Tucked away in the southwestern corner of Costa Rica, near the Panamanian border, is a small peninsula jutting out into the endless Pacific. Dubbed the "Osa Peninsula", it houses a sizeable chunk of primary rainforest within the confines of the amazing Corcovado National Park. It is, according to our guidebooks, one of the few places in Costa Rica where the beautiful scarlet macaw thrives, and we read that if you're lucky, you may see a few in the wild. So my friend Jay and I dedicated the last week of our Central American vacation to try our luck. Getting there was a bit of an adventure in itself - we caught a bus from the capital, San José, and were subjected to a harrowing 10-hour ride along winding, washed-out cliffside roads through cloudforests at 10,000-ft elevation. The driver was dead serious about arriving at our destination on time - after several hours of riding, Jay (who had unwisely downed a couple beers beforehand in a sort of celebration of our having successfully found the bus station and arranging passage) asked if we might to stop for a bathroom break. The driver answered sharply, "No, dos horas más!"

We arrived in Puerto Jiménez after descending from the highlands through a forested river valley in the midst of one of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen. Immediately the next morning we heard the unmistakable squak of macaws flying overhead. There were several pairs gathered right in the trees lining the town's central square! We couldn't believe our luck, but perhaps this is an everyday occurance here... We soon found the tourist office and made our plans (you have to state where you're going to end up at the end of each day so that the park rangers can expect you, or go looking for you if you don't arrive), and the next morning we were stuffed in the back of a pickup truck for the rough 4-hour ride to the park's south entrance. Toucans flew overhead, and we felt privileged to experience one of the best-preserved stretches of Pacific rainforest in all of Central America. A short walk on the beach for a couple hours led us to the first ranger station, La Leona, where we set up camp and enjoyed some ramen noodles cooked over a portable camp stove.

The scenery around us was a fantastic vision of paradise. Unbroken grey sand stretched for as far as we could see, and rolling hills blanketed by dense green vegetation abruptly met the beach several yards back from the shoreline. Tall balsa trees with distinct white trunks poked up above the rainforest canopy here and there, and coconut palms were abundant at the jungle's edge. Of course, what you can't see in a photo are the multitudes of biting insects, which dictated that we lather up any exposed skin with that foul but most effective repellant, DEET. And it was hot, even at night. We were warned not to walk on the beach at night because many of the poisonous snakes make their rounds after the sun goes down - it's too hot even for cold-blooded animals in the middle of the day! Oh, and make sure all of your tent flaps are zipped at night. You don't want the vampire bats finding any exposed flesh...

The next day we packed up and embarked on a hike to the next ranger station, about 10 miles away - not too bad, we thought. We didn't expect that the entire 10 miles would be on the beach! Trudging through sand for the better part of a day under the scorching tropical sun is an exhausting experience. We did manage to see some cool sites on the way: Disturbed turtle nests whose eggs had become dinner for a marauding jungle cat, betrayed by perfect paw prints in the sand leading away from the site; Hoards of hermit crabs pulling themselves along the beach; Spider monkeys swinging gracefully through the dense foliage; Scarlet macaws squaking loudly as they flew overhead. And because the land has never been farmed, we could drink the clear water running off of the hills without fear of giardia infections.

As we neared our day's destination, the most significant obstacle was a shallow river that we had to cross. No problem, we reasoned - we'd read it was only knee-deep. We took off our shoes and rolled up our pants, and moved closer. And then, out of the corner of our eyes, a thrashing movement revealed a small, startled crocodile jumping from the riverbank into the water! Hmmm, were this youngster's big brothers waiting for us mid-stream? We scanned the river for a few minutes but didn't see anything, so we went for it. Needless to say, no one was eaten by a crocodile. A host of graceful butterflies greeted us on the far shore, and soon thereafter we arrived at La Sirena ranger station...

If I had more time to spend at Corcovado, I'd want to spend it at La Sirena ranger station. It was also a biology research station, complete with a small airstrip. We pitched tent in the clearing next to a makeshift set of buildings that served as headquarters for both rangers and researchers, and there we enjoyed an evening of ramen noodles amidst swarming mosquitoes. Hundreds of bats swooped past us as we ate, feasting on the bugs. I could feel them whoosh past my ears - a bit unnerving at first, but they never hassled us.

A clearing is a great place for wildlife spotting. We were treated to the sites of numerous rainforest animals investigating the clearing's edges - small agouti rodents foraging for food in the cut grass, curious monkeys spying at us from the trees, loads of reptiles, the occasional toucan flying overhead, and macaws observing all from above... The researchers had great stories of frequent tapir sightings, usually at night, so that night we walked along the airstrip holding flashlights at eye level to look for reflections from the eyes of other creatures. We didn't see any tapirs, but found ground-nesting birds, frogs, and even spiders in this manner! Of course, we were warned to keep an eye out for snakes as we stumbled through the grass in the dark - apparently snakes' eyes don't reflect in the flashlight beam!

Unfortunately we had to pull ourselves away from beautiful and peaceful La Sirena station - we had a plane to catch in a couple days back to San José. So we set out early the next morning, this time inland up to the crest of the peninsula. On this day the word "rainforest" took on a whole new meaning, as we were pounded by driving rain the entire day, over a crazy trail that went straight up and down endless gullies through ankle-deep sludge. After an eternity of mud, rain, and burning quadraceps, we finally arrived, filthy and irritable, at Los Patos ranger station on the crest. The rangers immediately diverted us to the showers... The next day was down the other side of the crest and back to Puerto Jiménez, where we recounted the past few days over beer and some fine arróz con pollo. And the next morning we took a boat across the bay to Golfito, where we boarded a small plane back to San José, tired but wishing our adventure could last a little longer.