The Canopy Tour, aka, ZIP-LINING!

I have no pictures of the zip-lining experience so here are some more pictures of monkeys



Peering down at us from the roof of the house, no doubt checking to see if we are friend or foe

Much braver now

Sitting on the deck railing with us right there

November 25, 2007

Mark and family have just left to go home, reducing our little group to a mere seven. The days are dwindling down to a precious few; just today and tomorrow and then we leave for the real world. Tomorrow we are going to rent a car and David and Kelly are going to drive us all to Domenical, about 45 km south of here where they hope to buy some land and build a house sooner or later. Their friends, Todd and Lezlie White, are building as we speak and we will see their house in progress, and maybe even have lunch with them. But first things first.

Yesterday, we were up early. We had to be ready for a 7:00 AM pick-up for our ”Canopy Tour”, a Costa Rican euphemism for being strapped into a boa-constrictor like harness, with a smelly helmet slapped on your head, attached to a cable hundreds of feet in the air, and flung from a platform high in the trees in hopes of landing safely on the other side of the jungle. It is also called “Zip-lining.”

Kelly had opted out of this one on the grounds that she doesn’t like heights, but the rest of us, including your humble correspondent, boarded the bus to be driven an hour or so away where the canopy tour was located. Our guide, “Meffie”, which I assumed was short for Mephistopheles, told us that we had to make a quick stop at the office so that we all could sign release forms, releasing the tour company from liability for “dangers inherent in the activity itself”, like breaking your neck. This only increased my nervousness. I had debated long and hard with myself about zip-lining. Most of the others had done it before, David and kids here in Costa Rica, and Mark and family in Jamaica, but Tom and I had not. Tom of course was not about to admit any apprehension, so I was the only one expressing any misgivings at all. At the office I asked Mephie if he thought I was too old for this and he looked me up and down and said “What kind of a question is that?” To which I answered “I have knee issues.” Then he said that the hardest part of this activity was the ten minute walk from the base camp to the first cable, and I knew I could do that. But what I didn’t like was that it requires commitment in advance! Before you know what is involved! Because once you get there you have to do it regardless of whether you change your mind or not. A worse alternative though was deciding against it and then having everyone come back and tell me what a blast it was and how I could have absolutely done it. Not to belabor this point endlessly, but my fear was not about getting killed, but about not being able to do it for some reason thereby holding everybody up, embarrassing myself, and hating every minute of it as a result.

But oh what the heck. I signed the release and we were on our way, having picked up several more cute young guides who were introduced as compatriots of Meffie, all of whom would be taking care of us for the day. There were maybe six others on the bus so it wasn’t just the ten of us.

We drove for the required hour, much of which was through a 35,000 acre palm tree orchard, the largest in the country—straight endless rows of towering palm trees covered with parasitic ferns and what looked like rhododendrons. I asked if the ferns and the other plants would ultimately kill the palms and Meffie said no, it was a symbiotic relationship—nice to know they can happily co-exist. The palms are grown not for their coconuts but for their palm nuts—small nuts which grow in clusters at the top of the trunk and at the base of the palm fronds and from which palm oil is extracted to make cosmetics, ethanol, candles and other commercial products. Years ago, Costa Rica was a major exporter of bananas, but a blight was visited upon the banana crop which all but wiped it out, so the palm trees were planted instead. I asked Meffie how the workers get the nuts off the trees. Do they climb up and pick them, knock them off with a stick, or what. He said they have special poles that are very long and very heavy, about 40 pounds I think he said, which have a contraption attached to the end that separates the palm nut cluster from the palm tree. Not a job you want to do, he remarked, and I’ll bet it is the worst job in Costa Rica. Not that we saw anyone doing it. We also saw teak trees which he told us are a cash crop because they grow fast and of course the wood is very desirable and expensive.

But I know you are dying to hear about the actual adventure. We arrived around 8:30 at the camp, a really lovely jungle-y atmosphere where eggs, rice and beans, fruit, coffee, etc. were waiting. After breakfast, Meffie gave us a safety talk and told us what to do, most of which I didn’t retain and panicked that I wouldn’t get a second chance. Then we were fitted with our “gear.” I hung back to check out the MO and the first thing I noticed was that Jessie was grossed out by her helmet. It smelled like feet, she said! Not possible I thought. Then Martha had her helmet placed and she was so put off she asked for a different one. I thought to myself that smelly helmets were the least of my worries, but after I was fitted with my harness and my helmet placed (the one that Martha had rejected I later found out) I was astounded to find that the helmets did smell like stinky feet. Really stinky feet. Quite gross actually. But being the stoic type, I didn’t complain and I thought about the Asian market where you walk in and think you can’t stay for the smell but after a couple of minutes you do adjust. And the rewards are worth it.

We by now are fitted out and one by one we approach the platform (turns out the hard walk was to be right after the first zip) so eventually it was my turn and I get hooked up and there is nothing to be done but go for it.

Most of the family was already on the “other side” (not literally) and watching me with great anticipation.

I was very nervous, but Meffie and the others had decided to take care of “grandma” and I said Iforgotwhattodo!! And Javier said hold here and do this and pretty soon I am zipping over a fairly short cable and damned if I didn’t arrive on the other side with the kiddoes looking like some sort of miracle had occurred. And it was okay.

Then it was Tom’s turn. Mr. Macho. Mr. no-way would-I-express- any- apprehension- but I’m-as-scared-as-you-are kinda Guy. I wish I had a picture of his expression of pure terror, but we had decided back at the ranch to take nothing, no sunglasses, no camera, nothing. It was all we could do to take care of ourselves. David and Mark had their cameras, and I shudder to think of the pictures they have of the two of us. But Mr. Cool Macho Guy made it as well and then we began the walk to the next platform. No lie, it was the hardest part but luckily we had trekked to the mirador the day before so we were panting but able.

The second leap was also scary but at least a little better, but now we have all nine of the family saying mom/grandmommy how’re ya doin’ oh that was great you’re a trooper and are you ok to the point where I finally said leavemealoneI’mfine! Martha told me later that one of the guides said to her “with all respect, leave her alone and we will take care of her.” Which they did. They called me “Mom” which was hard to get used to but oh well, I was the oldest of the group except for Tom (who also needed a little help from time to time). They were so sweet and in no time I felt so comfortable and was loving it.

It was an amazing experience, and I’m so glad I didn’t chicken out. On each platform we were, one at a time, in single file, hooked up to the cable and sent off into the trees for a brief moment of knowing what it feels like to be a bird. There were two instances of “rappelling” which involved grabbing a-holt of the rope and dropping down some huge distance to the deck below. When it was my turn on the first drop, I didn’t feel apprehensive at all but when I got to the bottom, I felt a slap on my foot and Joel (with an H) screamed in pain “OWWW” you hit me!!!” while holding his eye, but I didn’t bite. I knew it was part of their schtick. They did it for each succeeding person and sweet Martha was the only one seriously concerned. David says that Martha is the most Martha person he knows and he means it as a lovely compliment.

Besides the zip-line cables and the two rappels, there was also a Tarzan swing which involved standing on a platform so high above the ground that looking down was not an option, and then swinging across to another platform, about thirty feet away. Not far compared to our other leaps, but for some reason I found that one really scary. The kids went before me and for selected kids, Dylan first and then Avery, the guide on the opposite side would hurl the kid back to the starting point and then kind of play ping pong with the kid. Of course they loved it but when it was my turn I said, “ONE TIME NO MORE please?” Javier, in charge of me at that point, smiled wickedly and said One Time? But happily they didn’t play ping pong with me which would probably have been not so fun for them nor for me.

So we have checked another box on the scorecard of Life, the one called zip-lining through the jungle. I probably will never do it again, but I would if given the opportunity. It was so fun.