Since I am still under doctor’s orders to remain in “dry dock”, I search for a connection to “wild water” wherever I can. During the dog days of March, when refreshing rain is a only a distant memory and the parched red soil surrounding our home has crumbled to the consistency of tiny ball bearings, I escape the oppressive heat with my dog, Pinta and Soozi (in spirit). We go seek refuge under the jungle canopy that rises along the boundary of our property. Our few acres are roughly triangular-shaped, with sides bordered by narrow creeks. Our Tico neighbors call a creek “quebrada”, which translates as broken or crooked, and it is an accurate description for these narrow paths of water that wind along the bottom of the steep ravines.
The dogs dart into the thick undergrowth of leafy plants that I can not name. Some grow to heights of seven feet, with broad green leaves as wide as two feet and as long as four feet, reminding me of the blades of a large ceiling fan. During the dry season their bright orange flowers, spiky like a Bird of Paradise, bloom from the stalks. I always carry a machete on these walks because occasionally the plants grow so tall that they lean into the narrow trail and I have to use it to clear my path. The stalks are strong and I have to correctly angle the blade for a clean cut or it will just bounce off the stem. I have to be careful not to trip over the Passion Flower vines that stretch across the trail because there is just enough space for my foot to catch, and they have the tensile strength of steel. The tips of the vines are searching for a patch of sun where its brilliant red star-burst flowers open to the rays. Sometimes I hear the burring of a hummingbird as it whizzes past on its flight to collect nectar from the flower’s white center.
The trail edges down the side of the ravine, in some places at a 30 degree angle. In these steep sections, as I half-step half-slide down the slope, I anchor myself by grabbing the narrow trunk of one of the many young trees that line the trail. As I pick my way along, the dogs, a mix of beagle, terrier and coonhound, race down the path, ecstatic with the multitude of scents. As one catches their attention, Pinta bays at 300 decibels and I still can hear Soozi's yips in excitement as Pinta dashes away.
With slow progress I reach the creek and look around for any slithering jungle dwellers, another reason for bringing the machete, I step into the cool water and it flows through the holes of my knock-off Crocs, slides under the soles of my feet, and pores around my ankles. I take a deep breath and pause to enjoy the coolness of the water and air wrapping around me. I push back my sun hat onto my shoulders and look up. Many of the trees are 50 or more feet tall. The tallest are ficus with their thick upright roots draping like folds of material from the bottom of their wide trunks, as if they are making a slow turn in a ruffled skirt. The highest branches reach over the smaller ones to expose their canopy to the sun.
I can see the harsh light of the mid-day sun as it penetrates the leafy canopy and becomes filtered, green light which is gently deflected and down around me. The air is many degrees cooler here and I feel my heartbeat and respiration slow as I slog along the middle of the creek. A few hundred steps to the north the creek flows over the edge of a 40’ sheer cliff. I stay away from the edge as I watch the water burble over and disappear. To the south, the creek makes 90 degree bends about every 50 steps. The creek-bed is filled with sand eroded from the soft, tan-colored rock that constitutes the foundation of the ravine, and there are places where the rocks form terraces and the water cascades over them. These terraces are slippery and as I clamber up I occasionally tumble into the cool water. I stand up a dripping mess, but who cares.
I’ve considered creating a rock dam at the bottom of one of the cascades as a soaking pool, but I’m a little wary. I prefer to stand above the edge of the creek-bed because that position is better for keeping a sharp eye for snakes. My Tico neighbors caution me to never walk in the “quebrada” after 4 pm as that is when the snakes emerge to hunt. They also advise me to shuffle my feet and make lots of noise as the vibrations will scare the snakes away. The dogs snuffling about and barking is an added dimension of noise and activity. M rarely joins us on my jungle walks, but he always reminds me to carry the machete, “just in case”. I guess all the advice works as I’ve never encountered a snake on these watery walks.
After an hour of meandering, Pinta and I find the other trail at the southern boundary of the property. I start the steep climb back up to the brilliant sunshine and open spaces refreshed and renewed, but always a little reluctant to leave behind that lush green world.
Sounds wonderful!