The thrill of seeing a wild animal brings humans to far, rugged corners of the earth. There are tigers in Thailand, grizzly bears in Alaska, and monkeys in Costa Rica.

My mother and her friend traveled 5000 miles for their first visit to Central America and on the list of “things to do” were the rain forest, volcanoes, beaches and the monkeys. I appointed myself the official tour guide and pointed us towards Manuel Antonio Park – a national park 100 miles south of San Jose.

“Did you hear the gorilla last night?” asked my mother’s friend as we fueled up on papaya, rice and beans, and coffee before our morning hike.

I told here that Costa Rica had four kinds of monkeys, and we were most likely to see the white-faced capuchin monkey, the howler or the endangered squirrel monkey. But as far as I knew, pointing to the farm next to the hotel, the gorilla she heard was probably one of those cows.

At high tide, an estuary floods the entrance to the Manuel Antonio Park. When we arrived the tide was out, so we crossed easily into the park. We paid our entrance fee, perused the trail map and began hiking.

We had gone a little over a mile in the humid 90 degree heat to reach the first beach were a large iguana waddled in the white sand. My mother refused to stand close to him for a photo.

We stopped at a refreshment stand for cold water. A group of tourists huddled around a park guide that they had hired since animals and birds can be hard to find in the thick greenery. We were guide-less, so I nonchalantly wandered to the back of the group to listen in.

“Logging, agriculture, and tourism push the boundaries of this park, creating fierce battles between perceived progress and survival of the forest,” the guide said. “Every animal we see is a gift from the forest.” He placed his enormous telescope on his shoulder as if he were carrying a fishing pole and led his followers up the Playa Gemelas trail.

The anticipation of seeing animals in their natural habitat brings me an indescribable excitement like riding down a roller coaster. I scanned the woods as our threesome walked the trail. Every crackle sounded like a footstep; every vine became a snake and every log an animal.

Ahead, we caught up to the guide and his group. He had stopped and was pointing up to the top of a tree. All the tourists strained their neck upwards. Was it a monkey? My stomach tingled, and the roller coaster gained speed. What seemed to be a branch was moving was a gray sloth reaching for a leaf. She looked at us for a moment, her face like a teddy bear, and then she slowly put the leaf in her mouth.

Why did I feel so drawn to the monkeys? Was it because they have opposable thumbs and walk almost erect? Near a dry riverbank and in the underbrush, I heard footsteps. I put my finger to my mouth and mimed a “sshhh” to my mother and her friend.

A large raccoon like animal with a long nose and white mask emerged. The coati mundi, a cousin to the raccoon, was close enough to crawl up my mother’s shorts. Wary of our squeals of excitement, the coatimundi walked away.

Our threesome walked on more quietly, listening more intensely than before. I began to notice the great abundance of life growing around us. The quite was broken by a rabbit sized rodent crossing the trail in front of us. Later I discovered that the rabbit sized rodent was an agouti.

Agoutis are natural protectors of the rain forest. They replenish the forest with trees by burying seeds such as the Brazil nuts. Since the agouti probably has a rabbit sized brain, it probably forgets where some of the seeds are planted, thus resulting in a new planting of seedlings.

We were sweaty and tired after five hours of hiking. We had seen more animals than I could have hoped for, but I still held out hope for the monkeys. 6,000 people a week hike through Manuel Antonio Park, bolstering tourism and nearby towns such as the old fishing village of Quepos just four miles north.

The park was beginning to fill up with hikers, so we decided to head out. About twenty minutes from exiting the park, between the ocean and the forest, in a thin scattering of trees and brush were not one, not two, not even three, but probably 20 or 30 white-faced capuchin monkeys hanging from trees, scampering on the ground and swinging from branches. I felt I had reached the peak of the roller coaster, and I wanted to scream.

As I watched the monkeys, I felt I was looking into a familiar face. One monkey I could almost touch. He scrounged for food between the leaves and sand. Then, climbed a tree, attached his tail to a branch, swung like a pendulum and fell from the tree like a ripe mango. Off to another side, I saw a mother with a baby on her back.

Two tourists (carrying a lot of expensive photographic equipment) loaded a long camera lens onto a tripod and began taking photos of the monkeys. They conversed in technical terms about the matriarchal hierarchy of the primates.

Maybe the reason I wanted to see monkeys in their natural habitat is that there is a deep part of myself that wants to be more like them – to shed pretenses to live without masks or airs. Maybe all humans could use a little more time just hanging around, grooming each other and having fun.

I grabbed my disposable camera, stood on my tippy toes and flailed my arms up and down to get my mothers attention. “Mother, Mom, Mom! Come see what I found!” I said in a whispered scream. “Come quick! There’s a mommy and her baby.”

The professional tourists glared at me. As I backed up, I almost tripped on another monkey standing right behind me. Newborns monkeys are vulnerable not only to the predators of the jungle like hawks, but also to the human predator that eats the land and bulldozed the natural food and habitats. I hoped the baby had a tight hold on her mom.

The tide had filled the estuary at the entrance to the park. We waded barefoot through two feet of water to reach the hot sand of the parking lot.

Human beings (at least most) no longer drag their knuckles on the ground, are able to operate motor vehicles, and can whip up tasty potato salads. But responsibility comes with our place in the circle of life.

The animals are gifts from the forest. The choice is how to use the gift. The memories and photographs are just one part of the package. The gift that will last is for our generation to take care of the animals and their home so our children and their children will have the same chance to come, learn and enjoy the ride of the wild animals.

Written by Susan Lutz who is a film maker and writer living in Costa Rica. Her documentary film, The Coffee Dance available for sale an Amazon.com, follows a group of women in the depths of poverty as they strive for empowerment. She teaches film and lectures in Costa Rica.

She’s produced radio documentaries and is currently finishing her first travel book on Costa Rica. She writes an internationally recognized blog on life in Costa Rica, Motherjungle.com and is the editor of the Organic Living Page on Allthingshealing.com

If you are serious about buying a home, apartment or land in Santa Ana or Escazu, then please contact our now using the simple form below:

Andrew Makarik

to@welovecostarica.com

Andrew Makarik is the main editor of WeLoveCostaRica, a fan of this sunny country. He is also a loving husband and a has a lovely daughter. By being a devoted family man and the biggest Costa Rica fan, he wants to make more people feel at home there. WeLoveCostaRica unites people and helps them find new home or a new travel destination. This website is a friendly community where everyone can find not only information, but also new friends and travel pals. Andrew is also passionate about IT and programming, so he himself maintains a friendly atmosphere in this cozy environment of WeLoveCostaRica.com.