A Crash Course on Costa Rica: Part Three Los Chiles

This fine map of Costa Rica courtesy of www.freeworldmaps.net

The original can be found here: http://www.freeworldmaps.net/centralamerica/costarica/

The Road to Los Chiles:

Before we were out of sight of the Cabinas our cab driver was already talking a thousand miles an hour even though he was well aware we spoke very minimal Spanish. And before we get any further with this leg of the story, let’s pause for a bit of character development for our good friend the cab driver. He was in his late fifties or early sixties, slightly above average height for a Tico, and had a good sized beer belly. Both times we saw him he was wearing long pants with a short sleeve polyester button up shirt, which was of course, mostly unbuttoned.  He wore his hair short and slicked back with an incredible amount of grease. When he was talking he used his entire body and was very dramatic about almost everything he did. From what we could tell he had at least four cell phones which he was constantly either talking or texting with. The calls ranged from what seemed like friendly chats with buddies to what was definitely an angry lady friend of some kind. Always quick to point at any car doing something unsafe and call them loco but just as quick to do something equally as reckless.  Despite being a little strange he seemed a good sort and was more than friendly to us.

Less than ten minutes from the hotel, still in the heart of Liberia, he pulled over in front of a small store and politely asked us to wait. We were both kind of confused but told him it was no problem. He disappeared inside the building and I stepped out on the sidewalk for a smoke. It was almost ten minutes later when he came back out talking loudly on his cell phone. He signaled for me to head back to the truck and told me I could smoke in the cab. This was a very welcome surprise and made me feel much much better about the long ride we were about to take. We got in the truck and pulled off, the driver still arguing on his cell phone.  I was relieved to finally be on our way until I noticed we were just going in a circle around the block and pulled back up at the same store. Me and Pat both laughed and I asked what was going on. “Uno momento uno momento” he said as he jumped out of the truck and ran back inside. This time after several minutes he returned with a large cooler containing  wheels of fresh cheese. He told us he was a cheese maker and that his family owned cows.  We pulled away from the store once again this time heading out of town and getting on HWY 1, this time bearing south.

We went through the usual easy-to-translate small talk and told him we were in Costa Rica to fish. He pointed down the road and said something about Tilapia which didn’t really interest either of us but we were polite and feigned enthusiasm. He slowed down at the small rivers and irrigation canals we passed and pointed, usually saying something about Tilapia. We were maybe 20 minutes down the road when he pulled over at a small stand on the shoulder of the highway. This would be the first of many unscheduled but interesting stops we would make on our journey.  He bought us all small cups of lukewarm coffee and some kind of spongy bar like pastry. The pastry was kind of plain but I am always hungry and liked it quite a bit. Not even five miles past the stand he pointed at two cars parked on the opposite side of the road near a small river. He said something about Tilapia again and pulled over. We were both a little annoyed because we had a long way to go still but we got out of the truck anyway. What the hell, I thought, might as well at least give it a looksie. We crossed the highway and followed a footpath through the forest.  We snuck our way through a barbed wire fence and headed down to the small muddy creek where we found three locals fishing for Tilapia. Two of them were using long thin earthworms they had dug up themselves and the other had a homemade dough bait. They had over a dozen nice Tilapia on their stinger and while we were standing there one of them caught a small catfish. That was enough to get me all sorts of hot and bothered. I asked the driver if we could please stay there for twenty minutes and he was more than happy to let us fish. We grabbed our gear and I tried to buy some worms from the guys on the bank. They refused to take my money and let me use some of their exotic worms. I immediately started catching tetra after tetra. Pat had the same problem at first but eventually caught one of the cool little cats.

Barbudo (Rhamdia sp.)

Between Tetras I caught a Tilapia and to the hilarity of our new fishing companions the fish flopped back in the water before a picture could be taken.  We tried for a little bit longer than we intended but eventually I accepted defeat.  Although we could barely communicate we had a fun time with our new angling companions, showing each other pictures of our catches and Pat gave them a bunch of hooks we no longer needed.  We made our way back to the truck after thanking the other fisherman and we were back on our way.

It wasn’t long after this that we turned off of HWY1 and headed east up into the mountains. At first it was more of the same type of landscape we had grown used to except slightly more rural. Pastures and fields brown from lack of rain mixed with some equally thirsty looking forest. He pointed out all the cattle we went by and would excitedly say each time “cows,cows,vacas,vacas!” This is also when he seriously stepped up his phone game, just as the roads began to get dangerous. As we went further east and to higher elevations than we had experienced yet, things started to change fast. Almost in the blink of an eye the foliage became a vibrant and healthy green and the air got noticeably cooler.  It started to lightly mist as we came down into a small valley that held a village but stopped by the time our driver stopped in front of one of its small stores. I thought maybe he had to use the bathroom or something but after rambling off something in Spanish he grabbed the cooler of cheese and went inside the store. Me and Pat stayed in the truck and laughed hysterically once he was inside the building. What the hell had we gotten ourselves into? Who was this crazy hustler of cheese and transport? We were in the middle of nowhere now and it was much too late for these questions. Our only choice was to hang on and hope we got to Los Chiles in one piece.  He was only inside for maybe five minutes this time before he came back out looking disappointed and carrying his cooler. He hadn’t been able to sell his cheese and said he was sorry for making us wait. We headed down the road again stopping at three more mountain grocery stores before he was able to off his curdled cargo. This was kind of annoying but the sheer force of the guy’s personality made the idea of saying something seem insane. The further we headed east the more giant fields replaced pasture.  Thousands of acres of Pineapple, Yucca and sugar cane lined the road on both sides.  Now his phone use reached a level I have seen few other humans attain. The man could talk and text like a 15 year old girl overdosed on Adderall.  He was constantly getting calls on all of his phones, hanging up with one person only to answer another phone or dial a different number. He shuffled through his four cell phones while driving speeds anywhere from half to twice the legal limit on the shoulderless mountain roads. Every once in awhile he would break away from one of his heated conversations, hit me on the shoulder and yell “Alejandro! Alejandro! Piña! Piña!” while pointing to one of the bajillion pineapple fields we passed. During the very few pauses he did take between telephone conversations he spoke to us constantly. Most of these conversations were about the agriculture and exports of costa rica. At least four times he said to us “ Costa Rica exporta  piña, yucca, cafe, carne, mango, melon…”. One of the times he was going through the list I suggested “papaya?” He got a  look that bordered between annoyed and disgruntled and said “No! No exporta papaya!” With a tone that suggested I was not very bright and that this was his story.   Every small village and I mean every village we would pass through he would honk and wave at people or houses explaining that they were amigos or familia. At one of these small towns we pulled over along the side of the road and a young man came up to the cab. After quite a bit of confusion we eventually figured out that this was his son. Mind you this is a few hours from where he picked us up. Our next surprise stop would be by far the longest and weirdest.

We were deep in the rainforested mountains not near any kind of village or town when we came to a massive pole barn. We pulled into a gravel parking lot filled with cars, trucks and livestock trailers and much to our surprise, stopped. The barn only had a roof and two side walls with open walls on the other two sides. There were two levels, the top being a walkway for humans and the bottom a fenced in area for cattle. Confused as the day I was born I got out of the truck and could hear an auctioneer rambling off words and numbers in Spanish. We both had no idea what was going on and our driver offered little explanation besides his usual “uno momento” before disappearing into the auction. I shrugged my shoulders at Pat and told him I was going to have a look while he kept an eye on our stuff in the back of the truck.

I walked up a two tiered ramp and made my way along the suspended platform above the cows amidst a sea of latino cowboys. I was surprised by how healthy they were for living in such a hot climate, the cows I had seen in Mexico and Florida were sickly and sad in comparison. I made a lap around the outside of the perimeter and went back to the cab hoping the driver would be there. No dice. Its was over twenty minutes later before he returned with a confused and apprehensive looking man who he introduced as his familia. After a good ten minute conversation with the man they parted ways and then he told us he needed to use the bathroom. Pat said he did as well and followed our driver back up the ramp into the auction.

Pat came back first after only a few minutes but the driver was gone at least another ten. It was almost forty minutes before we got back on our way this time. I was starting to wonder if we were going to make it to Los Chiles and how much this guy was going to charge me if we did.

After the auction we didn’t make any more stops for quite awhile and I felt like we were actually getting somewhere.

It was dusk when we came to a small town where we pulled over by a small rickety bridge. He said something to us about iguanas and motioned for me to follow him out on the bridge. The area we had parked in was across the street from a small market and I was thirsty like shit and needed a snack badly. I told our driver I needed water and went across the street to get a snack as well as a much needed break from listening to this crazy man. I have never met another human who could maintain such a constant stream of chatter let alone at this level of intensity. I really liked this guy and was glad to be back on the strangeness torpedo but listening to him was starting to exhaust me. As I walked up to the market I noticed it was some kind of gift shoppy type convenience store for tourists. Everything was expensive and the food I got was terrible. Another strange thing was the fact there were quite a few white people around. Usually we would only see a few every day and there were at least a dozen here all. This place was a total buzz kill so I hurried back over to the truck. The driver was still very much intent on me seeing these iguanas so I followed him out on to the rickety bridge. Dozens of large iguanas were perched in the the treetops high above a super tasty looking river. They varied in size and I’m pretty sure that at least two species were present. It was cool to see the giant reptiles lounging in the canopy but it was getting dark and we still had a ways to go. The cab driver followed behind us slowly all the while on his cell phone having some kind of argument. We got in the truck and waited while he continued his argument another five minutes before getting in himself. By the time we were through the sprawling mountain village it was dark and we had no idea where we were or how much further it was to Los Chiles.

The last leg of the trip was uneventful in comparison to the previous hours we had spent on the road and I was glad for it. He had slowed down on his phone use big time shortly after it got dark and maintained a pretty even and quick speed.  After maybe an hour of driving through the dark mountains we came to the small village of Los Chiles. The streets were mostly dark in this section of town and the only people we saw were crowded outside of a market drinking beers and not looking super friendly. Our driver pulled over and talked to an older man on a bicycle on the edge of the crowd. He said something in Spanish and pointed down a dark side street while the rest of the group stared at us with less than welcoming expressions. We drove off the direction the man pointed and after a few turns down deserted and poorly lit streets we arrived at The Cabinas y Carolina. I went inside and secured a room while Pat waited with the cab driver. I was greeted by Señora Thelma who was very friendly and knew quite a bit of English. She gave me the keys and wrote down the WiFi password for me which was Gazpar15. Gazpar is the local name for Gar and I took this as a good omen. I thanked the kind Señora and went back out to the truck to settle up with our driver. The fare turned out to be even steeper than I had expected and cost many days of room and board. I was a little shocked but too tired and strung out to argue with the man. After I paid his exuberant fee we thanked him and hauled our gear into the cabina.

Los Chiles -  First Impressions

We were both starving and after we stashed our gear we went directly to the small soda attached to the cabinas. We both ordered Casados which was basically what we would eat for the rest of the trip.

Casados are a traditional Costa Rican meal served at almost every soda and home across the country but are always slightly different from kitchen to kitchen and day to day. The Casados at the Carolina consisted of a very fresh green salad, black beans and rice, a fresh beet salad and your choice of protein. The choices for meat were chicken, steak, pork steak, smoked pork chop and fish. Between the two of us we tried all of the combos over the course of our stay.

After dinner we needed to get more tobacco, beer and water so we set off for the mercado we had seen earlier. The streets were dark and quiet, this was a much less developed area compared to Liberia. By the time we reached the small market the crowd had thinned a bit but there was still a small gathering of slightly unsavory looking characters milling about outside. After purchasing our supplies we headed back to the cabina before anyone decided they had a reason to not like us. We made it back without any kind of incident and after a few smokes while plotting a bit for the morning we retired to our room to hit the sack. When I went to take a shower that night I was greeted by a surprise I had been waiting for.  Most of the cabinas we had stayed in so far on the trip didn’t have hot water which was usually just fine being how warm it was already. The Carolina however had what is known as a “suicide shower.” A Suicide Shower is a plastic shower head with electricity running to it which heats up the water as it comes out.

You heard that right electricity and water just hanging out together above your head. There was a small switch that turned this wacky device on but needless to say we both took cold showers.

The next morning we decided we would do a scouting trip to the where the Rio Frio ran through town just to see what we were dealing with.  The Rio Frio was a much fish for us, being home to the elusive Tropical Gar.  We had no idea if we were going to be able to fish or not and it was over half a mile to the river so we didn’t take any gear. The air was ultra humid but cooler than the previous areas we had visited. It had rained lightly that morning before we woke up, leaving behind a thick fog and cloud cover. As we walked through the small, quiet village toward the river I felt more relaxed than the night before. It seemed like a very interesting place, so different from the previous areas that it felt like we were in a new country. About halfway to the river we passed a small radio station with a green Gar for its logo, I hoped this was a sign of our building gar ju-ju.

Not far beyond the radio station we rounded a corner and the river came into view in the distance. The street dead ended at the river where there was a small boat ramp and wide concrete staircase going down to the river. We hooked a right and headed upstream just as two small stray dogs from the adjacent park took an interest in us. The smaller of the two was the obvious leader and Pat named him Sparky. He turned out be a pretty cool dog and was very excited to take a walk down the bank of the river with us. Sparky soon took the lead and was bouncing, barking and posturing up a storm letting everyone know who ran the show.

His zeal for adventure was so great that he quickly earned himself the title of Sparky the Adventure Dog.  By now it was apparent that there was plenty of space to fish and that no one was likely to give us a hard time about it. We had completed our mission but I couldn’t help walking just a little further up the well worn path. Large trees and other flora that looked like something out of Fern Gully lined the high mud banks. The water was light brown and full of woody cover,  reminding me a lot of the Minnesota river back home besides the strange plants and tropical birds. A light rain started and upset the howler monkeys on the opposite bank who  began to cry out their disapproval. Up ahead of us perched under a tree that was overhanging the river was a small boy with a handline. As I got closer I noticed he had a small plastic bag like you would get from a convenience store half full of squirming fish. When I reached him I looked in the bag and saw that it was full of Flier cichlids, a fish that I really wanted to catch on this trip.  Pat and Sparky had lingered behind and suddenly I heard a commotion coming from back where they had stayed.  I turned back around and headed toward Pat to see what Sparky was all riled up about. I found them well off of the trail near the base of a large tree. Sparky had both of his paws up on the trunk of a tree as high as he could reach and was frantically barking at something while Pat stood back at a distance.  Pat saw me coming and explained that Sparky had some kind of beef with the monkey who lived in the tree and refused to leave. The monkey had apparently broken off small sticks from the tree and thrown them at Sparky who now wanted a fight. I didn’t see it at first but I eventually spotted the small black and white striped monkey our new friend was calling out. After watching the two go back and forth for a minute we started back toward the trail and called to Sparky telling him to let it go. Sparky let loose a few more angry barks before deciding it was a stalemate and following us down the path.

When we reached the edge of the forest Sparky decided he had better things to do and took off for the park we had found him in. We were both sad to see him go but eager to start fishing as we made or way back to the cabina. The convenience store was open this time when we reached it so I took advantage and stocked up on supplies. As I was leaving the store I opened a fresh pack of cigarettes and lit one up. This caught the attention of a young man leaned up against the building with a bicycle. He approached me with a smile asking awkwardly in english for one cigarette. He was in his early twenties, had long black hair, and was wearing a Dream Theater shirt that didn’t quite fit because of how skinny he was.  He was a typical neighborhood flunky and I immediately liked him. I gave him two cigarettes and made a comment about liking his shirt which he seemed to understood but answered in Spanish. He started riding his bike alongside of me as we walked back to the cabina trying his best to make small talk. We eventually got on a topic that we both understood and I decided to go with my new friend on a short side quest. I told Pat I would meet him at the room shortly and followed my long haired guide into the unpaved streets of the residential section of town. I won’t bore you with details anymore than I have besides saying it was successful.

Los Chilies -  Rio Medio Queso, First Fish

After a kick ass breakfast at the Carolina we grabbed our fishing gear and headed out in high spirits. We decided instead of going back to the Rio Frio we would try a different spot we had found a little further away. It was just over a mile and a half from our hotel down a rural dirt road on the Rio Medio Queso. We had learned about this spot while doing research for our trip and had a good feeling it would be productive. It was a short walk from our room to the gravel road on the edge of town that lead to the river. Near where the gravel met the main road there was an old airstrip in the middle of an open grassy field.  As we walked past the primitive runway it seemed out of place and I couldn’t help but wonder how much cocaine and guns were transported using it. Los Chiles is only a few miles from Nicaragua and during the 1980’s it was a crucial part of the Contra rebels supply line. It was surreal  to be in a place that had once been crawling with CIA agents and heavily armed militants, adding to the strangeness of an already totally foreign place. Once we past the airstrip the only buildings on the road were a tiny Narcotics Anonymous building, a fire station and a farm. After that it was pasture and sugarcane fields dotted with small patches of forest for as far as we could see. We walked almost a mile before we saw any vehicles and when we did it was a large commercial truck hauling sugar cane. Eventually the sugarcane field ended at a forested area and we noticed that the road dropped down a steep hill ahead.  When we reached the top of the hill we could see that it sloped down into a swampy lowland area of sprawling unfenced pasture. At the bottom of the hill the road was lined with trees and on each side there were shallow weedy ditches filled with water running its entire length. A quarter of a mile after the hill the road dead ended near a small shack on the banks of the Medio Queso. Resisting the urge to fish the canals we made our way to the main river. When we got to the end of the road we observed a steel cable running across the river to a cobbled together ferry parked on the opposite bank. The ferry was just a little longer and wider than a mid sized truck and was made of different colored pieces of scrap tin and large wooden planks. Near the front of the barge, on the side we were facing, one of the pieces of scrap tin had the words “Servico Especial” painted across it upside down. The two men who operated the ferry spent the majority of their time sitting in the small pocket of shade created by the tiny Eyore esque three walled shack that sat just above the high water mark. Every once in awhile they would take a break from smoking cigarettes and one would pound on the ferry’s ramps with a hammer while the other revved the engine on a generator near the shack.  Very few people showed up to use the ferry and it looked like a hot boring job.

The small windowless shack on the upstream side of the road was filled with people so we decided to play it safe and fish on the downstream side.

A lone tree provided the only shade in the otherwise wide open marshy pasture so we took advantage and set up underneath of it. Wasting no time we both tied up and I opened another can of the smoked octopus to use for bait. We started getting bites almost immediately which turned out to be from the ever present almost piranha like Tetras.

Tetra (Astyanax sp.)

We kept a few to use for bait as well as to send a message to the other would-be bait stealing tetras. Though they were fun to catch, the tetras were becoming a serious nuisance eating anything and everything we threw into the water. It was around this time that Pat started fishing with Berkley Gulp, something I’ve never been impressed with in the past.  This trip is turned out to be stinky gold, holding up to the tetras much better than the octopus and the cut Tetra.  I now recant all negative statements I have made about Gulp and will be sure to keep some handy for emergencies.

We started fishing closer to the bank in less than a foot of water amongst some flooded terrestrial vegetation. There were still some tetras in close but we started to catch some cichlids in the thick grass as well.

Pat was the first to get through the tetras and caught another Nicaragua cichlid on Gulp. I was a little jealous but much more hopeful that I would catch one.

Nicaragua cichlid (Hypsophrys nicaraguensis)

After a little more prodding around the weedy shallows I hooked my first lifer of the day a brightly colored Flier cichlid.

Flier cichlid (Archocentrus centrarchus)

It wasn’t very big but I was very excited by this colorful little fish as I had wanted this species badly since I learned of it’s existence a little more than a year before.  The Flier cichlid would be a common catch during the remainder of our trip and were by far the most common Cichlid in the area. It wasn’t long before Pat had one too and the Flier floodgates opened.

Flier cichlid (Archocentrus centrarchus)

The Fliers were almost always near thick cover like wood or weeds just like the Flier sunfish from North America. This was also true to a lesser extent for the other species of cichlid we caught.

The octopus and Gulp were working pretty well but I really wished we had something fresh and longed for a dozen gas station redworms. I knew there were some kind of earthworms in the area having seen one smashed on the road that morning and decided to investigate the surrounding bank. I flipped over the rocks and logs along the grassy bank searching for a fresh live bait in vain. I was just about to give up and go back to using the bait we had when I noticed the fabric from a three quarters buried sand bag poking up out of the dirt. After a bit of yanking and cursing I freed the bag from its shallow grave and inspected the soil I had disturbed in the process. Amongst the dirt clods I was able to find a few very small but bait worthy worms. I baited up and cautiously lowered one of the little worms into a hole in the vegetation. Something swooped out and crushed it almost immediately but I wasn’t able to hook it. I re-baited with one of my few precious worms and tried again. This time I was rewarded with a Nicaraguan cichlid!

Nicaragua cichlid (Hypsophrys nicaraguensis)

It was a female and more drab than the specimens Pat had caught but I was ecstatic none the less. My two remaining worms were murdered by tetras shortly after and I had to go back to using pieces of squid, octopus and Gulp. The rest of the day I couldn’t help but wonder how much better we would have done with a good supply of fresh worms.

Pat was the next to get something new when he walked a little further downstream and pulled this Loiselle's cichlid

Loiselle's cichlid (Parachromis loisellei)

I tried further down the bank as well but only could catch more Tetras and Flier. I was starting to get worried when I hooked a fish with a longer darker body that looked a lot like a Loiselle’s.

Once I got it to hand I knew it wasn’t a Loiselle’s and for a fleeting second thought I had a Rainbow Bass.

Jaguar guapote (Parachromis managuensis)

Upon closer inspection I realized it was a Jaguar guapote cichlid the same species I had caught from ditches of South Florida. Even though it wasn’t very big or a lifer it was really cool to catch one of these awesome fish from their native habitat.

We were starting to run low on fresh Tetra chunks at this point so me and Pat both started casting out into the open water for a few more. During our bait gathering duties I hooked a slightly spunkier fish out in the main current. I saw it jump halfway in, revealing itself to be a very large Tetra.

Longjaw Tetra (Bramocharax bransfordii)

Once I had it to shore I noticed it had a much larger mouth and sharp teeth, this was definitely something new. Pat was excited to see the new species and said he thought it was the Killer (longjaw) tetra we had seen in the studies for this area. He made some casts toward the middle of the small river and after a few missed bites had his own Longjaw on the bank.

Longjaw Tetra (Bramocharax bransfordii)

They turned out to be plentiful in the faster deeper parts of the river and we took advantage, pausing our mission to catch a few of the nimble micro predators.

I went back to fishing the shallow weed edge as the sun grew oppressively hot and burned off the remaining cloud cover. After some more of the usual suspects and a few thoughts of failure, I finally managed to land a chubby little Loiselle’s.

Loiselle's cichlid (Parachromis loisellei)

It was late afternoon by now and I was getting pretty worn out from the sun as well as running low on tobacco and water. We decided to make our way back to town for supplies and some shade before the evening bite. The white gravel road was dusty and hot as we made our way away from the river toward the hill at the edge of the valley. Along the way we stopped and fished the canals that ran adjacent to the road. I only had minimal luck but Pat found himself a honey hole and caught a slew of darkly colored cichlids.

Flier cichlid (Archocentrus centrarchus)

Jaguar guapote (Parachromis managuensis)

The area he was fishing was less than a foot of stagnant water with dense vegetation and it was full of hungry fish. It was crazy to see so many cichlids surviving in such a small area with little food or oxygen. Eventually the bite slowed down and we got ourselves back on the gravel road heading toward Los Chiles. About a quarter of a mile after topping the hill we heard a vehicle coming from behind us and moved off to the side of the road. It slowed as it approached and once it was alongside of us stopped completely. Two men smiled from inside a purple Isuzu Trooper and motioned for us to jump into the small trailer they were hauling. We happily accepted their offer and moved around the back of the vehicle to climb aboard. The trailer was full of large fertilizer sacks and only four feet wide by six feet long but we managed to get semi comfortable. Bumping along in the small cart I relished the breeze created by our speed and the  fact that I didn’t have to walk back into town. Near the edge of town we pulled over to the side and me and Pat got out on to the shoulder. I offered the men money but they refused saying “Pura Vida” before driving off down a side street. This kind of kindness seemed to be the rule here in Costa Rica and made me feel a little better about being a human.

First crack at the Rio Frio

During a late lunch of Casados we decided to try the Rio Frio that evening.  Once we had finished our home cooked meals we walked to the store for supplies before resting in the A/C for a few hours. The sun eventually began its retreat to the horizon and as the temperature became tolerable for fishing again we made our way to the water. This time when we got to the river there were a few groups of people fishing, mostly older women with children. Further up the trail we found an unoccupied area and staked our claim on the small section of mud bank. Pat set up for cichlids but I rigged up my heavier rod in hopes of tangling with the mythical Gazpar that swim in these muddy waters. Without too much trouble I caught a few tetras with my smaller gear and casted one out on a bottom rig. It wasn’t long before I was getting weird bumps and bites galore, eventually reeling in this Nile Tilapia.

Nile tilapia (Oreochromis niloticus)

I couldn’t believe the Tilapia had eaten an entire tetra and I realized then I really had my work cut out for me. I re-baited and pitched my rig out to the same spot as before and waited for another bite. I started to notice fish surfacing that could have been gar but I wasn’t positive until I seen a large black Gazpar surface not far from where I was casting. Meanwhile Pat had moved down the bank and was catching a variety of tetras and cichlids around a large submerged stump.

Honduran redpoint cichlid (Amatitlania siquia)

Creek tetra (Bryconamericus scleroparius)

Flier cichlid (Archocentrus centrarchus)

I continued working my bottom rig hoping one of the opportunistic gar would find my helpless Tetra but for the most part only caught snags. It was almost sunset by the time I caught another fish and although it wasn’t my intended target I was pretty happy with this catch.

Guatemalan catfish (Rhamdia guatemalensis)

The Barbado catfish was the would be sneak thief this time, a species of antennae catfish I was really hoping to encounter during this trip.

Guatemalan catfish (Rhamdia guatemalensis)

With darkness closing in the cichlid bite had died and Pat switched over to a bottom rig as well. Before too long he was landing a catfish of his own, this time an obviously different species that was more elongate and lighter colored.

Nicaraguan Catfish (Rhamdia nicaraguensis)

The bite picked up as it got darker, both of us catching quite a few of the neat little cats. At one point we even managed a double of the two different species.

Top :Nicaraguan Catfish (Rhamdia nicaraguensis)

Bottom: Guatemalan catfish (Rhamdia guatemalensis)

The funny thing was we both kept catching the opposite species from one another. Try as we might we could only capture one species of catfish a piece that night and both felt a little cursed. We did manage to catch a few of these cool little juvenile Machacas fishing for bait though.

Machaca del Atlantico (Brycon costaricensis)

We headed back to the cabina as it was getting dark, feeling sunburnt, tired and happy from an unforgettable day of fishing.

Day 2 - Return to the Rio Frio and evening on the Rio Medio Queso

The following morning was a cloudy, gray Sunday and when I went out to have my first cigarette it was lightly raining. As we made our way to the river that morning the streets were all but empty which seemed a little unusual to us. When we reached the center of town where the church was located we could see through the open windows that it was packed to capacity. This explained the lack of people in the streets and why almost everything was closed. It seems most Costa Ricans take their Sundays very seriously with mandatory church in the morning and equally mandatory partying the remainder of the day. I wondered how this would affect our ease of supply gathering and counted my remaining cigarettes nervously.

A light rain had started again by the time we had reached the Rio Frio and I was a little worried it might turn nasty on us. The river seemed to be more active than usual this morning unlike the sleepy streets of Los Chiles. Fish were surfacing all over the river with a much greater frequency than we had previously observed in this area. At first we couldn’t make out what they were but we eventually spotted Gars, huge Tarpon and even a large black Otter scoring Sunday brunch. I had seen pictures of Tarpon from this river on the web but witnessing a massive one roll in the small muddy river blew my mind. It was quite a sight but I hadn’t traveled this far to fish for a Tarpon, I was here for El Gazpar. The only species of Gar that inhabits this part of the world is Atractosteus tropicus the Tropical gar which also happens to be the second largest species in the world. Their range stretches from the southern tip of Mexico to Northern Costa Rica just south of where we were currently fishing. I had obsessed over these creatures for nearly two years and not even huge Tarpon were going to stray me from my mission. Discouraged by the amount of tackle I lost the day before while bottom rigging I decided to use a float this time and rigged up accordingly. Pat was still intent on catching the last few species of cichlid in the area and was working his rig around the woody cover near the muddy bank.

Not long after we rigged up the rain stopped and enough sun to make a rainbow found it’s way through the clouds. The rest of the morning turned out to be beautiful and was some of the most comfortable fishing weather we had.

While I was making drift after fruitless drift with my float and tetra combo, I saw Pat catch something from the large stump he was fishing near. I moved down the bank toward him as he was taking pictures of a little Sleeper goby.

Bigmouth sleeper (Gobiomorus dormitor)

I stopped to admire the cool little fish having only seen a few and then moved further down the bank to try drifting some more. I relocated on a corner where I had bottom rigged the day before and had some strange runs. After dozens of drifts with not so much as a nibble and casting off my second baits I was starting to get discouraged. Catching a Tetra proved more difficult than usual and took me over ten frustrating minutes. While I was struggling with tetras, down the bank Pat was laying the smack down on a bunch of unsuspecting cichlids.  He also located a soda bottle which we eventually figured out was modified by some enterprising local to catch tetras.  By putting a little cornmeal in the bottle we had all the tetras we needed.

After a few hours of not catching a damn thing while drifting I decided to switch my rig again. This time I tied up a light mono break away at the bottom of my mainline and put a loop in my line about six feet up. I tied a size one hook to to the loop, attached a squirming tetra and awkwardly lobbed the rig out into the current. Pat had moved closer to me now and was still putting the hurt on the smaller inhabitants of the river. He caught a whole gamut of cichlids and tetras, and at one point he even landed this small Nile tilapia.

Nile tilapia (Oreochromis niloticus)

Seeing so many cool fish caught made me question spending so much time on gar but I couldn’t bring myself to stop trying. I was in the process of tying up my third breakaway rig when my friend with the long hair came walking out of the woods with the same dirty Dream Theater

Shirt on. Behind him were three more chaps near the same age in a similar state of dishevelment. I was a little nervous when I recognized one of his friends from the not so friendly crowd from outside of the market. This nervousness was short lived however as they all were very friendly and seemed to mean us no harm. One of them was surprisingly good at English and served as a translator for the group. They stuck around drinking vodka and trying to give me tips on how I could catch a Gaspar. They all began shouting things I couldn’t understand in Spanish and it started to get a little overwhelming.  After a lot of shouting and hand motions I eventually switched to a bottom rig with a very short leader per their instructions. I did this not only to settle them down but also because I was desperate to catch a Gaspar and was willing to try anything. I got some pretty good rips that morning but wasn’t able to hook any of the fish. At one point after I missed a good rip the guy who spoke the most english said “ah ah no Guapote for you today Alejandro.” To which me and Pat laughed hysterically. Fishing was kind of slow but we had a great time hanging out with these local ne’er do wells on this overcast steamy morning. By noon I was exasperated from getting rips without hooking up and bid our new amigos farewell before going back to the Cabinas Carolina for lunch.

When we got back to the Carolina, Senora Thelma was outside and waved us over to talk. She told us that the restaurant closed at three on Sundays so if we wanted our Casados we had to get them before then. I told her I most certainly did want my Casados and was back in the restaurant soon after stashing my rods.
 

That evening we decided to fish the Rio Medio Queso to see what the twilight bite might bring. When we arrived there was a group of locals with handlines fishing behind the shack where the boats were moored. A herd of cattle had moved in across the river to graze as well, having their own Sunday fiesta in the swampy grasses along the muddy bank

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The morning rain system had never quite cleared and it helped keep it a little cooler that evening. After spending a few days in the area I felt at home standing along the grassy bank and was as content as I can ever remember being. The fishing was slow right away and I hoped things would pick up toward dark but after so many days of unforgettable angling I was happy to just relax on this quiet river bank. I put in an honest effort switching bait and moving around the bank but I only managed a few tetras. I started to get a little discouraged after a while and sat down on one of the larger logs on the bank to have a smoke. Pat was having the same kind of luck and joined me on the log and offered me one of his Black and Mild cigars. I was long out of Blacks by this time and savored this one, inhaling the sweet pungent smoke deeply as I sunk further and further into total bank side nirvana. About halfway into my cigar a truck came pulling up to the ferry from our side of the river. The ramp banger was working alone today and slowly made his way down the bank and unchained the ferry before pulling it across the river by hand in his usual fashion. When he reached the other side he dropped the ramps and chained the ferry to two large posts before directing the truck slowly onto the deck.

We had seen dirt bikes and people come across before but never a full sized truck. I’m sure to the locals it was not a big deal but to me and Pat it was quite a spectacle. The Banger had zero trouble moving the truck across the river and I was shocked by how flawlessly the whole thing went. By the time they were finished I was done smoking and ready to start fishing again. I was done with trying to finesse these uppity ass cichlids and decided to throw one of the tetras I caught earlier on a bottom rig. I cut one of the small fish into thin strips and casted out near the center of the small river. I was worn out from the last week of fishing and sitting there on the log in the shade was the perfect speed for me that evening. Pat and I recanted some of the crazy things that had happened to us during our travels and laughed a little harder and longer than normal  both of us succumbing to the punchiness of exhaustion. Just when I thought I couldn’t enjoy myself anymore I got a decent tap on my bottom rig. I set the hook and reeled a very small catfish that made me very happy. It was the other species of antenna catfish Pat had caught from the Rio Frio.

Nicaraguan Catfish (Rhamdia nicaraguensis)

Although it was small this fish was a big deal to me, I have a thing for Cats and really didn’t want to miss out on this guy before I left.  I had hardly finished taking pictures when Pat had a bite as well and reeled in another catfish of the same species.

Nicaraguan Catfish (Rhamdia nicaraguensis)

He was really hoping for the other species and I felt a little bad he hadn’t been having any luck. We were starting to run low on tetra chunks at this point so I grabbed my smaller rod and started to work the shoreline for some more.

I didn’t have any luck and told Pat to use the remaining chunks of bait to try and catch the other species of cat. We were running out of daylight fast and I was packing my stuff up to leave when Pat got another solid bite. This time it was his intended target the larger, darker species of Antenna catfish.

Guatemalan catfish (Rhamdia guatemalensis)

We both were stoked and loudly celebrated his eleventh hour catch, something that Pat seems to have a real knack for.  Victory was ours, the curse of the Antenna catfish was broken and the peasants did then rejoice.  It was the perfect ending to an idyllic evening and my spirit was light as I made my way down the gravel road in the fading twilight which eventually turned to darkness.  

Last Full Day in Los Chiles - All out assault on the Gar

Monday morning the skies were clear and it was already getting quite hot as we made our way to the Rio Frio. Today would be our last full day in Los Chiles and we decided to spend the entirety of our fishing time on the Rio Frio in a last ditch effort to capture El Gazpar. As we made our way upstream down the beat down path we saw a few fish roll but nothing like the frenzy from the morning before. We made it to a large bend that we had fished before and set up our small rods to catch bait. Apparently the Tetras were not very hungry for once this morning which made gathering good gar baits tough. I searched the banks and forest high and low for a pop bottle to make another minnow trap but had no luck with that either. So far things weren’t looking good but we eventually managed a few smaller tetras to get started with. I started out drifting a float again, convinced that this was the best option with how snaggy the river was.

Drift after drift I caught nothing, not receiving so much as a nibble for my persistence. Pat eventually started fishing for cichlids again and as usual caught quite a few.

Jaguar Guapote (Parachromis managuensis)

Cichlid sp.

He also caught a juvenile Machaca somewhere in the mix.

Machaca del Atlantico (Brycon costaricensis)

I got tired of drifting after a few hours and decided to try bottom rigging again before we gave up on this slow morning and got lunch.  At first all I caught were snags but eventually I hooked a small fish. My blood pressure went up a bit as I was reeling in but then lowered when I seen that is was only a Catfish.

Guatemalan catfish (Rhamdia guatemalensis)

It turned out to be my personal best Barbado so that helped lessen the pain of it not being the Gar I was hoping for. I continued to bottom rig without any hook ups besides logs for the rest of the morning and left for lunch a little frustrated.

Being that it was nearing the end of our trip we had a larger than usual lunch that day and Pat  wisely decided to take a nap afterwards. I told him I was going to the river and we agreed to meet there later. It was hotter than a two peckered alley cat as I made my way through the city streets and I was relieved to finally reach the shady banks of the Rio Frio. The river was busy today and I had to move upstream past a few families swimming and fishing to find an open spot on the bank. I decided that since it was still early in the day I would try for Cichlids for awhile before switching over to Gar tactics again. I baited up with some gulp and started working it around a large half submerged log. I started catching fish right away and brought quite a few nice specimens to hand in short order.

Red breast cichlid (Amphilophus longimanus)

Bigmouth sleeper (Gobiomorus dormitor)

Flier cichlid (Archocentrus centrarchus)

I started moving further upstream to see what else I could find, fishing small pieces of structure as I went. And I eventually came to a large clearing in the trees where the high bank gently sloped downward and became level with the water. There was no visible structure here so after a few casts I decided to keep moving after a quick smoke and some water in the shade of the mangroves. While I was having my smoke I eyed my gear and thought about my remaining fishing time and what my best course of action would be. I noticed my Tenkara rod that Erik Kol gave me, remembering his instructions to leave it with someone before I left the country. I decided that since this was a high traffic fishing area by the looks of it, if I left the rod here it would most likely find a worthy home. After finishing my smoke I propped the rod against a tree near the trail and headed back the way I came in hopes that some people had left. Unfortunately the corner I had hoped to fish was still occupied so I stayed upstream a bit and worked the same submerged log I had earlier.  This time after a few of the ubiquitous Fliers I caught this stunner of a Nicaraguan cichlid. I was really hoping to catch one with bright vibrant colors and I was thrilled with this specimen.

Nicaragua cichlid (Hypsophrys nicaraguensis)

About the time I caught this fish a man in his early twenties came walking from out of the woods with my tenkara rod in his hand. He walked right up to to where I was crouched taking pictures and tried to hand me the rod saying “yours?” with a big grin on his face. I tried to explain I had left it there on purpose but he didn’t speak very much English. A little frustrated but not wanting to be a dick, I took the rod back and thanked him profusely. I asked him a few things in Spanish including his name which he told me was Mario. Having exhausted my limited knowledge of Spanish that pertained to the situation I tried a few more things in English. He didn’t seem to understand what I was saying but as I talked he got a strange look on his face and out of nowhere says “Wiz Khalifa?”. After a second of stunned amusement I replied “Yes! Me gusta Wiz Khalifa!”. During our bonding moment over our shared love for rap music I lit a cigarette and noticed it was my last one. Mario noticed too and looked almost as disappointed as I was. He said something in Spanish I couldn’t understand but after some simplification and pointing I figured out that he was offering to go get cigarettes. I was more than a little suspicious about giving a stranger my money and my face must have shown this. He seemed a little hurt by this at first but after a second took off his shirt and threw it down by my feet. I smiled and laughed as I handed him some cash for smokes telling him “dos rojos por favor” before he scampered off down the trail toward town. I continued fishing the cichlid log while I waited and it wasn’t long before Mario came huffing and puffing up the trail covered in sweat like he had ran the whole way. I was extremely grateful to have tobacco again and gave Mario one of the packs for going to the store. He seemed to appreciate the exchange and stuck around the rest of the afternoon watching me fish and attempting to understand my dumb jokes. Soon after he brought the tobacco I caught a niced sized tetra and sent it out on a bottom rig. Mario and I spent the next few hours hanging out in the shade watching my Gar rod not do a damn thing. Every once in awhile I would check the bait and move it a little but other than that it was an ultra laid back afternoon. Towards evening one of Mario’s friends rode by on a bike and stopped to talk. He had been fishing upstream and when he learned I was after Gazpar he proceeded to produce one from his backpack.

Tropical gar (Atractosteus tropicus)

It was small but I sure was envious of this kids dinner Gar. He also had a few cichlids and a nice sized Tilapia in his bag, this kid was pretty damn cool. Pat arrived not long after the Gar catcher left and I filled him in on the details. By this time Mario was looking a little worn out from the day’s heat and bid his farewell before heading back down the trail to Los Chiles. We both continued to bottom rig throughout the evening without much luck and lost a lot of tackle. I was retying a rig when Pat pulled a longer dark fish in a ways down the bank from me. I dropped the tackle in my hands and ran over to see what he had.  When I got up to him he was holding a really nice Bigmouth Sleeper goby and had a big smile on his face.

Bigmouth sleeper (Gobiomorus dormitor)

This was a really cool fish and definitely helped make up for how slow the fishing was that evening. We fished until it was too dark to re-tie our rigs and then headed back to the Carolina for some much needed consolation casados.

After dinner we figured out our exit strategy and settled on the three PM bus to San Jose in favor of the five AM in order to squeeze out a few more hours of fishing.

Last Gasp(er) Fishing in Los Chiles

Our last morning in Los Chiles we awoke to bright blue skies and by the time we made it to the river it was already hot and sticky.

This would be my last shot at the Tropical gar and though my faith was dwindling I was determined to give it my best shot. At this point my tackle supply was nearly exhausted and so was I. I only had a few gar hooks left and zero lead so I had no choice but to try drifting again. Pat opted to fish for Gar as well and used his few remaining weights to try bottom rigging. Thankfully the Tetras came a little easier this morning and we both had gar baits out in short order.

A few minutes into my drift I saw a large black Gaspar roll near where I was drifting my float giving me hope that I still had a chance. I made cast after cast trying different paths around currents seams and slower pockets. I tried adjusting the depth on my float as well but nothing seemed to help. I kept this up for well over an hour with zero bites, slowly making my way upstream toward Pat.  After about two hours and some change had passed I was fishing next to Pat when he landed the first fish that wasn’t a tetra of the morning.  It was a small Barbado catfish that had greedily eaten an entire Tetra.

Guatemalan catfish (Rhamdia guatemalensis)

Not long after Pat’s cat was released I casted off my bait trying to make a longer than I should have tried cast. I cursed while I baited up my small rod to try for another Tetra and could feel the Gazpar slipping from my grasp. The Tetras must have sensed my urgency and sent their smallest most cautious bait peckers to strip me clean over and over again. When I did finally get a Tetra on the bank it was puny, not the primo gar bait I had hoped for. I decided it would have to do and started my drifting campaign again, determined to give it my all.

After a couple dozen more fruitless drifts Pat started dropping hints that I should maybe let this one go in his usual masterfully subtle way. If I’m set on something Pat knows better than to come right out and tell me I’m being crazy. He knows that will just make things worse and says subtle things that sometimes don’t even pertain to the situation that he knows will make me think about the situation in a different light. This kind of advice goes way past fishing and I feel I have become a better person because of these at times almost unnoticeable pushes in the right direction. At first I resisted but eventually I decided to spend the last few precious hours I had on this beautiful river harassing the local cichlid population in hopes of another lifer.

We moved further upstream than we ever have before, to a small clearing near a large stump that was sticking up out of the muddy water collecting debris. We set up on the steep mud bank and started catching fish straight away.

One of the first fish I caught was a nice Tetra and after bumming a weight from Pat I pitched it out on the bottom in front of where we were fishing.

The bulk of the fish we caught were flier cichlids but we managed to pull a gamut of species from the woody cover of the fallen tree that morning. Over the course of the morning we caught almost every species of fish we had encountered on the Rio Frio from Gobies to Killer Tetra.

Redbreast cichlid (Amphilophus longimanus)

Nicaragua cichlid (Hypsophrys nicaraguensis)

Redbreast cichlid (Amphilophus longimanus)

Flier cichlid (Archocentrus centrarchus)

Top: Jaguar guapote (Parachromis managuensis)

Bottom: Loiselle's cichlid (Parachromis loisellei)

At one point during the ruckus I even managed an eleventh hour lifer Rainbow cichlid. I was ecstatic, this was the sixth species of cichlid I had caught on the trip and sixteenth overall.

Rainbow cichlid (Herotilapia multispinosa)

We caught an insane amount of fish that morning and the steadiness of the bite and quality of catch caused us to completely lose track of time. Before we knew it, the sun was high in the sky and it was time to head back to the Carolina to check out and eat before catching our bus.

After solemnly packing our gear we had one last amazing meal at the Carolina and said our goodbyes to the wonderful staff. If you ever find yourself in this corner of the world seeking lodging The Hotel Carolina is a great place to stay and I can’t recommend it highly enough.

As we bumped along in the crowded bus toward San Jose I reflected on the many strange miles I had traveled during my brief stay in Costa Rica. We had visited so many different places with such different vibes in such a short time that I was having trouble processing the awesomeness of what I had experienced. It was a five hour bus ride to San Jose so I had plenty of time to play back the memories of the previous days in my head. I was sunburnt to a crisp with blisters on my arms from the sun and blisters on my feet from walking around for days with jungle foot. My whole body ached and I was dreading our flight back to Baltimore the following day greatly.

I tried hard not to dwell on my failure to catch El Gaspar but it ate at me periodically during the ride and still does to this day. Despite this I couldn't keep a smile from my face as we made our way through the winding mountain roads in the fading twilight.