Howler Monkeys

A group of teachers from the Costa Rica Academy--an English-speaking school near San Jose--were on a camping trip at Costa Rica's Santa Rosa National Park. The group had gone on ahead of me by a few hours; I trailed behind on local buses. I was an unpaid teacher in the after-school program, teaching Beginning Photography. My love interest, Marilyn, was a fully-paid English teacher and part-time jungle camper.

It was jet-black dark by the time I arrived at the Park's entrance. It gets real dark in the far boonies of Costa Rica, sometimes too dark to see your hand in front of your face. That's exactly how dark it was on the long, moonless walk from the entrance to the campground--which was somewhere in the jungle Park, I knew not where. Have I mentioned how dark it was??

A terrifying roar suddenly filled the otherwise still night air, from perhaps a quarter mile away. In the profound darkness, I nearly pissed my pants. It must be wild cats, I frantically reasoned; what else could it be? It was quite a goose-bumper. Now, I felt really vulnerable, as vulnerable as I've ever felt, walking the dirt access road into the inky blackness, with a wild and dangerous beast in the trees who was no doubt as curious about me as I was about him.

I'd walked for way too long, it seemed, searching for the campground, my mind now completely occupied with the roaring jungle beast. Where the hell was that campground?

Feeling I was in terrible trouble, one way or another--either lost in the forest at night or about to be eaten alive--or both--I stopped for a cigarette and a stock-taking. Sitting on my rolled up sleeping bag, it was dead quiet but for the low hum of insects and the occasional roar from my unknown forest enemy.

From only a few feet away, a scuffling sound suddenly shot at me like a bullet. My heart jumped a mile! Black as ink it was, and there I sat with a jaguar about to stumble upon me, either by accident or design, and rip me to shreds. Hysterics? Well, you know....shit happens!

What I did next should remain locked in the vault forever. It's so embarrassing. I'm not a flag-waving sort of guy, not by a long shot, but it seemed prudent for me to announce my presence to the beast in the hopes it would be frightened and flee. I, then, would still be left alive to talk about it in the morning.

What happened next is the second-dumbest thing I've ever done in my life. I blurted these words: "Back up, cat! I'm an American. You don't want to mess with an American. Vaya, Vaya" I shouted! That's all I could think to say. I'm an American. The worst possible thing anyone could ever say, under any situation, anywhere.

A fantastic surprise: a flashlight suddenly clicked on, directed at me, followed by the spoken Spanish of a Costa Rican, slowly appearing on horseback out of the darkness. There were two of them, riding a dirt trail parallel to the road. They were Park rangers.

Talk about mixed feelings. I felt both relieved and shocked silly that they had heard my stupid rant. I prayed that they were mono-linguistic Tico Caballeros.

At my asking they said it was only half a kilometer to the campground. And I was informed--after asking--that the roaring jungle beast I heard was a Howler Monkey!

Monkeys! Nothing to fear, I realized with relief. Unless you're afraid of monkeys.

Some Costa Rican park rangers speak English. Normally that would have been a welcome thing, but this time the thought that they may have understood my stupid rant--and felt my fear--was mortifying. But they didn't let on, so I could only hope they weren't just being kind. And while I felt like an idiot on the one hand, I was relieved that they were there to rescue me from the beast, the dark, and the unknown.

Thank God the other campers hadn't overheard my encounter with the "jungle beast." Of course, I told them of my mistaking monkeys for wildcats---but I left off the idiotic part.