It can’t be,” I said to myself. I rubbed my eyes and looked through the binoculars again. The apparition was still there—it was moving its head, flicking its tail up and down, and showing that it had no intention of vanishing like a mirage does when one shifts one's position.
I was staring open-mouthed at a resplendent quetzal, about as appropriately named a bird as any bird could be. In the verdant rainforests of Costa Rica, I was lucky to see not one but four individuals of this species, including an adult male with his ridiculously showy tail, another one splendid in his shiny green and shocking red outfit, and a couple of females that were not quite as fancily dressed but nevertheless took my breath away. They did not seem particularly bothered by my group’s presence, feasting as they were on wild avocados and flying from one tree to another in search of the tastiest fruit.
In late June 2024, I travelled down the western and southern coast of Costa Rica, visiting fishing communities and nature reserves with my hosts who were members of Coope Solidar. They are a group of professionals who find the balance between conservation issues and development activities by working with local communities.
For decades before this trip, I’d heard that the country was a mecca for birders and naturalists so my expectations were high. I got what I bargained for; no matter where I went on the island, there was something evoking a “Wow,” followed by a quick scramble to focus the binoculars or camera, a flip through the bird guidebook I was carrying and a “What is that?” query to my guide. On many occasions, I did not even want to spend time jotting down the names in my notebook, afraid that I would miss something interesting in those few seconds.
The delights of nature can be seen everywhere if one has a keen and observant eye. On a visit to Tárcoles Beach, we watched a flock of wood storks waiting patiently for fish discarded by incoming boats and the magnificent frigatebird (yes, that is its full name), with its deeply forked tail, circling overhead with the same expectation. Nearly everywhere there were great-tailed grackles, the equivalent of our Indian crows whose ubiquity I’m more familiar with. Great kiskadees, with their bandit-like faces, could be spotted on wires and buildings, occasionally revealing a brilliant patch of gold on their head.
My biggest “Wow” however, was reserved for Corcovado National Park and the region of the ominously named Cerro de la Muerta (“mountain of death”). Upon landing at the national reserve, which is accessed by a rather bumpy motorboat ride from the town of Puerto Jiménez, we came across a small racoon-like animal. Unafraid of our presence, the coati shuffled across the forest floor, smelling the leaf litter and undergrowth for food. Soon after, a family of collared peccary also crossed the path ahead, the tiny babies scampering after their parent. We were also lucky enough to see a couple of Baird’s tapirs—their huge size surprised me—and on the trees above us, we spotted troupes of spider monkeys displaying their acrobatics and heard the call of howler monkeys.
It was, however, the birds that consistently took my breath away. From the brilliant scarlet-rumped tanager, the prehistoric looking crested guan and the massive great curassow, to the species that had the word “ant” in their name—antpitta, barred antshrike, antbird—I could hardly keep track of them all.
A regal looking bare-throated tiger heron showed off on the roof of the national park’s Biological Station, while grouchy-faced black vultures stared hopefully at us. The quetzal equivalent here was the northern black-throated trogon, a pigeon-sized bird that nature, in all its mysteries, had given a stunning combination of ochre yellow, blue, shiny green and red. However, the bird that truly left me speechless with delight was a tiny streak-chested antpitta that called out to its mate by puffing out its stomach, pulling it back in and uttering a loud multi-note whistle call. In the distance, its call was returned.
In the midst of all this bird watching, my excellent guide, Carolina Guerrero, would point out other creatures: a golden weaver spider with its expansive web glittering in the sunlight that filtered through the canopy, a huge owl butterfly with its fake eyes flitting by and various species of colourful fungi. Pointing to a red-coloured tree trunk of the species Bursera simaruba, she told us that it was called the “naked indigenous tree.” I winced at what seemed to be a racist nomenclature but then she pointed to another specimen of the same species, where the red bark was peeling away to reveal a whitish surface, and told us it was called a “naked gringo tree.”
No account of Costa Rica’s wildlife would be complete without paying homage to those tiny jewels of the air: hummingbirds. At the wonderfully located Paraiso Quetzal Lodge, there was a hummingbird garden with feeders. The frenzy of activity at these sites was mesmerising—imagine four different types of hummingbirds darting in to put their sharp beaks into holes filled with sugar syrup, having their fill, then darting back and hovering close by, awaiting their next turn. Particularly stunning were the fiery-throated hummingbirds—their throat colours changing from green to an astonishing flaming red in the twinkle of an eye—and the Talamanca hummingbirds with their extra-long beaks. In the well-curated flower garden and forest patch that stretched downhill from the lodge, I saw a wrenthrush with its surprising red-gold cap skulking around. Local guide Jesus Fallas helped me identify an otherwise bewilderingly confusing set of sightings.
My final experience of Costa Rica’s wildlife was at the Terra Valiente (“brave earth”) retreat and its adjoining Finca Luna Nueva Lodge, near the town of La Fortuna. These ecologically conscious campuses, with their organic food production and sustainable architecture, are worth writing about but I will stick to describing the wildlife I encountered.
Over four days, I watched the very odd-looking and oddly named Montezuma oropendola, the keel-billed toucan with its multi-coloured beak, hundreds of white-crowned parrots, bright yellow-crowned euphanias, the red-legged honeycreeper with its stunning blues, and two species of tanagers sporting a combination of jet black and dark red plumage. Disappointingly, I missed getting a good view of the three-toed sloth that supposedly (and literally) hung around the lodge’s premises.
I nearly made up for my loss by catching sight of some amazing creatures on a night walk led by nature guides at the lodge. I was delighted with the fulfillment of a lifelong desire to see the iconic red-eyed tree frog, its astonishing coloured eyes matched by its blood-red toes. A prehistoric helmeted basilisk glared at us with its baleful eyes and I finally saw how damselflies sleep—hanging on the end of tree tendrils.
While I don’t want to spoil the image of Costa Rica as a veritable paradise for wildlife lovers that I’ve painted above, I’d be remiss to not put in a word on the darker side of this thriving country.
The impacts of mass tourism, the invasion of rich investors from the United States and other countries who are buying up land, the resulting displacement of local communities and their lifestyles, the expansion of monocultural African palm plantations for oil, and other such processes are fairly evident to a casual observer. Several decades of welfare policies and intelligent decision-making on trying to balance development and the value of the environment are being overturned in recent times.
What this means for the many non-human animals that currently co-exist with people is not difficult to foresee. Positively though, there are also voices that are countering this narrative and urging more ecological sanity in decision-making.
As I left to head back to India, where similar struggles are being witnessed, it was with a strange mix of memories. Nothing, however, could take away from that first glimpse of a resplendent quetzal and the moment I came across a red-eyed tree frog.
Nature continues to inspire and provide hope even in a world where doom and gloom seems so pervasive.
The Sirena Ranger Station in Corcovado is a seven-to eight-hour drive from San José and has good dormitory accommodation with bunk beds, common washrooms, a dining room and a utility store. Several nature hikes begin from here. Food and lodging cost approximately INR 10,075 but guide fees, which are mandatory, can vary.
The Paraiso Quetzal Lodge is a 90 minute-to two-hour drive from San José. It is beautifully surrounded by rolling hills and offers quetzal and birding tours, hiking opportunities, and other activities. Room rates range from approximately INR 8,396-16,792 per night.
You can also consider the Tierra Valiente and Finca Luna Nueva Lodge, about half an hour from La Fortuna and about two-and-a-half hours from Juan Santamaría International Airport in San José.
Tierra Valiente's room rates are anywhere between INR 12,593-16,791. The Finca Luna Nueva Lodge offers services like yoga activities and nature hikes. Room rates are anywhere between INR 11,754-23,508.