Placing It

One afternoon I decided to go out on my own, again. I went to my typical and worn entry way into the jungle--a path meandering around to the lagoon and a rope bridge that came back around to the side of the refuge where we ate our meals. There was a well-placed bench about one hundred yards into the path; I sat there on many occasions just listening.


As was custom, I carried my University of Michigan backpack where ever I went. Other common gear included a pair of soccer shorts, a wicking-moisture T-Shirt, my ever-present sunglasses, and, the most important piece of apparel--my Chilly Willy baseball cap.

Other material I always carried included a notebook for field notes, my mom's trusty camera, a pocket knife, a jacket (the temperature could drop incredibly fast), and sun tan lotion. As I sat on the bench, I contemplated my existence and how unique the opportunity to study capuchins in Costa Rica was. I looked up and stared at the sun breaking through the foliage. After a few moments of this quiet reflection, I started to play with a twig and the dirt at my feet. There was a noise off in the distance, but I realized it was coming closer. The capuchins tended to travel this time of day back to there night time hideouts, which no one else knew about because they tended to play cards instead of being in the bush this time of day.
A small troop of capuchins made their way by me and one came down to about five feet of the ground and just looked at me--bearing his teeth to demonstrate his ferocity. I took his picture instead of running away in fear.

After our staring matched lasted about five minutes and I ran through a roll of film, he lost interest and climbed away into the depths of the forest. I noticed, however, he kept looking off to his right (my left), which seemed to speed up his departure. At the time, though, I thought nothing of it.

I continued to sit and thought about getting up and making my way to the rope bridge and the alleged croc that was recently seen there. Suddenly I heard a rustle of the leaves on the forest and a flicker of a palm branch about 20 yards away. I still had my camera ready to shot, but I didn't see anything--I could just hear it.
I waited.
Another rustle of leaves.
I waited.
Whatever it was moved a little closer; I turned on my camera.
The camera's mechanical whirl made enough noise in the now dead silent jungle to make me look down at it in disgust. As I looked back up, I saw it.
A cougar was crouched down about 15 yards away just watching me. Can you guess what my first instinct was?

If you guessed run like hell, you're wrong. I wanted the picture of a lifetime. I moved the camera up to my eye to get the large cat in the frame; it straightened its back. It glanced to my right, and I took the picture. The shutter noise caused it to bolt to my right, parallel to the trail, and on up onto the mountain. I took off after it in pure joy at this treat of tempting picture stardom. I barreled through the dense jungle snapping shots at what I thought was the cougar. I followed the trail of moving branches, but just as suddenly as it arrived--the trail was gone.
I stood there huffing and puffing in the hot, humid air. Pausing every other breath in hopes I could hear something and race after it. Nothing. Dammit.

Suffice it to say, every last picture was a blur, but that first one has a patch of brown that is not plant based. (I swear it's there.)


After several minutes of waiting and looking around, I gave up and went back to the trail. As I made my way to the rope bridge, my little walk in the jungle became interesting again; the rope bridge dangled in the lagoon, right where the croc was supposed to be lurking.
I had to decide to turn back or take the shorter route across the bridge--and take my chance.

 Although not the same bridge (and no one I know), this is the closet example of what I could find online. I never thought to take a picture (oddly enough) of the actual bridge. Silly me.
The tide had come in and the marsh area was underwater. That darn bridge bobbed in the water like a lure on a line, waiting for a unlucky fish. I wondered if it waited for me.
I decided to go for it and remembered that if I got into trouble run in zig zags to confuse the large reptile--mind you, I had no idea if this actually worked, but I hoped it would if it came to it.
I stepped onto the rope and carefully scanned every bubble, ripple, and bump along the surface of the lagoon. I was not taking any chances and my camera was put away. If I had to run, I didn't want to be messing with a picture--but I admit it crossed my mind.
As the bottom of my shoes tickled the water, I increased my pace and continued my scanning, ready to run at any moment. Finally, I made it across with not so much as a stray ripple of water, but I walked quickly and glanced back often--then for some reason, I ran like hell in zig zags for about a hundred yards, perhaps just to be sure I could do it.
After a bit more, I felt safe, but I met up with the professor, Michael, and he asked what I'd been doing. I stammered that I went for a walk in the jungle. He looked at me, then behind me, and asked, "Alone?"
"Yes," I said, as I glanced away.
"You better be careful," he said with a fatherly smile.
"I am," I said as we walked to the eating area, "don't worry."