeping our eyes peeled for sloths, monkeys or even a quetzal, we stayed hopeful while walking across the green-painted bridges.
Arriving at the fourth, the longest at 515 feet, I looked ahead of me. It crossed over a deep canyon and a small stream rushed below us. A small family walked ahead of us, and the father suddenly exclaimed, “what a beautiful bird!” Walking to catch up with him, we followed his gaze to a beautiful resplendent quetzal sitting on a tree. His ruby-red chest puffed with pride, he stared ahead, snacking on a small avocado fruit.
We quickly snapped our photos, and before five minutes had passed, the shy quetzal had gracefully flown away. Excited by our success and disappointed by its short duration, we moved on. Unfortunately, we did not see any other wildlife in the trees, and an hour later, we had finished the almost 2-mile circuit and were eating lunch in the breezy dining room.
After lunch, we made a beeline for the serpentarium. I am a strong believer in knowledge being the best weapon, and I wanted to know which snakes were (and weren’t) venomous. Accompanied by a guide, we walked into the glass-walled building.
Immediately, I was greeted by a giant boa constrictor that had, quite obviously, just eaten and was digesting his meal. He moved his head around in a satiated stupor, as our guide directed us left to the first cage. Inside, a benign-looking black-tailed cribo lay staring at us. His milky eyes signaled that he was ready to shed his skin, which, according to our guide, accounted for his lethargic movements.
Next up was the coral snake, a small but highly venomous species. Though often confused with non-venomous snakes, the coral can be identified by its red-yellow-red-black markings. To commit this to memory, our guide taught us the phrase, “Red and yellow kills a fellow, red and black’s a friend of Jack.” Simple enough, though I wasn’t sure I could recall the phrase in a crisis situation.
Turning around, I saw the side-striped palm viper, a lime green, very venomous snake. In a nearby cage lurked a parrot snake – a non-venomous species often confused for the previous. Seen together, the two green snakes looked very dissimilar: the viper’s trian
gle head and almost neon body seemed much more menacing.
Behind me slept the most dangerous snake of all: the fer-de-lance, or terciopelo as it is called in Costa Rica. This pit viper species is found throughout Central and South America, and is often called the “ultimate pit viper” due to its strong venom and aggressive – not defensive – nature. Further fueling my fear, our guide told us that females can have up to 60 babies at once, and that each can live up to 15 years. To avoid their bite, wear hiking boots and long pants, and always stick to marked paths.
The next venomous snake species was the eyelash palm viper, an amazing species that awed as much as scared me. This species can be green, red, gray or yellow in color, but the yellow is endemic to Costa Rica. Interestingly, yellow females can give birth to any color of baby, but only yellow snakes can give birth to other yellow. They are relatively small and live in coffee plants, causing serious problems for coffee pickers.
The room was filled with many other reptile and amphibian species, including frogs, toads and lizards, but we were running short on time, and had much to see before the park closed at 4 p.m. We chose the insect exhibit for our next stop, where more than 400,000 specimens decorated the walls.
Walking in, I was struck by the giant scorpions, white morpho butterflies and other exotic insects that covered the wall cases. Only 40% of the 1+ million-insect collection is on display at one time, the life work of one of the world’s most important collectors. Browsing the room, I saw butterflies from all continents, cockroaches of every size, walking sticks that looked like real twigs and even, strangely enough, a small shrunken head.
Soon, I heard keys turning in the lock – the park was closing for the day, and it was time to leave. Thanking our guide, we hopped in the car and drove back toward Santa Elena, making sure to pass by the public bus station. The next morning, I would take the 6:30 a.m. bus into San Jose. Dining on pizza, we said our goodbyes to Monteverde, still one of my favorite places in Costa Rica.
Visiting Monteverde? See our Santa Elena and Monteverde Travel Guide.
Day 7: From Tarzan Swings to Porcupines
January 12th, 2009
I woke eager to begin the day: today we would fly through the sky on the Extremos canopy tour. I had heard good things about the adventure, namely that it was, indeed, as extreme as its name implied, and that its Tarzan swing was terrifyingly exciting.
Vincent and I breakfasted light – I wouldn’t recommend canopying on a fully stomach – before the Extremos transport van picked us up at the hotel. Passing through downtown Santa Elena, we turned northwest out of town, past the Cloud Forest Reserve and up into the green mountains. Bumpy roads were softened by lavender-sprinkled hillsides, and I happily chatted with fellow tourists about their vacation plans.
We arrived at the Extremos base station 20 minutes later and entered to get our gear. When we had been suited up in full safety regalia, Vincent and I waited in the parking lot for our fellow zip liners. My excitement had transitioned into absolute anticipation, and I couldn’t wait to begin the tour: 13 cables, a 115-foot rappel, and a heart-stopping Tarzan swing were all on the day’s list of adventures. We would reach up to 30 mph on the cables, the longest measuring almost 1/2 mile and the highest climbing to 500 feet above the ground.
We began the canopy tour with two practice cables that were slow enough to give confidence and fast enough to encourage adrenaline to pump through my veins. The cables became progressively faster, and when we arrived at the sixth cable, I looked out over a long, deep canyon.
The cable measured 2,000 feet long, the tour’s second longest. Our guides warned us not to brake until we reached the end; if we accidentally stopped short, we would have to wait for someone to maneuver out onto the cable, hand-over-hand, to rescue us. Determined not to make a fool of myself, I hurled myself off of the platform and out over the sweeping valley.
Zipping through the air at top speeds, I felt like a hawk soaring high above the ground. For more than 20 seconds, I teetered along the cable and, finally, braked to a stop just a few feet before the end platform. It’s difficult to describe the joy of a canopy tour – it’s similar to riding the tallest, fastest roller coaster at the amusement park… without the safety bars. Wind in your hair, you have the freedom to move around and to control your own fate; it’s an amazing feeling.
After several more cables, we arrived at the rappel. My breath caught in my throat as I looked below: the 115-foot drop went straight down, and we were to be lowered by pulley at near-breakneck speed. One by one, we stepped up to our vertical doom. Last in line, I was awarded the dubious pleasure of watching everyone rappel first. In addition, many of my fellow adrenaline junkies began their dives off the Tarzan swing before I had rappelled, more than doubling my anxiety.
Soon, it was my turn to rappel down the giant tree. Nervous, I asked the guide to be gentle and then sat back into my harness. Less than 10 seconds later, my feet were firmly planted on the ground, my hands still hot from the rope’s fast friction. I regained my balance and toddled up the dirt path, emerging at the Tarzan swing’s entrance.
If rappelling had been nerve-racking, then the Tarzan swing was truly terrifying. All tourists may choose to skip the swing, but I was determined to bite back my fear and jump. As one after another jumped, I felt my bravery ebb and flow; finally, I decided that it was my turn.
Inching up to the platform edge, I looked down at the 110-foot jump. I was scared. I turned to the guide and asked him, “What’s the easiest way to do this?” Grinning, he declared, “There is no easy way!” before pushing me off. I felt weightless for a moment, my stomach and heart literally floating in my throat. I fell straight down, and silently begged (through my very audible screams) for the cables to catch me.
Suddenly, I lurched forward – the cables had broken my fall, and I was swinging forward. I flew up, up, up into the sky, my feet dangling over a 100+ foot drop. I was exhilarated, excited and enjoying myself, and I didn’t want the feeling to stop. Too soon, the tour guides were grabbing onto my legs, slowing my swing. After a few more pendulous motions, they stopped me with a rubber sling.
I wiggled out of the cables and extra equipment, heading back toward Vincent. I hoped he had taken good photos, as this was a moment that I wanted documented for posterity. We continued on, finally arriving at the last cable. Almost 1/2 mile long, it was a lengthy, fast trip: the perfect end to a great canopy tour.
Jumping out into the nothingness, I flew over the valley one last time. The Gulf of Nicoya played on the horizon, and the wind blew my body from side to side. Slightly rumpled but very happy, I had finished the tour. We walked quickly back to the Extremos base station, took our equipment off and thanked our guides.
Later, as we traveled back to Santa Elena, I could still feel the breeze in my hair and the amazing weightless feeling of canopying. Gulping down a quick lunch, Vincent and I prepared for our evening night walk at the Hidden Valley reserve, scheduled for 5:30 that evening.
When we arrived at the 30-acre reserve, I was surprised to see at least 35 people lined up for the night tour. Though the private reserve is quiet by day, it is one of the most popular night walks. I would soon find out why: an energetic and friendly guide introduced himself, and we set off into the forest.
Coatimundi – medium-sized mammals that resemble racco
ons – dotted our path. Unconcerned by our presence, they rooted for food in the ground and sparred for territory. We trudged on, climbing over small stones and traversing groomed, dirt pathways. 
Suddenly, our guide put a finger to his lips.
A small hole was carved out of the ground before us; inside, an orange-kneed tarantula made her home. Baiting her with a thin branch, the guide coaxed her out. Convinced that she had found something good to eat, the huge arachnid hurried out of her home, emerging before our interested faces. Quickly, she realized that no bugs lurked outside, and she stubbornly returned to her comfy bed.
Our next stop – the most exciting of the night – was at a giant strangler fig, which housed a sleeping porcupine inside its hollow trunk. His prehensile tail, similar to a monkey’s, allowed him to climb the tree for bedtime. His tiny, spiny body was curled into a small ball, and his nose flattened like a pig’s. Though nocturnal, he had slumbered well into the evening.
We wound up our night tour, and headed to a local pizzeria and steak house for dinner. Vincent ordered fresh pasta in a seafood sauce and I ordered homemade ravioli – within minutes, we were happily eating, discussing the day’s events and preparing for our final day in Monteverde.
Visiting Monteverde? See our Santa Elena and Monteverde Travel Guide.
Day 6: Hiking Through Monteverde’s Forests
January 11th, 2009
After a generous helping of a typical rice-and-beans breakfast, Vincent and I decided to walk to the Ecological Sanctuary, just a mile from our hotel. It was a beautiful day, if a bit chilly, and the walk promised to be pleasant.
Rambling past an ice cream parlor, a Latin fusion restaurant and a recommended steak house, we moved onto an even bumpier dirt road. The street dead-ended at the reserve, and there was very little traffic to disturb our communion with nature. Tall pine trees rose up around us, interspersed with oaks and tropical hardwoods. The sun shone strong against the blue sky, and I felt deep satisfaction creep through my body.
At the entrance to the Ecological Sanctuary, a slow-moving aerial tram crawled along the canopy top. Watching two wildlife watchers drift by above us, we slowly made our way into the private reserve. Armed with a color-coded trail map, Vincent and I reviewed our options: waterfalls, lookout points, picnic areas and myriad animals awaited.
Opting for the blue-coded waterfall trail, we trudged through secondary forest. The sanctuary was once a farm, but today, four million trees per year are planted in an effort to reforest. Their success was evident: birdsong danced through the air, and we soon turned down a shade-covered path onto steep stairs leading to the waterfall. Moss covered the stone steps, and I clung to the railing to steady myself – when in the forest, I loose my footing almost more than I keep it.
The natural stairwell glittered with emerald epiphytes, and we could hear the cascading water tumbling in the distance. The air changed to cool and humid, and I knew that our downhill walk was almost over. Suddenly, a sliver of cold, crashing water emerged before our eyes; we had reached the sanctuary’s second largest waterfall.
The cold mountain water streamed twenty feet down two huge boulders, and the powerful sound of falling water hitting the stream below thundered in my ears. Pulling out his camera, Vincent began to shoot photos of the beautiful waterfall. As we began to climb back up the stone stairs, my legs ached with exertion: the almost-vertical, 300-foot ascent was no easy task, especially when combined with moss-covered stone.
As soon as we had finished our ascent, a sign indicated that we should descend again to a second waterfall. We saw a huge cascade rushing hundreds of feet below, and I secretly hoped that we weren’t headed so far down. Soon, I realized that we were not: a small waterfall rushed in levels, each only a foot or two high. Climbing out onto the rocks to get a better view, the inevitable moment arrived: I slipped.
Scrambling not to lose my footing, I hit the slippery stones with a crash. Nothing hurt, but I started to slide into the small creek at my feet. Grabbing on to a nearby root, I stopped my fall and struggled to my feet. I grinned at Vincent, who showed me how to walk on slippery terrain: plant one foot firmly before moving the next. I committed this strategy to memory, determined to make it a habit.
Turning around to climb back up to the mountain pathways, I carefully placed my feet into secure footholds. We both made it without falling, and when we reached the top of the hill, I had already fully recovered from my fall. Walking through the tree-lined paths, we soon arrived at the Nicoya Gulf lookout.
Again, the Pacific Ocean looked almost close enough to touch, framed beautifully by the expansive valley. I sat and stared in awe – it was truly an incredible and inspiring panorama – before we moved on to the next lookout point. Just a 15-minute walk away, we weaved through the trees and along the path, eyes wide open for wildlife.
At the hawk overlook, we didn’t see any swooping birds of prey, but the green valley was again a wonderful sight. Perched high on the cliff side, I felt as if I were on top of the world. Cows in the valley below looked smaller than a pencil eraser, and trees dotted the ground like swipes from a paintbrush. 
We sat and observed for awhile, drinking in the amazing sights – this was the last lookout point on our walk, and we wanted to appreciate nature’s beauty.
As we trudged back toward the sanctuary’s base station, Vincent spotted a white-faced monkey in the branches above. Soon, the small capuchins were all around us, eating and frolicking in the trees. I laughed as a medium-sized female lowered herself by her tail, dangling only seven feet in front of me, to peel tasty bugs off of a dying leaf. For ten minutes, we watched and called to the primates before they had eaten their fill and left for greener pastures.
Walking back to our hotel, Vincent and I spotted a small restaurant. It was after one, and we were starving, so we stopped by for a warm, filling lunch. Stomachs full, we returned to the hotel for a bit of rest and relaxation before the Children’s Eternal Forest night walk, scheduled for 5:30 that evening.
The Children’s Eternal Forest is a private reserve that was founded by Swiss school children. After hearing of efforts to save the Costa Rican rain forest, they collected money to purchase a small tract of land near Santa Elena. Today, the reserve covers more than 54,000 acres – 90% Atlantic and 10% Pacific – and belongs to every child in the world.
Almost before our night walk had begun, we spotted a blue-crowned motmot in the trees. He had just arrived, and was prepping himself for bedtime – plumping up his feathers, he retracted his head into soft down and balanced on one leg. Walking through the reserve, the songs and sounds of rain forest wildlife danced in our ears. Though frogs and birds do sing at night, 90% of all forest noise is made by insects, usually crickets and katydids calling to their mates.
We soon found a promising hole in the ground, and saw the telltale markings of an orange-kneed tarantula. I knew that only females lived in holes, and our guide added that they can live 25-35 years, as opposed to a male tarantula’s paltry five-year lifespan. Additionally, the orange-kneed tarantula’s leg hairs are severe irritants, and can blind a human in minutes.
Tiny orchids decorated many of the forest trees, and our guide told us that Costa Rica is home to 1,600 species of orchids. 550 of those species live in Monteverde, and 350 are mini orchids. Tree-dwelling orchids, which make up 88% of the country’s orchid species, are epiphytes, living in symbiosis with forest trees. Interestingly, they cannot live on the prevalent strangler figs because their bark is poisonous.
Unfortunately, we didn’t seem to have much luck this evening, and rounded out our tour with a few insects – walking sticks, katydids and crickets are always easy to find. After saying our goodbyes, we headed to a nearby Italian restaurant, recommended for its seafood, and dug into a hearty plate of fried calamari and a delicious pizza.
Visiting Monteverde? See our Santa Elena and Monteverde Travel Guide.
