In Search of the Elusive ToucanA Costa Rican AdventureBy Robin Dohrn-Simpson My philosophy on successful wildlife viewing goes something like this. “The harder you try to find elusive animals the less you will see. Isn’t it much nicer to sit quietly – preferably in a hammock with a cold drink in your hand – and wait for the animals to come to you?” This I was thinking while relaxing in a rustic wooden rocker on the front porch of my deluxe tent at Rafiki Safari Lodge in Costa Rica. (Rafiki means “friend” in Swahili. The lodge is owned by a South African family.) Nestled in the mountains of Central Costa Rica, about 30 miles (48 km) outside of ManuelAntonioNational Park, this self-contained lodge even produces its own electricity. I was lured here by the promise of cool mountain air, a plan to go on a whitewater river rafting excursion down the mighty SavegreRiver, and the desire to see a toucan. I’d been to Costa Rica twice before and had never seen one. This time, returning for a three-month trip, I was determined. With nine luxury tents that accommodate 27 people, the lodge features an open-air rancho that looks out onto a deep, jungle valley, offering unbeatable views.Lining an outer side of the rancho are lace hammocks. Classical music would play gently in the background as I peered thru my binoculars and waited for nature to come to me. Loki, my host, had told me that a toucan would fly through this valley every day in the early morning and late afternoon. “You will recognize him by how he looks when he flies,” he explained. Toucans fly somewhat askew to compensate for their large yellow, green and blue colored beaks are so long and heavy. These exotic birds have throats and chests that are bright yellow with a black sleek body. You can only lounge motionless for just so many hours without seeing a toucan. Curious to explore the river and perhaps see a toucan along the waters edge, we decided to go on a river rafting excursion provided by the lodge. (Guests have their choice of white-water river rafting, nature hiking or horseback riding.) We piled into the open-air bed of a truck loaded down with rafts and headed for the river. Getting to the put in point was half of the adventure.
Our guide Carlo pointed out trees and flora along the way. As we bounced down the road, he gestured toward a fan leaf palm whose leaves had been cut and folded by miniature bats for protection while they rest. We made a quick stop to scrape a sample from a cinnamon bark tree (Cinnamomum cassia). The smell of fresh cinnamon was mesmerizing; bold yet sweet.
The descent was slow and arduous. The truck chugged slowly in first gear fighting against gravity and weight for the entire hour. Sweat poured from our brows. Our behinds were sore from bouncing on the wooden benches. Birds called out to their mates across the valley floor. Insects buzzed around our heads. The early morning sun was still cool.
As we went around a bend, Carlo yelled for the driver to stop. Cautiously he jumped out of the truck, bent down low and pointed to a hidden water hole. “Shh,” he said, putting his finger up to his mouth, “a caiman lives in this swamp. If you keep quiet we won’t scare him and he won’t submerge in the water. Do you see him over there?” My eyes tried to distinguish something in the murky water. “What is a caiman? What am I looking for?” I thought. Then I saw it, two bulging eyes with gray rings around them stared up at me. A caiman, it turns out, is an extremely adaptable, mediumsize creature similar to a crocodile. It is found in Central and South America usually in lowland, wetland and riverine habitats. We quietly left the caiman to his morning swim and loaded back into the truck.
The next day, we were lured by the joyful screams from my 12-year-old niece as she went down the water slide into the river-fed swimming pool. Rafiki’s owners wanted the distinction of having the fastest water slide in Costa Rica. They built a C-shaped, smooth cement slide that descends about 50 feet (15 m) from the rancho to the river-fed pool.
I decided to give the slide a try, said a quick prayer at the top of the slide, took a deep breath, and sat down on the top of the slide. Thought again “What am I doing?” then took off before I could answer myself. Before I could take a breath, I had gone down the slide, bumped my elbow on the C curve and was dumped unceremoniously into the refreshing water. Surprisingly, my dog, Rocky, followed me down the slide. He had accidentally slipped and fallen onto the slide. He was splayed out, fully extended, desperately trying to grab onto safety. I wish I had a picture of everyone’s faces as they realized that the next being on the slide was a dog, not a person.
My last morning, sitting on my balcony breathing in the wet morning air and drinking a cup of mild Costa Rican coffee, Loki came running towards our tent.
“Look, there’s the toucan!” he said pointing at a bird noisily flitting around the valley announcing himself to he world.
I looked out into the jungle and my eye following the distinct sound of RRUK-RRUK-RRUK, the toucan’s call. Suddenly, there it came fluttering through the valley. My theory had worked; I had finally seen a toucan.