Cooling down in the Highlands
After a month and a half on the beach, sweltering in the humidity and baking in the unabated sunshine, I, needed a break from the hot weather. Therefore, after thumbing through my Moon's Guide to Costa Rica, I decided to head to a small town in the chilly foothills of the Cartago mountain region and Cloudforest.
Orosi is a small village in a river valley by the same nam
e that straddles the Tapatini Cloudforest to the East and Irazu Volcano National Park to its North. Most of the residents in this moist and chilly place are farmers growing coffee and fruits in the fertile hillsides along the river. What drew me to this particular location was it's proximity to San Jose, only an hour or so away by bus, but also it's relative obscurity among mainstream travelers. With no zipline tours or white-water rafting like other Highland destinations, Orosi has been left free of western development. What it did have however, and what drew my interests, was freshwater fishing for trout in its many mountain rivers.
Accompanying me, was a friend I had made in Jaco, a guy named Simon, who seemed, up til this point to have lived the exact same life as me, except in Canada. He's 25, graduating at the same time that I did (he even did a year abroad in sydney, Australia at UNSW, though he was the there the semester after I was). He had recently left his job back home and decided to get a one way ticket to Latin America. He started his trip around the same time as me (actually the day before I did) and was traveling ro
ughly the same route as me too. And, as an added bonus he also had a friend flying in to San Jose at the end of the week and was killing time until they got here. So, when I told him about Orosi, he was game to come along, not so much for the fishing but for the weather. He's a surfer and, during his many hours spent on the water in the sun, had somehow managed to burn his retinas not once, but twice. He figured a couple days in a rainy mountain town might be just the remedy his burning eyes.
It was great, though not exactly what either of us had hoped for. The town itself was a one road hamlet that, though being virtually devoid of nightlife and a social scene was charming and inviting at the same time. We also found that our hostel had a language school with the best prices I had seen seen since Guatemala. The town was also dirt cheap (for Costa Rica). We paid $6.50 for a bed and about 25 cents an hour for Internet.
It also has some great hiking trails. We took trips to a local coffee farm and got a tour by Pepe, a 73 native who had been farming coffee his whole life. We also took another hike along a river to a natural hot springs. I was starting to think that maybe I could spend some time in a place like this, take some Spanish courses, volunteer at a local Finca, that sort of thing. Of course that would all depend on the fishing.
Convincing Simon to accompany me with a purchase of a six pack of tall cans, we woke up at 6am the next morning and took a bus 8km up a washed out dirt track to the small outpost of Purisil, more so a collection
of huts than a village, and walked 3km along a pristine river valley near the entrance of Tapatini national park. We came to Kiki, a trout farm along the side of the road, and persuaded the owner to let us borrow some fishing lines to use in the nearby river. He told us there was no Trucha (trout) to be found there, but having heard otherwise, I persisted and he let us have some line and a hook (no rod though).
For the next three hours, Simon and I walked through fields of cow shit and chest high brush drowning bait in a fishless river. Finally, at 11:30am, satisfied that there was nothing else to do, we started drinking. By noon we had almost finished our supply of beer and decided we'd head back to Kiri, catch some trout out of there stocked ponds and eat lunch there.
Trekking back through the cow shit fields proved to be a little more trying after a couple tall cans and we emerged back on the
road completely covered from the waist down in a brown clumpy liquid. We washed off in a nearby stream, Simon deciding it would be best for him to to just lye down in the water as to completely soak himself clean while I was satisfied with a quick rinse of the legs after which and we returned to the farm. With a slight bit of hesitation and constant supervision the owner allowed us to fish the ponds where I quickly landed two 13in trout. With a pond about the size of a kiddy pool filled to the brim with hungry farm trout it wasn't even sport. But, that didn't stop us from taking it up to the restaurant and having them cook it up for us as we guzzled down three more beers and a couple shots to celibate our catch.
Not wanting to embark on a drunken stumble all the way back to the bus stop in wet clothes, I cornered a group of young Ticos as they were getting into there car and asked them if we they were going through Orosi. This was a trick question because I well knew that there was only one road out and that had to
go to Orosi, I thought myself very clever for this. When they hesitantly nodded I asked if we may then, since they were going that way anyway, get a ride. After they consulted for a few minutes, probably to consider the possibility of Simon or I becoming sick in their car, they put down some plastic and waved us in.
We got back to town and immediately went to the supermarket for more beer, though we both knew we didn't need anymore. We returned to the hostel drinking and playing with the local dogs along the way and promptly passed out in our bunks. That was at 4:30 in the afternoon. We didn't get up again until 7am the following morning.
So, while I can't say that our fishing venture was a big success, we both loved the town and our time there. I am seriously considering going back for a week or two for Spanish school and, yes more fishing, though this time I might bring along a proper fishing rod and leave the tall cans at home.
After a month and a half on the beach, sweltering in the humidity and baking in the unabated sunshine, I, needed a break from the hot weather. Therefore, after thumbing through my Moon's Guide to Costa Rica, I decided to head to a small town in the chilly foothills of the Cartago mountain region and Cloudforest.
Orosi is a small village in a river valley by the same nam
e that straddles the Tapatini Cloudforest to the East and Irazu Volcano National Park to its North. Most of the residents in this moist and chilly place are farmers growing coffee and fruits in the fertile hillsides along the river. What drew me to this particular location was it's proximity to San Jose, only an hour or so away by bus, but also it's relative obscurity among mainstream travelers. With no zipline tours or white-water rafting like other Highland destinations, Orosi has been left free of western development. What it did have however, and what drew my interests, was freshwater fishing for trout in its many mountain rivers.Accompanying me, was a friend I had made in Jaco, a guy named Simon, who seemed, up til this point to have lived the exact same life as me, except in Canada. He's 25, graduating at the same time that I did (he even did a year abroad in sydney, Australia at UNSW, though he was the there the semester after I was). He had recently left his job back home and decided to get a one way ticket to Latin America. He started his trip around the same time as me (actually the day before I did) and was traveling ro
ughly the same route as me too. And, as an added bonus he also had a friend flying in to San Jose at the end of the week and was killing time until they got here. So, when I told him about Orosi, he was game to come along, not so much for the fishing but for the weather. He's a surfer and, during his many hours spent on the water in the sun, had somehow managed to burn his retinas not once, but twice. He figured a couple days in a rainy mountain town might be just the remedy his burning eyes.It was great, though not exactly what either of us had hoped for. The town itself was a one road hamlet that, though being virtually devoid of nightlife and a social scene was charming and inviting at the same time. We also found that our hostel had a language school with the best prices I had seen seen since Guatemala. The town was also dirt cheap (for Costa Rica). We paid $6.50 for a bed and about 25 cents an hour for Internet.
It also has some great hiking trails. We took trips to a local coffee farm and got a tour by Pepe, a 73 native who had been farming coffee his whole life. We also took another hike along a river to a natural hot springs. I was starting to think that maybe I could spend some time in a place like this, take some Spanish courses, volunteer at a local Finca, that sort of thing. Of course that would all depend on the fishing.
Convincing Simon to accompany me with a purchase of a six pack of tall cans, we woke up at 6am the next morning and took a bus 8km up a washed out dirt track to the small outpost of Purisil, more so a collection
of huts than a village, and walked 3km along a pristine river valley near the entrance of Tapatini national park. We came to Kiki, a trout farm along the side of the road, and persuaded the owner to let us borrow some fishing lines to use in the nearby river. He told us there was no Trucha (trout) to be found there, but having heard otherwise, I persisted and he let us have some line and a hook (no rod though).For the next three hours, Simon and I walked through fields of cow shit and chest high brush drowning bait in a fishless river. Finally, at 11:30am, satisfied that there was nothing else to do, we started drinking. By noon we had almost finished our supply of beer and decided we'd head back to Kiri, catch some trout out of there stocked ponds and eat lunch there.
Trekking back through the cow shit fields proved to be a little more trying after a couple tall cans and we emerged back on the
road completely covered from the waist down in a brown clumpy liquid. We washed off in a nearby stream, Simon deciding it would be best for him to to just lye down in the water as to completely soak himself clean while I was satisfied with a quick rinse of the legs after which and we returned to the farm. With a slight bit of hesitation and constant supervision the owner allowed us to fish the ponds where I quickly landed two 13in trout. With a pond about the size of a kiddy pool filled to the brim with hungry farm trout it wasn't even sport. But, that didn't stop us from taking it up to the restaurant and having them cook it up for us as we guzzled down three more beers and a couple shots to celibate our catch.Not wanting to embark on a drunken stumble all the way back to the bus stop in wet clothes, I cornered a group of young Ticos as they were getting into there car and asked them if we they were going through Orosi. This was a trick question because I well knew that there was only one road out and that had to
go to Orosi, I thought myself very clever for this. When they hesitantly nodded I asked if we may then, since they were going that way anyway, get a ride. After they consulted for a few minutes, probably to consider the possibility of Simon or I becoming sick in their car, they put down some plastic and waved us in.We got back to town and immediately went to the supermarket for more beer, though we both knew we didn't need anymore. We returned to the hostel drinking and playing with the local dogs along the way and promptly passed out in our bunks. That was at 4:30 in the afternoon. We didn't get up again until 7am the following morning.
So, while I can't say that our fishing venture was a big success, we both loved the town and our time there. I am seriously considering going back for a week or two for Spanish school and, yes more fishing, though this time I might bring along a proper fishing rod and leave the tall cans at home.
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