Much time has passed since my last post here. I’ve been rather busy.
La Selva Biological Station lives in the middle of the lowland Caribbean jungle. We spent a few nights there at the end of our class session. Then we returned to San Jose for a night of dinner and dancing, then all disbanded and went their separate ways, except for a few who stuck together. Jorge called it the “sheep mentality.”
Six of us went to the beach between Mal Pais and Santa Teresa on the west coast of the Nicoya Peninsula. Here is an excerpt from my journal:
We stayed at that beach for three nights and made some good friends in the owners of a small, secluded resort called Luz de Vida, which translates to Light of Life. I’d love to go back there again someday.
After our hellish bus ride out of Mal Pais and subsequent ferry and bus rides back into the great bubble of car exhaust that surrounds San Jose, we ate and collapsed in a backpacker’s hostel, where we met another classmate. One of our number left early in the morning to catch a plane to Honduras; we left another behind to meet her boyfriend at the SJO airport. We left for another long day of travel towards Chirripó: the highest mountain in all of Central America and our next destination.
We arrived in San Gerardo de Rivas, a small mountain town, in late evening, exhausted from a day of intense travel after a morning of intense shopping. Thoroughly prepared, we walked to the ranger station to make our reservations. We walked right past it, and kept going for another four kilometers before we turned back. Thus we didn’t get to bed until midnight. Six hours later we packed, ate breakfast, walked to the ranger station and secured our place in the hostel at 3,600 meters up the mountain, and departed for our 17 kilometer trek to get there.
On our way up the mountain, we phased from lush lowland tropical rainforest into magical cloudforest where birds with voices like glass flutes serenaded us for hours. Just a slight breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree canopy, lightly brushing hanging columns of orange moss against one another. As the altitude increased, the height of the vegetation fell sharply, until we rounded a bend and looked out upon scrubby, barren, rolling hills interspersed with the bristly blackened remains of trees. Fire. We later learned that in 1976, a colossal wildfire wiped out 90% of the park. Where oaks and presumably other trees used to grow, now there was a dense brushy understory interspersed within the rocky flats. Bamboo, huckleberries, tiny weedy geraniums, wild fuchsias and grasses dominate the scene. Talk about biological culture shock! The feeling of the place reminded me so much of the Sierra Nevada of California, except for the alien and wonderful plants growing there.
The hike brutalized everyone in our group. By the end, we could barely keep ourselves going. Every step tortured our muscles and taxed our lungs. We climbed over 2,000 meters in one day, and the oxygen content of the air at the top did not favorably compare with that below. We checked into the hostel and were disappointed to find yet another series of stairs leading to our rooms! But we survived the stairs, ate dinner, and passed out, only to be awoken in the middle of the night, freezing inside our sleeping bags because of the frigid cold. The next night we rented blankets, shared beds, and slept like babies.
That morning, we climbed Chirripó. A short hike to get there gave Michael a chance to examine the geology of the area. I scrambled around the trail and nearby brush, my excitement mounting as I recognized plant after plant. At least ten different species on Chirripó are almost identical to species found thousands of miles and hundreds of climates away in Washington. How is that possible? My only logical explanation is that these cold-tolerant species must have evolved in the tropical mountains and then migrated northward, colonizing new habitats whenever possible and adapting to the new conditions. It blows my mind to imagine such a process. This provides at least a partial answer to the question of why our planet looks the way it does! Fantastic! I’m trying to come up with experiments to examine my hypothesis.
Anyway, back to Chirripó. The final scramble hurt a bit, even though I carried only my camera and a few small things. At the top, we looked out upon the deep valleys and placid lakes, and watched the clouds overtake the mountains around us. We stayed on top of the mountain for an hour or so, celebrated Michael’s twenty-first birthday with a bottle of wine and a joint, and then descended to swim in the lake. We walked back slowly in the afternoon sun. I took a much-needed nap.
The next morning we climbed another peak. Here is an excerpt from my journal.
Now I am in San Isidro de General, thinking about where we should go. It’s looking like the Peninsula de Osa will be our next and last stop before we return to La Selva in Sarapiquí, but perhaps Dominicál… Soon all will be made clear.
La Selva Biological Station lives in the middle of the lowland Caribbean jungle. We spent a few nights there at the end of our class session. Then we returned to San Jose for a night of dinner and dancing, then all disbanded and went their separate ways, except for a few who stuck together. Jorge called it the “sheep mentality.”
Six of us went to the beach between Mal Pais and Santa Teresa on the west coast of the Nicoya Peninsula. Here is an excerpt from my journal:
My mind wanders lazily here. I listen to the sounds of the ocean as I fall asleep each night. Last night I swam in a sea of tangible starlight under a universe full of distant stellar bodies. The alien green glow of phosphorescent plankton illuminated the waves as they crashed and rumbled into my body like hallucinogenic steamrollers. It was unreal. My mind could hardly grasp the truth of it. How many centuries have these stellar plankton blinked in the surf of the Pacific ocean? how many other people swam in these waters and wondered the same thing? What do these microscopic organisms have to teach me about life on this planet, and will I ever learn?
We stayed at that beach for three nights and made some good friends in the owners of a small, secluded resort called Luz de Vida, which translates to Light of Life. I’d love to go back there again someday.
After our hellish bus ride out of Mal Pais and subsequent ferry and bus rides back into the great bubble of car exhaust that surrounds San Jose, we ate and collapsed in a backpacker’s hostel, where we met another classmate. One of our number left early in the morning to catch a plane to Honduras; we left another behind to meet her boyfriend at the SJO airport. We left for another long day of travel towards Chirripó: the highest mountain in all of Central America and our next destination.
We arrived in San Gerardo de Rivas, a small mountain town, in late evening, exhausted from a day of intense travel after a morning of intense shopping. Thoroughly prepared, we walked to the ranger station to make our reservations. We walked right past it, and kept going for another four kilometers before we turned back. Thus we didn’t get to bed until midnight. Six hours later we packed, ate breakfast, walked to the ranger station and secured our place in the hostel at 3,600 meters up the mountain, and departed for our 17 kilometer trek to get there.
On our way up the mountain, we phased from lush lowland tropical rainforest into magical cloudforest where birds with voices like glass flutes serenaded us for hours. Just a slight breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree canopy, lightly brushing hanging columns of orange moss against one another. As the altitude increased, the height of the vegetation fell sharply, until we rounded a bend and looked out upon scrubby, barren, rolling hills interspersed with the bristly blackened remains of trees. Fire. We later learned that in 1976, a colossal wildfire wiped out 90% of the park. Where oaks and presumably other trees used to grow, now there was a dense brushy understory interspersed within the rocky flats. Bamboo, huckleberries, tiny weedy geraniums, wild fuchsias and grasses dominate the scene. Talk about biological culture shock! The feeling of the place reminded me so much of the Sierra Nevada of California, except for the alien and wonderful plants growing there.
The hike brutalized everyone in our group. By the end, we could barely keep ourselves going. Every step tortured our muscles and taxed our lungs. We climbed over 2,000 meters in one day, and the oxygen content of the air at the top did not favorably compare with that below. We checked into the hostel and were disappointed to find yet another series of stairs leading to our rooms! But we survived the stairs, ate dinner, and passed out, only to be awoken in the middle of the night, freezing inside our sleeping bags because of the frigid cold. The next night we rented blankets, shared beds, and slept like babies.
That morning, we climbed Chirripó. A short hike to get there gave Michael a chance to examine the geology of the area. I scrambled around the trail and nearby brush, my excitement mounting as I recognized plant after plant. At least ten different species on Chirripó are almost identical to species found thousands of miles and hundreds of climates away in Washington. How is that possible? My only logical explanation is that these cold-tolerant species must have evolved in the tropical mountains and then migrated northward, colonizing new habitats whenever possible and adapting to the new conditions. It blows my mind to imagine such a process. This provides at least a partial answer to the question of why our planet looks the way it does! Fantastic! I’m trying to come up with experiments to examine my hypothesis.
Anyway, back to Chirripó. The final scramble hurt a bit, even though I carried only my camera and a few small things. At the top, we looked out upon the deep valleys and placid lakes, and watched the clouds overtake the mountains around us. We stayed on top of the mountain for an hour or so, celebrated Michael’s twenty-first birthday with a bottle of wine and a joint, and then descended to swim in the lake. We walked back slowly in the afternoon sun. I took a much-needed nap.
The next morning we climbed another peak. Here is an excerpt from my journal.
This morning I woke up above the clouds, before the sun. I left our shelter on the mountain while the stars still shone like billions of glittering eyes looking down on the top of the world. One step at a time, I huffed and puffed my way to the rocky saddle of Cerro Crestones, following shortly behind Michael. I scrambled up until my line of sight cleared the mountaintop and looked out upon the Caribbean plain of Costa Rica, shrouded in clouds. At over 3,700 meters, we were the highest humans for hundred or thousands of miles in every direction. What a feeling, to see the earth awaken with the rays of the dawn! The clouds in the lowlands slowly began sliding westward as the heat from the sun warmed the air. The cloudblanket expanded, spilling over the lower foothills of the Talamanca like froth pouring over the lip of the most massive, deep green, forested beer mug you could ever imagine. We turned to look at craggy Chirripó, which we climbed yesterday. From our vantage point, the monarch appeared as just another peak in the Talamanca. Impressive, yes, but hard to pinpoint as the tallest among giants.
Now I am in San Isidro de General, thinking about where we should go. It’s looking like the Peninsula de Osa will be our next and last stop before we return to La Selva in Sarapiquí, but perhaps Dominicál… Soon all will be made clear.
posted by cody @ 9:29 AM
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