Brian arrived in the Southwestern town of Sierpe, Costa Rica first with his kit and needed a couple of days to reconstruct his 14 foot SOF kayak. His boat design appears to be a hybrid Aleutian/Greenlander with a radical swede-form, hard chines, upswept bow and stern deck zipper. His design prerogatives were aimed at developing a kayak that will excel in large surf and following seas. Scott and I rolled into Sierpe a few days later, spent an hour and a half putting the Feathercrafts together, organizing the paddling equipment and enjoying several cervezas under a very hot sun. We launched down the Sierpe River after discussing with the locals what river bar had the best conditions and best camping. As a Spanish speaker I am effectively a 3 year old child, just out of goo-goo-ga-ga and discovering the difficulty of asking for the best camping locations, which river mouth was the best for paddling conditions, what the best time was to time the mouth. I can phrase something and ...bam...a staccato blast of words I cannot understand comes back to me. Decidedly words not on my audio series of spanish tutorials. We chose Boca Guaramal, the middle mouth of the Sierpe River, mostly as it is away from boat traffic and offers greater wildlife scenery. It was suggested to us that Guaramal was not as rough as Boca Sierpe, but agreement in that varied from different sources. There were dozens of crocodile dens carved into the river banks, including a live one that baled into the water about 30 yards from us. Other wildlife sightings included Scarlet Macaws, Squirrel and Howler Monkeys, Green Parrots and Parakeets. After 15-16 river miles studded with small farms, rainforest and mangroves we found the mouth of the river. We waited approximately 90 minutes for the incoming tide to dampen breaker size a bit before launch. The length of breaker field was highly deceptive. We felt it would be a fairly straightforward 200-300 yard surf zone, but in fact it lasted a very long time, at least 20 minutes. The Sierpe has 5 mouths within a few miles of each other in mostly pristine mangroves. The shoal complex as a result of sediment outflow is extensive and difficult to find a line. b Close, but not too close,b is our formation. And we punch through the initial 2-4 footers quite easily. As we get farther out we notice a more gently spilling crests and they grow to 4-6 feet and relatively easy to surpass. A couple hundred yards further, things begin to change. Brian is first on the beating list. He is about 30 meters in front and as he nears the top of a large wave, maybe 7-8 feet, it steepens and breaks, launching him into outer space where he lands with a decided pop, rolls up and takes it again, rolls up again and hightails it out before anything else wants to maul him. After several more minutes of high octane surf we paddle a few miles down the coast to a cove on Isla Violin. In order to gain the advantage of swell deflection at the cove we have to run a point break, each taking our turn, dodge a couple of boomers, then we can land one at a time where a tiny creek enters into the sea. We chop a bit of brush out of the jungle so we can string the hammocks up for the night. Every nocturnal creature in the forest had a go at us, as the woods came alive with their foot falls and debris hailed upon our rain canopies. After returning the forest to as near original condition as we could, we launch with Brian out first after instructing me to shoot photobs of him on launching. However, Ibm next up on the beating list and it will not be possible. I would like to say it was a Mavericks sized wave that thrashed me but in reality it was more like a 4 footer. The tide was high early in the morning and we waited too long for it before we got moving. I noticed the sandbars in the area from the river bar a mile or two north of us firing off surf and it would be harder to get out. Brian launched first and cleared the first set of dumping waves. I launched and was set to do so when I hear Scott yellb&b Rob!...blanketyb&blankb I take my eye off the ball and look at him but cannot hear him very well and anyway, Ibm now struck hard, going backwards until the stern sticks into the sand, where I turn over and get dragged upside down until my shoulders are pinned and the boat is still moving landward. Not wanting to stick around in that situation I yank the spraydeck off and crawl out. Alas, Brianbs camera formerly ensconced in my sea sock is now free to wander the oceans of the world and held under by the half pound carabiner he lashed to the housing. Our next launch is entirely successful and after about 300yards we are free of the zone and enjoy the rocky islets and points of Isla Violin. In a few miles we come to the outside of the mouth of Boca Sierpe. It has about 1/3 of the breaker quantity as Boca Guaramal, but they are bigger. The path out has a steeper cliff behind it on the beach requiring better timing from a paddler. We rafted up and watched a few boats with tourists in it run the bar, all taking the same line. I do believe we had a far better jungle camp than what appeared to be on the lower Violin shoreline so am happy with the path taken. We shoot across Drake Bay with the occasional stop so Brian can pump water from his leaky boat. Brian went low bid on his stern deck zipper and we pause every half hour or so to pump out. Itbs nice to relax in the tropical sunshine and muse of what my other paddling friends up in the good olb sideways rain and low 40bs Pacific Northwest are doing. The scenery picks up a few notches at the south end of Drake Bay and the shoreline becomes more jagged and filled with the roar of Howler Monkeys and Scarlet Macaws. Eco lodges dot the hill sides but the once above the coastal belt it becomes uninhabited rainforest protected by the Osa forest Reserve or Corcovado National Park. Reefs and boomers keep our attention levels up but the mug of heat and humidity is flagging our energy reserves. After 18 sweaty miles we find the entrance to San Pedrillo Ranger Station, Corcovado National Park, guarded by a fairly froth cove studded with sharpy bits of rock. We negotiate a rock garden with wraparound surf and one at a time land and haul the boats up on the beach berm. After that we set up the hammocks, practice my bad spanish on Maria, the head ranger, who takes our fees and tells us to watch out for her b pajarritob , a small waif of a chicken ubiquitously under our feet for the next 2 days. Cute little chicken, as far as chickens go, I fear for her though, as shebll age into frying pan maturity soon, or wander too close to the river bank, where a sign states quite authoritatively that bathing in this river is absolutely prohibited. Maria says a 10 foot crocodile lives there, but has not been spotted in the last few days. She expects it to return any day now. Smaller Caimanbs live further up in the freshwater we discover the next day. Troops of Spider Monkies tear through the canopy and colorful birds flit from limb to limb. We bathe in a cool stream, sans large reptiles and skip paddling for a day. Maria catches a large fish, a Droallo (?), and splits off a length of filet to us. We fry it up in oil with coconut chunks, salt and pepper. It needs nothing else as it is a firm white fish with a wonderful flavor. We drink rum and sweet coconut milk, sometimes in the shell, sometimes in a mug. We evict the young chicken from its roost on top of our hammocks and retire for the evening. Being a savvy jungle traveler I note a slight but continuous drop in the barometer and make sure my rain fly is adjusted over my canopy. Scott and Brian choose to read by starlight and later I am awoken by the thump of a down pour. Denial sets in hard among the weary, as it is a minute or two before they vault out of their beds to add the rain fly. I feel a trickle coming in and exit to readjust. By the strobe of distant lightning I see Brianb s big white moon reflected back, and now, having seen far too much, resume my slumber. It is possible to get teeth chattering cold when it is 80 degrees and raining. Neither of those gents slept very well. The next stop, surf gods be willing, is Sirena, the heart of Corcovado. It is along a12 mile beach drained by 4 rivers, which promise to amp things up a bit. We depart San Pedrillo and head south along Punta Llorona. Sea stacks, reefs and caves line its steep shores crowned by thick foliage of primary rain forest. Swells from the northwest mix with those from the south creating a bit of bounce, but all easy stuff. There is a decided current of about a knot and a half easing our path. The backdrop to the beach is low lying but hemmed in the rear with hills up to 1500 feet. We are close enough to shore to see not a single soul, but hear the howlers and macaws in their omnipresent racket. Scott spots a sea snake. We pass 2 rivers and note the general south and eastward drift of shoals from their mouth. The 3rd and largest river in the area is the Sirena. It drains Laguna Corcovado and posed a very serious challenge to landing. Slightly to the east is the mouth of the Rio Claro, which is filled with rocks and reef. Our best route to the landing zone is from the west just east of the Sirena river mouth. The breaker field is quite extensive but our approach from the west cut it down quite significantly. We bypassed the outer breakers completely by sneaking into the inside, one at a time. We paddled through small to midland reform waves until we were safely onshore. As a trip leader I run a bit on the conservative side and suggest b no surfingb to the guys. Time the sets, time the period, run after the back of the waves and land as best you can one at a time, the first in helps haul the next one on touchdown. That afternoon we photographed a pair of small, 2 meter long American Crocodiles basking in the sun on the beach along the river mouth. Though they are not as aggressive as Indo Pacific Crocs, or Nile Crocs they are still crocs and they have killed people here before. We exercise a lot of caution the following morning as we paddled our boats out into the surf and up into the river for wildlife spotting. The canopy shades the river nicely and we head up river until it becomes too shallow to paddle. Croc and caiman sightings continue throughout the day, in addition to a host of brilliant birds and monkeys. On our return to the river mouth I don my helmet, put away my camera and get ready for action. Too bad I put the camera away as a 6 foot croc slides off the bank and into the water under my boat. The river channel at this tidal state is quite narrow and I wonder how it could contain the two of us. I wait for Scott to catch up, promoting my odds to 50-50. The following morning we plan a short ten mile trip down to the final ranger station near Carate, on Playa Madrigal. Noting the tide state when we plan to leave I check it at its same height the day before. It seems like a fairly consistent window at 160 degrees magnetic stays open longest after a big set, usually just under a minute. The following morning we decide on that line after seeing basically the same thing. A reef juts out across our path and dampens much of the reform. We launch a nd a few minutes later meet at the reef and after the big set concludes a big wide window opens up for a while. Scott and I stayed within150 feet of each other and hop over the reform and sprint like hell out over the green water. The point of the next river mouth offers a slight shield along our route that we exploit to full advantage. Brian takes a different line and he is doing his own thing several hundred feet away. I concentrate on the sea in front of me and climb up a large haystack and look for Brian. I do not like his line as 2 large breakers explode in front of him. Scott and I had very little to contend with other than a pair of undeveloped haystacks towering way overhead. The power of these breaks is impressive and demands a lot of attention. We meet up out on the open water and debate who had the best line, Scott and I outvote Brian 2 to 1, we have a laugh and move south. The shoreline is quite interesting east of Sirena. There are reefs and rocks and small points to navigate. Pelicans and brown boobybs inhabit the rocks and we take photos of them as we ride the swell up the rock face. The beaches get steeper and from here on out for the next 20 miles are some mean dumping waves. 100 to 150 yard sections of steep wave faces close out and pop at once. There seems to be just large consistent sets with only a 30 second lull after the biggest. We hang out off shore for a while and when the biggest waves blow out I look behind, find the lull and sprint the 60 yards to shore without issue. Brian is halfway through the impact zone when my boat is pulled up the beach, surfs a bit on a small one, then lands perfectly. Now, itbs Scottbs turn for a beating. He has drifted in too far to shore to escape the one rearing up behind him. It picks him up, rides him up the crest and then we lose Scott for a few seconds. He shoots out across the foam pile sometimes right side up, sometimes not and cannot roll the K1. A second wave finishes him off and now he is basically on the Beni Hana chopping block, out of his boat and trying to swim it in. Bam! another one. I rip my shirt off and dive in, hoping to help him swim it in, but too late, as he cowboy reenters the boat sits down and paddles it in. A stunning bit of composure. Itbs one thing to land on a beach like that but I think itbs harder to launch from it. We walked down the beach a few minutes and ate dinner at a small eco lodge. Over a few beers we watched the surf and did a bit of agonizing. Yet in all the roar of imploding wave faces a familiar pattern emerged: 4-6 waves with a uniform closeout for a minimum of 100 yards, 30 second lull. The waves were over the 6 foot mark and very close together. The foam piles appeared to be quite weak that we suspect is from deeper water just inshore of the break and popping over them would not be too tough. My spanglish firing on all cylinders, I spoke to the park ranger the next morning and she said the waves were usually smaller on low tide. She crossed herself and said Bueno Suerte, (good luck!) with a big smile. An hour after low tide we were assembled on the beach watching the waves. Scott looked green and Brian looked white. I was said to have morphed from tan to a dull yellow. A more sickly crew of mariners could not be found. Drawing down further of our pigmentation reserves, a crowd of park rangers, biologists and backpackers gathered to watch the carnage. Great, now we are being watched. The ranger said she never saw or heard of anyone paddling the Osa Peninsula by kayak, but I knew it had been done before by Joanne Turner and after that by some guys from the CASKE 2000 Central American Expedition. One of them blew his shoulder out from the surf west of Sirena and couldnbt continue. Ibm sure others will again, I know Ibll return one day if this day is a success. Each of us paddles offshore a bit and and keep a couple dozen paces apart. So far so good. A set comes in and they are much bigger here on the street than the view from the eco lodge with a cold beer cradled in my palm. We test the foam pile and it is quite weak allowing us to get right up to the impact zone. The pop of air is really quite stunning right in front and my adrenaline is redlined. After the biggest bang of them all we pop over the foam and see a clean green window. Run! I yell. We sprinted hard for 30 seconds, pop over the start of the new set and are safe in blue, blue water. The beach is similar for the next dozen miles. Low lying, coconut palm studded and dumpy waves. A reef juts out after a few miles making some fun paddling for a bit. Playa Pirobs shoreline rises more steeply and the jungle takes on a more ancient look. Cabo Matapalo rises high up into the clouds beyond. It is the sentinel to Golfo Dulce, one of the few tropical fjords on earth. Manta Raybs launch into the air beside us but photographing them is an insurmountable challenge. The odd sea turtle pokes its snout out of the water here and there to have a look. Cabo Matapalo is one of the best breaks in Costa Rica for board surfers. It sits across the gulf from Pavones, a frequent site for championships of board and kayak surfing. There are arches and rocks to run and the swell wrapping around the cape is quite fun to play in. The arches are filling up to the ceiling so we stay out of them, but enjoy the play of swell on cliff face. At Playa Matapalito, just around the corner, we land in a slightly more protected place, up the beach from a gaggle of surfers. Another fine evening of Capuchin Monkeys and Macaws and room temperature scotch. Brian hacks open another coconut. Brian leaves us the following morning as he wants to head to Puerto Jimenez to buy a bus ticket to San Jose for the following Monday. It is Semana Santa, holy week, and the larger than normal crowds this week necessitate his forward planning in order to get back to the airport on time. He will then use his remaining time to explore the beautiful Golfo Dulce and generally chill out. Scott and I head a mere 8 or 9 miles away to Puntarenitas. Just when we thought we were in permanently flat water Punta Tigrito comes alive with some really nice spilling waves and wraparound swells well offshore. We enjoy ourselves for 15 or 20 minutes before moving on. Puntarenitas is close to the tourism b epicenterb of Puerto Jimenez but we still manage to find a lonely beach to string the hammocks, not too tough here. A thunderstorm descends and we hit the hammocks for an hour until it plays out. The bolts and claps come together, too close for comfort and I wonder aloud how smart it is to be strung up between two trees in the midst of it. The rain is an impenetrable sheet and the woods come alive with frogs and insects. The moment is loud and beautiful and pricks all the senses at once. Scott and I decide on a fitness paddling pace for the 8.5 mile crossing to Golfito. We make the crossing in under 2 hours and after a cooling dip in the water, paddle another 2 miles to our take out in this sleepy, humid little town. Ibd love another week, or another year or two here. Ibve seen lonelier beaches in Alaska or British Columbia but could really care less. Take 10 steps off the trail here, or go a mile up river and you will be quite alone, just you the monkeys, snakes and crocodiles. *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. 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