COSTA RICA
JOURNEY ACROSS SOUTHERN COSTA RICA AND DISCOVER ONE OF THE MOST BIODIVERSE COUNTRIES IN THE WORLD. HOME TO EXTRAORDINARY WILDLIFE SPECIES AND SOME GROUNDBREAKING ECO-LODGES, IT IS A PLACE RIPE FOR ADVENTURE, FROM WHITEWATER RAFTING AND JUNGLE TREKS TO BOAT TRIPS ACROSS TROPICAL WATERS THAT GLOW IN THE DARK
Precariously perched at the nose of the bucking raft, I stab my paddle into the foam of a rapid, as the soothing noises of the rainforest — just moments ago layered birdsong and sibilant river — are replaced by the frenzied roar of water meeting rocks. Behind me, an urgent shout: “Forw–ard! Forward!” I try to row but the inflatable boat pitches and I find myself aloft, sliding from my seat, feet slipping from their holds, my oar meeting nothing but air. What a terrible mistake this has been, I think, as the raft slams back into the water and I find I’m still on board: I am sure humans are not meant to contend with these forces, let alone sail them for sport. “Get down! Get down!” — another command from the guide at the stern. Our team of four rowers clumsily grab for the safety ropes, raise our oars, slither onto the cramped floor space and brace, all this in a second as the raft collides with a giant boulder and ricochets powerfully into calm, flat waters.
What grade had that rapid been? A fearsome IV? A death-defying V? “You survived your first grade II,” Marcello Delgado, calls out encouragingly. “Great work! Now, forward!” Despite a patter of well-tested jokes about this being his first day on the job, Cello (as we’re asked to call him) is a whitewater fanatic, passionate about spending his days instructing on the Pacuare River, the main artery of Costa Rica’s rafting scene. So too is the ‘safety kayaker’, Alex Cordero, a nimble scout who shoots down the rapids ahead of our raft to plot the route and scan for obstacles. It’s Alex, up in front, who models how to respect — not fear — the currents: he dances with the Pacuare, dipping, diving, twisting, turning and even floating backwards down her churning courses.
When Cello moors the raft in a protected bend for us to swim beneath a waterfall, the song of the rainforest fills my ears again — an indistinct, chattering chorus of insects and birds that seems amplified by the sheer sides of the gorge. As we tread water in the sun-dappled plunge pool, fish flitting at our ankles, he draws my eye to an iridescent blue morpho butterfly, as large as the span of his hand, flapping lazily between trees. “They like the water,” he says, simply, “like me.” Before we head on, Alex playfully conducts Eskimo rolls in the shallows — capsizing his kayak while still inside and righting it with core strength. This strange river, this impenetrable forest, on my first full day in Costa R
