"Almost there," Gorinsky would say, standing in the bow and signaling with his hands for Mon to steer right or left. Every 50 yards or so there was a new obstacle, and the horrible sound of propeller against wood was never long out of our ears. At one point the smaller of the two boats tried to tow the larger boat over a log obstruction. Mon gunned the engine full throttle, and the cleat pulled out, rocketing backward and hitting the trailing boat with a startling whack. "This may not be worth dying over," Pedro said.
We never did reach the lagoon. We turned back shortly after running across a small caiman. We approached within four feet and dropped a frog popper on its nose. Even the caiman wouldn't strike.
The great thing was, we got to do it all over again on the way back.
But, as advertised, our visit to Costa Rica qualified as an adventure. We didn't catch fish, but we certainly had a visual feast. We saw an electric blue butterfly fluttering in the rain forest. We saw toucans. We saw tapir tracks. Pablo got to swing on a vine. Unfortunately, this wasn't a Tarzan movie. The vine broke, and he took a plunge. And, finally, we heard howler monkeys feeding nearby.
Pedro howled back at them. Actually, it was more like a series of grunts. The howler monkeys answered him, which pleased him no end. They began coming closer, swinging on vines, moving through the uppermost branches of the trees with remarkable speed. They were black, about the size of house cats.
"Uh-oh," Gorinsky said. "Let's get out of here. I know what they have in mind."
"Indeed," Pedro said, slipping on his hat. "The final word on our trip."