Pulling a Steve Irwin

I hope that a simple reference to the late Australian crocodile hunter falls into the "bad taste" or "too soon" category. If that reference offended you, just pretend I referenced a different wildlife show host. One of my goals while galavanting around Costa Rica was to see as much exotic wildlife as possible. Before departing on my estuary tour yesterday, I checked sloths, lizards, chameleons, howler monkeys, spider monkeys, sloths, toucans and myriad crazy insects off my list. In fact, I bonded so strongly with one particular sloth that I'd consider our relationship much more than a mere acquaintanceship- he was the kind of cool dude I would enthusiastically call up to meet for a beer or some other form of chill session. I'm not on the up and up with what sloths do for enjoyment. 

At this point, no animal cameo surprises me. Six geckos commingling on the ceiling? Seen it. An iguana over a foot long clumsily strolling by the pool in which I'm swimming? No big deal. Tropical birds squawking outside my window all night? I barely hear them anymore. Yet for some reason, being about a foot away from a wild croc got my adrenaline pumping like it does while running a 10k race. 

My friends and I wanted to do a sunset sail in Tamarindo, but the rain and the fact that we were the only three who called with a reservation somehow deterred the sailing companies from embarking. Shock, right? So, an estuary tour seemed to be the next best thing. Our guide brought us within feet of crocs, herons and other birds, and took us on a breif stroll to see a family of howler monkeys. The babies were cuter then Honey Boo Boo with a baby kitten.