A 5:30am wake up is not my idea of fun, particularly when on holiday. But there I was, at 5:45am, preparing to hop on a small boat for a tour of Costa Rica’s Eastern coast canals, in the vicinity of Tortuguero. A brief shower had cleared and it was already warm.
As it happened, I’d been woken around 5am, by the deep howls of nearby Howler Monkeys, named with unerring accuracy, a reminder of why I wanted to be up and about so early.
The only passenger in the narrow boat, it was hard not to feel sorry for my guide, Luis; without me he could be having a lie in. “It’s ok, I’m a morning person,” he confessed as the two of us set off. Costa Rica, in the main, seemed to work that way.
Wildlife, that’s why I was on this boat – for the second morning in a row. Before the day heats up, while feed is available, is the time to be out to see the animals in their own domain.
The canals are home to caiman, crocodiles, and a variety of birds, and the tropical jungle – so green! – that lines the waterway is the habitat for much more fauna. Most colourful, most iconic might be the keel-billed toucan, with its rainbow bill, and that was an obvious subject for a photograph.
Luis guided the boat here and there, seeking out monkeys and toucans at my request, but keeping his eyes open for something else, slowing the boat and disabling the engine, as he needed. With the engine shut off, the sky’s blue was reflected in the water, and the gentle sounds of the waterway closed in on you.
As we travelled, I heard some more from Luis.
“Early in the morning, I like to take a run along the beach.”
Fair play, can’t blame you.
“One time, I was out doing that, and a young jaguar appeared from the jungle. It was looking ready to play, quite happy, expecting me to participate.” I knew for sure: no jaguar cub is ever far from its mother.
Luis continued: “I backed myself away from the cub, and into the ocean.” This was no guarantee of safety, as I’d already learnt that jaguars can swim, sometimes crossing the canals this way. “As I stood, waist deep in the sea, the jaguar mother appeared, picked up the cub by the neck and retreated back into the jungle.” Danger averted, heart rate a little higher, his morning run continued.
Only weeks before, conducting a night walk through the jungle, Luis had been attacked by the very colourful and venomous coral snake. His comments somewhat downplayed the event – “It didn’t really bite me.” I was left to speculate what had led to the scar by his right eye.
Sharp eyes kept finding birds and reptiles discreetly hidden among the green of the jungle. The wildlife largely ignored us in the boat, allowing me to take more than a few photos.
Then Luis’s sharp ears detected a new sound, and he excitedly reported that this repeated, high pitched sound was the Howler Monkey’s alert signal. This, he explained, was infrequently heard in these parts. For all Luis’s experience, he was animated by the call. We rushed towards the trees from which this strident tone was coming, and then the boat was calmed.
We could clearly see two monkeys. Binoculars revealed that each was carrying a very young monkey; the young ones clung to their mothers, realising something was amiss. There was an unmistakable urgency in the animals’ cry, and they gazed intently towards the ground, eyes unblinking. Their warning tone continued, unabated. Fear was audible and visible.
The monkey’s foe was, most likely, a jaguar, prowling at the base of the tree, and capable of climbing to find a victim. Harpy Eagles are also a predator, and can navigate through the trees to take a monkey. We could see neither – but it was very clear that something was there, and threatening.
This was no zoo showing, no playful, screeching monkey – it was nature at its most authentic, its most instinctive, in the ongoing struggle for survival. You could feel it.
In time, Luis chose to move on – we could hear more monkeys further along, echoing the warning sound – to experience more of what the waterways might reveal. A manatee, perhaps, a tiger heron, squirrel monkeys. As it happened, nothing that morning could surpass witnessing, feeling, the howler monkeys’ fear.
The photographs I have don’t record the sounds, nor really do they have much hope of highlighting the tension in the air, or capturing the fear in the eyes of the protective mothers. Hell, they’re not even technically proficient. Yet seeing one of these images will always return me to that early morning, on a stretch of Costa Rican canal, and its visceral feeling of nature coming alive.