1 second. That’s how long it takes for fear to kick in and take over your entire body, a feeling with just enough power to paralyze you. “Hay que cruzar AHORA,” said Ronny.
I met Ronny this morning; he was the only guide around Puerto Jimenez who accepted my absurd low price. It made me genuinely skeptical. After seven hours in our trek I understood why he had accepted it.
Ronny is not just awfully passionate about Corcovado’s wildlife, he knows every corner of it better than I know my one-room apartment, he has connected with it in ways identical twins couldn’t even dream of. He walks through its forest sniffing out clues like a cartoon dog -I believe he is able to smell across time- he perceives animal calls over distances measured in double digits; he can track the untraceable claws of Coatis. That man has retinas on his joints.
But now I dislike Ronny, he’s demanding we cross the river NOW. He knows I did some reading before the hike, enough to know that all Corcovado rivers have occasional crocodiles preying indiscriminately on appealing foreign meat. I was the foreigner and I was pretty sure he could talk crocodile.
I contemplated the mysterious murky water. “It’s about chest high right now, if we wait longer we won’t be able to cross,” he said. I couldn’t respond. My brain froze, and I just stared at the river. I noticed my heart racing violently like a panicked fish that’s being reeled out of the water.
A sudden flush of heat pervaded my body, followed by severe perspiration through every single one of my pores. I was about to drown on my own sweat. My brain resumed, racing through a bulk of fears like a ricocheting bullet.
How did I get here? Couldn’t I settle for the safety and comfort of and all-inclusive resort where my biggest fear would be to get sunburned? You see, as far as I’m concerned the Loch Ness Monster could be hiding under this misty water. I have regularly been a beneficiary of bad luck; it was only logical that I die here.
Ronny’s eyes were reassuring; I knew I should trust him. I took off my shoes, grabbed my 40-pound backpack, arranged them on top of my head and deliberately approached the foggy water. When my bare feet touched the water I screamed, loud enough to disturb the breeding process of all the animals within a two-mile radius.
1 second. That’s how long it took me to understand how I got there: I’m a traveler. I collect stories.
