The Best Day Ever

It Was the Best Day Ever!

Said nobody ever about spending a day with me.

Except my son said it.

But that's a bit like your mum telling you you're special.

A few months ago, after one of my recent solo forays into the Costa Rican wilderness to work out which locations and guides I wanted to use for my photography expeditions, my 5-year-old son asked me:

“Can I come and do photography with you next time, without Mama?”

This struck a chord.

He was genuinely interested in where I was going and what I was doing. Not only that, he’d decided this should be a boys’ trip.

Mama was not welcome.

Which was particularly amusing given that Mama is, far and away, his favourite person.

It wasn’t actually the next trip I took him on. I had a three-day scouting mission to a new location first — one that has me more excited than almost anywhere else I’ve been in Costa Rica. I knew I’d be returning. Again, and again, and again.

So, on my second visit, I decided they should both come along.

I wasn’t sure how Finn would handle it. He’s only five. We’ve taken him on nature trips before and he’s got a little bored. He gets frustrated if others can see things and he can’t and there’s a constant demand for sugar, snacks, drinks. You name it. Very little simply being present and enjoying what’s going on. 

What were the chances he’d tolerate me and my photography?

This trip I didn’t actually make about the photography, although I brought my camera gear. This one was just about Finn. And if I could get some images to boot, well, bloody great. 

He was clearly buzzing to get going. I’ve never seen him get dressed so fast as when I told him to get into a long-sleeved shirt and trousers. Not something he’s used to in Costa Rica. But in these parts you have a decision to make. 

Sure, it’s hot and humid. But wear shorts and a t-shirt and you open yourself up to getting annihilated by flesh-eating jungle insects, while leaving your ankles exposed to poisonous vipers. 

I don’t think Finn quite gets the risks with snakes. Despite telling him to stay behind the guide, in the middle of the path, and not to grab trees, he was all in.

As a parent, it really has you on tenterhooks. You just have to hope the guide spots whatever it is first, so that you can warn Finn before he gets too close…and yourselves. 

I’d even shown him a video of an eyelash pit viper on my last visit, just to demonstrate how bloody difficult they are to see. 

Unfortunately, I’m getting the feeling that until he’s older and has a better understanding of what these creatures can do, he’s going to follow his curiosity. And by “follow his curiosity”, I mean lead with his head into the bushes… 

“What’s that?”

I couldn’t fault his enthusiasm, though. All he wanted to do was find animals. He had no interest whatsoever in the information the guide was trying to give us. He just kept talking over him. “When are we going to see a snake?” 

“Where are the other animals?” 

He was incessant. 

My priority was to see a Tapir. I’d seen them before. They’re seriously weird but cool animals. 

Ever seen Ice Age? They were being hunted by sabre-tooth tigers then, and they’ve not evolved much. 

They’re gentle giants. Completely unassuming. They amble around until they decide they want to move quickly, at which point you realise that a very large animal can move surprisingly fast. 

We wandered around with the constant distant rumbling of thunder and flashes of lightning providing the sound and light effects. We searched some ponds for frogs and snakes, but nothing was giving. Then, in broad daylight, in the most open area, the first animal we saw that day appeared. 

A pregnant tapir.

Now out comes the camera. But this was still for Finn. He was by my side, watching what I was doing, as I slowly maneuvered around, trying to get a decent shot. With long grass, dark clouds, jungle, and the tapir’s head stooped to the ground as it was feeding, it was no easy task. But damn, it was cool. 

And I mean that. This wasn’t my first time seeing them. Nor my second, nor my third. They’re not the most attractive species on the planet, but they are wicked. So nonchalant, so unassuming. 

No sooner had this tapir departed, another guide further down was waving us on. Another tapir, this time at a distance, wandering away. The view wasn’t great, but we’d just seen two tapirs in broad daylight. What are the chances?

This was right next to the break point, where we were fed empanadas and fresh fruit. We were in that twilight period, just before the night world wakes up, which is a completely different game. 

The night brings weird and wonderful macro opportunities. More frogs. And more frogs can mean more snakes. This is when you need to stay alert, especially when you’ve got a 5-year-old who can’t wait to find them. 

Every frog we found, Finn wanted to know where the snakes were. I had no idea he was so fascinated by them. Then again, I was always drawn to weird-looking creatures myself. 

I had kuhli loaches in my fish tank. I loved an eel in the sea and was fascinated by hippopotamuses. The weird and wonderful was always my thing. Perhaps that’s partly why tapirs appeal to me too. They look like someone combined a boar, an anteater, and an elephant. 

But I’m digressing. Where are the snakes? Before too long we did find one. An eyelash pit viper. Every herper’s dream. Not Finn’s. It was at a distance in a tree over the marsh. He struggled to see it. But it was enough to curb his enthusiasm for seeing more. 

This was around the time we could hear heavy rain approaching. When you’ve got nothing but head torches to light your way, it’s surprisingly easy to hear what’s around. The air was filled with frogs, but now we could hear raindrops slapping against the tree leaves in the distance. Knowing it was coming, I pulled a couple of ponchos out of my bag for myself and my wife. 

Finn came prepared. He already had his raincoat on. 

It was minutes before the heavens opened on us.

Rainforests take rain to another level. We were getting obliterated, walking through sloppy mud, trying not to get our feet stuck. Finn’s little boots were nearly mud-high, and I had to lift him out of it. 

“Weeeeee,” he happily proclaimed as I helped him over it. 

Just another thing to add to the adventure. 

It wasn’t long before we found a shelter. From here we could take our hoods down. Relax a little. Hope the rain would pass. It didn’t. Aside from a flying stick insect/stick bug, we saw nothing. The guide suggested we turn off our lights and just listen. The jungle frog chorus was exuberant as the pissing rain pounded the enormous tree leaves. 

Finn was not fussed by this. Instead, he asked our guide, Jesus, “Can we go back to the place and get some more bean empanadas?”. 

No whining. Just a question. Completely unlike home, where he’d make demands and get increasingly angry if we didn’t produce the food he’d requested quickly enough. 

It turned out he was right. The next stop was back where we’d stopped to snack, for two reasons. First, it was very wet. Second, we could see bats from there. 

15 minutes later we arrived at the next shelter. Finn hadn’t complained once. Quite the opposite. He was practically dancing and singing through the rain and the puddles. We saw frogs on the way. A flying stick insect. A fat stick insect. And then we arrived, and a stick insect was sitting on our bench. 

Finn immediately raided the empanadas and watermelon, despite the fact that there are supposedly rations for each group. I guess some groups' rations were now considerably reduced. 

And we laid out the bait (bananas) for the bats. Duly, they came.

En route back to the car, we spotted a fer-de-lance as well as the nightjar. 

Back at the car, Finn made his next request. 

“Can we go to a bar?”

Well, if we have to. 

Somewhat incredibly, Finn was still hungry, so we stopped at a restaurant before heading back to our accommodation. It was late, and he was buzzing. 

I gave him a hug and asked how his day had been.

“It was the best day ever; I want to come here every day”. 

The remarkable thing about his comment was that he hadn’t even taken any photographs. He’d just enjoyed the ride. 

He’d watched a “living fossil” wander through the jungle. He’d seen two highly venomous snakes, colourful frogs, stick insects and bats. He’d walked through torrential rain, played in the mud and eaten more empanadas than was probably advisable. 

And he’d done it all without having to worry about a camera. 

Pretty bloody awesome, really. 

Obviously, I’m also pretty happy with some of the images I came home with, and over the years I’ve learnt to make a point of enjoying the encounter and appreciating what we’re privileged to witness, rather than concentrating solely on getting the photograph.

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