Walking the cloud forests of Costa Rica

The fresh smell of forest and wet mud was all around me. Flashy birds chittered in the crowns of trees and all manner of tiny creatures whistled and chirruped in the dark, dense leafy thickets I brushed past. Exploring a rare and intact ecosystem such as this ancient primary forest is indeed thrilling, and I was excited to experience the romantically named ‘cloud forests’ of Monteverde and Santa Elena that run along the central spine of mountains in Costa Rica, trapping and condensing the cool, moist air of the Caribbean Sea from the east. I hoped for visuals of compacted clouds laced between trees and aerial walkways disappearing into the mist.

Starting at 6am with my guide Marco Ortiz who has a wealth of knowledge about his country and its diverse ecosystems, we drove along beautiful hilly slopes scattered with yellow-blossomed gallinazo trees to a height of around 1600m to reach the entrance of Monteverde Biodiversity Reserve. In that rare opening in the forest, there’s always a frisson as the guides show you all manner of birds and miniature orchids. High up in the tree, a pair of fluffy emerald toucanets with oversized beaks held us spellbound. I felt a chill. It was much cooler here compared to the balmy beach, and I put on a waterproof jacket.

A board with a map proclaimed the 54sq km forest is home to the following number of species: 3,000 plant, 513 orchid, 448 bird, 101 reptile and 126 mammal (including six wildcats). Right here, I realised, we’d be walking on trails used by jaguar, puma and ocelot. While this forest is relatively small, the wider area is dotted with other protected forests such as Santa Elana Cloud Forest and many large privately-owned parcels, and we know that especially at night, the wild animals crisscross the larger protected landscape.

At the entrance, eleven trails disperse in different directions, and Marco selected Sendero Wilford Guindon that would lead us to the aerial bridge, and we’d return via another trail called Sendero Nuboso. Nuboso means cloudy. I liked the sound of it.

Setting a jaunty pace on the cement-grid trail, we were engulfed by the most dense and exuberant forest I’ve seen. Marco pointed to soaring pilong, wild avocado, fig, guanacaste and zapote trees that are most prevalent here. I’d seen taller ones in the rainforests of Borneo, but these ones had come to the party in fancy dress. Every square inch of their trunks and branches were thickly festooned in lichens and spongy moss and decked with an insanely rich biomass of epiphytes, bromeliads and flowers. 

Lianas and vines looped and curved through the gaps like a horror-vacui painting that fears empty space. Mushrooms and toadstools had taken over fallen logs. It was uplifting to see so many new shapes and forms.

Droplets of water gleamed like diamonds in the moss and little frogs and dragonflies skittered in the water collected in the cups of the bromeliads. Robust ferns and gingers firmly stood their ground between the trees, making the forests impenetrable. 

I tried to identify some of the trees, but it was impossible as the plants were so intricately melded, their crowns had many different types of leaves springing out of them, and the trunks were disguised with woolly moss and wide-leafed philodendrons.

We spotted a large chestnut coati, a furry (raccoon-like) creature with a pointed snout. To our delight, a group of 30 clearly visible coatis followed, crossing the open path ahead of us, one by one. I was told their high-pitched sounds indicated battle mode, and soon we had ringside seats to a lively skirmish in the bushes.

Marco, like all the other guides, (and quite like the trees in this forest) comes heavily laden. Besides water, trail mix, books on birds he carries a scope with a long tripod. This place is far too dense for pointing and binoculars. Each time he spotted a bird, such as the stunning turquoise Lesson’s motmot, he focused on it and I saw it through the lens. 

It's mainly birds we looked out for, listening to complex warbler calls and musical trills. Everything else was too well hidden. The holy grail here is spotting the resplendent quetzal, a multi-hued bird of emerald, turquoise, purple and red feathers and a long lingering tail, like a bridal trail. They’re seen early in the day and on wild avocado trees. We were tipped off that one was seen that morning, but despite waiting for ages, it did not show up. Perhaps because a black guam (a large and intimidating bird) was feeding on the fruits of the same tree.

Yet, as we waited, I spotted a small green snake lying still across some roots just off the path.It caused great excitement, as it was a green palm pit viper. Two young men stopped beside us to watch and photograph it.

“It’s highly venomous and it destroys the tissues in the body,” Marco warned. 
“Where’s the nearest anti-venom?” asked one of the men.
“At least two-hours away at the hospital,” said Marco, and then, giving me the honour, he said: “She found it.”
“She found it; she should keep it!”

It was a clear, sunny day, and I did not quite get to see clouds trapped in the canopy. But what I did enjoy was the intensely beautiful sunlight filtering through the leaves. The Japanese call it komorebi. I love looking out for komorebi, and here it was in abundance, setting the Jurassic monkey-tail ferns aglow, highlighting each thorn on the trunk in sharp detail.Above, the canopies of the trees were set alight against the dark thickets, and it became a place of heart-stopping magic. 

We soon crossed the wonderous sky-bridge, lingering to see the forest below, and then we climbed further up to beautiful viewpoints where we enjoyed vistas of rolling hills and the Pacific Ocean beyond. We were standing right on the continental divide, an imaginary line on the Cordillera de Tilarán from where the rivers run east or west.

Up high, a biome with shorter, contorted trees captured my imagination. Wouldn’t this make a cosy outdoors hut protected by the low, bent trees, I wondered. ‘This,’ a sign read, ‘is an ‘elfin forest’, a woodland marked by stunted, gnarled trees and mossy beds. Right here, was the most endearing spot of all. I felt deeply thankful towards the stewardship of the American Quaker community who settled nearby in the 1950s, and all the conservationists who highlighted the importance of preserving this forest, as well as The Tropical Science Centre that has run Monteverde since 1972.

Next, after a quick lunch at Stella’s Café in the town of Santa Elena, we drove 30 minutes to Selvatura Park, a part of the Santa Elana Cloud Forest. It was just like Monteverde in look and feel, and also rose to a height of around 1,600m. Here, over the next hour and a half, eight spectacular suspended bridges wafted us one by one through the top of the canopy, where we enjoyed a bird’s eye view of the forest below. 

There have been sightings and camera trap images of howler monkeys, kinkajous, grey foxes, ocelots and even jaguars using the bridges to go from one feeding ground to another. 

It had been a long and fulfilling day, exploring the forest from varied angles, from the understory to the canopy. Night falls early in dense forests, and the low sun was suddenly blocked out by the dark shadows. We sped back swiftly over the last bridge, leaving the nocturnal creatures to have their home to themselves.

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