What hit me first upon my return from Costa Rica was the noise, and I live in a very quiet place. The sound of my computer, the sound of the washing machine — they were in vast contrast to the quiet loudness of the jungle. The howler monkeys would roar in the distance, and you could have sworn there was a band of lions and tigers about to leap from the undergrowth. The best way for a human to emulate it would be to belch really loud, really deep and really slow. It's a sound that will linger for a long time. To hear it in its natural state is moving.

Monkey business

The capuchin monkeys joyfully stole the show. It was hard to imagine what it might really be like to see monkeys swinging around in the jungle. It sounded so Disney, so Hollywood and so contrived. As soon as we checked into our room, I saw a movement in the surrounding forest. Soon, there were three capuchins moving toward our deck. They swung their way down the hillside, stopping to welcome us to the jungle. One sat in the tree and looked at me. Another hung its head over the roof. The third decided to hang upside down.

This place was rapidly becoming amazing and addictive. The monkeys were surrounding us, and we soon learned how to time their daily visits to the beaches of Manuel Antonio National Park. We found ourselves captivated by their antics and charismatic traits. Just outside the park, where things can get a bit touristy, we were taking a stroll when we spotted another group of capuchins swinging through the jungle. As three of the monkeys played in the trees, another found its way onto a power line. He was using the line as if it was a part of the rain forest, just swinging along while we shot pictures. Suddenly, there was a loud noise followed by sparks and a giant ZAP. The monkey had hit the transformer. We covered our mouths and gasped as we saw the tragedy unfold. The remaining monkeys started chattering — we learned later that was the only way they had to teach the young ones not to make the same mistake. The same thing happens when a monkey ventures onto the ground and gets eaten by a boa constrictor: All the other monkeys gather to watch and attempt to teach their children not to go down to the ground. Needless to say, we lost all our enthusiasm for a twilight stroll, and vowed to purchase a “monkey bridge” in memory of the late capuchin.

Nicoya Peninsula

After four days at Manuel Antonio, we headed for the Nicoya Peninsula, taking the ferry from Puntarenas to Paquera. A visit to the Curu Wildlife Refuge and Hacienda brought us in contact with Mica and other spider monkeys that were now threatened with extinction due to their once-coveted status as pets. The goal is to take these monkeys, once used by a nursing home to comfort elderly patients, and reintroduce them into the jungle. Mica's need for human contact stood in juxtaposition to that mission, and our hearts felt heavy as we held her hand through an enclosure, so unlike those swinging capuchins and groaning howlers hidden in the trees.

Pacuare River

We flew from Tambor to the coffee and sugar cane plantations west of San Jose and then drove to the put-in of the Pacuare River, deemed by National Geographic to be one of the top 10 whitewater rivers in the world. By other standards, it's the best in Costa Rica. Our guide was on crutches, and missing a leg, but our preconceived notions were put to rest when we plunged through the first rapid. There was no doubt he was perfectly competent.

The river gains strength as it descends about 600 feet in about 20 miles. Along the upper third of the river are numerous eco-lodges, equipped for those who want to spend the night and make it a two-day trip. Waterfalls on both sides of the river compete for your attention, some small in scope and size and others dropping from incredible heights to add to the Pacuare's might. With several Class III and Class IV rapids to delight, it's an arm-pumping workout with a constant stream of drop-and-pool rapids. We saw high-water marks from rain season, and it was evident it would be a harrowing and death-defying excursion at high water.

We continued on to some more Class III rapids and eventually came into a deep canyon with calm water and sheer rock walls. Our guide encouraged us to jump in for a swim, and we floated along with the current. Two guys from Las Vegas and New Jersey, best friends for 15 years, were our paddling buddies. They kept us laughing as we paddled, and eventually Josh said to Tim: “I want to say it but I know I shouldn't.” Tim leaned back in youthful glee and said, “Go ahead.” They floated along in silence but Josh was just bursting at the seams. He couldn't hold it in any longer: “I wonder what the poor people are doing right now,” he sputtered between gales of laughter. We shared in his zeal for the moment, understanding the privilege of enjoying the “Pura Vida,” even if only for a brief vacation.

Martha Netherton is a longtime journalist, editor and outdoor writer who lives in Dillon.