Puerto Rican Rainforest

Puerto Rican Rainforest ~ Don't Pet the Mongoose!
Story & Photos by Beth Robinette

I’m not fearless, but I wasn’t that worried about camping overnight in the Puerto Rican rainforest
during a recent visit to the island. I am an experienced backpacker and camper and I usually go
alone. When I entered the Bosque National, the only tropical rainforest in the United States National
Park System, I asked what hazards I should avoid.

The charming woman at the desk who was helping me fill out my camping permit looked up and said
simply, “Don’t pet the mongoose.”

Pardon?

My first thought was that this was a euphemism for something that I wouldn’t want explained in
mixed company. But she was perfectly serious. There are no snakes and no large carnivores to be
wary of, assuming you didn’t count humans. Few plants and even fewer animals are poisonous, and
then only if you are silly enough to eat them. There are mongoose, however. Mongoose are not
native to Puerto Rico , which is unfortunate enough, but the population is infected with rabies.
Mongoose are naturally secretive creatures and usually you never know they are around. If I saw
one, I was to consider it a sick animal.

Well, I was trying to cut back on mongoose petting anyway.

She also told me that I was the only camper that night and that they “closed the rainforest at 6pm”
so to make sure I was inside the gates before that time. I had no idea that you could close a
rainforest. I took this to mean that the animals got the night off. I was wrong. And the fact that I
was the only camper should have been a clue.

First, I stopped at the gift shop. I am not a big shopper, but I’m a sucker for gift shops at museums
and parks. Since there were absolutely no facilities and the rainforest would soon be “closed”, I
bought an assortment of individually wrapped snacks and some bottled water. They put my
purchases into a white paper bag which I stuck in the top of my backpack and proceeded to drive my
car to the far end of the forest as instructed.

Night comes abruptly and it was almost 6pm. I parked my car in the designated spot and started
hiking, looking for a place to camp. I had been told to make sure that I got 30 feet off the trail, so I
planned to only walk to the first clearing. I do this in the North Georgia forests often, so I didn’t
anticipate any issue. Think again. After hiking 5km I had still not found a single area clear enough of
vegetation to get off the trail. Always one to follow the rules, I tried to push my way through.
Within three yards, my exposed skin was a mass of cuts and my legs hopelessly bound up in
vegetation. Those innocent looking grasses are knives. Even the ferns are serrated. The cuts were
superficial, but I was bloody enough to look as though I had been in a fight with a tiger. And lost.

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I was grateful that I had brought a hammock with mosquito netting and a canopy. The ground is
deceptively uneven with tree roots, pot holes and vines everywhere. There was not a clear spot to lie
down on except the narrow hiking trail. In addition, the ground is a sponge. In less than 10 minutes,
you’d be lying in a puddle. I ended up slinging the hammock diagonally across the trail, rationalizing
that if I was the only person camping that night, it wouldn’t inconvenience anyone. If I had brought a
tent I would have given up, walked back to my car and slept in it. (Of course I would have lied about it
later to make a better story, but….) Later some locals admitted that the idea of camping in a tent, 30
feet from the trail was some kind of Puerto Rican joke. Anyone who tries it is bound to fail. A local
would know better, but wouldn’t be stupid enough to try. Puerto Rican humor is clever, but not
subtle.

By 7pm it was pitch dark. I lay in my hammock wide awake and listened to the noises of the night.
Occasionally, I would open my mosquito netting and reach into the top of my backpack to the little
white bag of snacks. Most were like potato chips, but made from plantains or cassava or yucca. There
were also an overly sweet guava paste and a nut bar with coconut. All were quite good.

The only sound I could identify for sure was the small coqui frog, who sings koh KEE koh KEE from even
the tiniest piece of vegetation. The locals call it the background noise of the island. I thought the
sound was “cute” at the hotel when I could just hear them above the ocean surf or when the band
took a break. Sequestered in the dark and surrounded by millions of them, the noise was grating. I
never managed to spot a coqui. When you get near, they go silent.

Eventually I picked out something that sounded like a bird with a fast coo coo. Then the wind would
pick up and the trees would creak and sway. I tried to relax and enjoy the experience, but I couldn’t
see a thing and the sounds were unfamiliar. It was unnerving.

Whose stupid idea was this to camp out in the rainforest? Oh yeah. It was mine.

There were quite a few birds fluttering in the trees and one landed very near. That was pleasant. I
decided to just concentrate on the birds to quiet my mind. That worked for about 10 minutes, which is
how much time it took for me to realize that they couldn’t possibly be birds. Birds don’t flutter about at
night. That could only be…..

(…There are moments when you wish you could just stop your brain from working. I needed a mental
“pause” button. I suddenly understood the phrase “ignorance is bliss”. Alas, the circuits clicked into
place…)

…Bats! The only thing that flapped about at night like that were bats. I’m not frightened by those
little brown bats that eat their weight in mosquitoes every hour. But in my frantic state, I was trying
to remember if Puerto Rico had vampire bats? I had worked myself into a state. Every few minutes
there would be a sudden sound I couldn’t identify. My heart would race and I could taste adrenaline.
I was never going to get any sleep and it was too dark and too far to walk out.

That’s why I was so glad when the fireflies came out. They gave me something to look at and
concentrate on besides things that go bump in the night. These acrobatic flyers were far more
maneuverable than any I saw growing up in the Midwest. First one firefly, then another landed on my
mosquito netting. How interesting. Then a few more. And then a dozen. My enjoyment was turning
to concern. When the crowd of fireflies had grown to three dozen and then four, I was almost
hysterical. I had visions of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, but with lighted insects. I couldn’t remember if
Tippi Hedren's character survived the film. I tried to stay calm, but I was trapped and there was
nowhere to go until morning.

It took a minor lifetime—about 20 minutes—to find what was attracting the fireflies: The blinking
climbs to the top of a blade of grass and blinks in a pattern that can only be interpreted as “Hey
Sailor, wanna have some fun?” I turned off the phone and they promptly flew away. Back on and
they returned. I felt like Dr. Doolittle! I would have continued for hours, except the rain ran them off
permanently.

I can’t say I slept well with all the unfamiliar noises. I don’t suppose I got more than 20 minutes at
a stretch. When I did sleep, I dreamed that people were trying to cross the path that I was
blocking. Between my sense of guilt and the noises, it was a long night.

In the morning, I rose early. I reached into my little white bag at the top of my backpack for some
water and the last of the snacks. Or at least I tried. The bag now consisted of the two handles on
top, the bottom and gaping holes where the sides should have been. The bag had been eaten by
two large snails. Easily 4 inches in diameter, the snails had slimed up the side of my backpack in a
beeline (or what must serve as a beeline if you are a snail) to get to my bleached white paper bag.
I suppose even snails like junk food, but how had they known it was there? I made a mental note
to research the sense of smell in snails and tossed them off the side of the trail. I reached for the
bag again, but the sight of the second largest cockroach I have ever seen ( Costa Rica still holds the
record!) made me lose my appetite completely. No matter how well snacks are packaged, after they
are slimed by snails and munched on by roaches, they are just not appealing. (Note: I did pack the
snacks out and throw them away in a proper receptacle. I was grossed out, but I do not litter!)

I packed up in the rain and started back to my car. It had been slick hiking in the night before, but
with more rain the trail was treacherous. I fell several times adding bruises and mud to my
lacerations. Even without a mirror I know I looked bad, because when I reached the parking lot
some newly arriving tourists physically shielded their children from me and pushed them down the
trail to get away.

Looking like a crazy madwoman has its advantages. It gave me enough privacy to change my shirt
and clean up a bit before I got in my car and drove to the nearest McDonald’s that sported a sign
saying Desayuno (breakfast). Back in the States, I never go to McDonald’s, but those golden arches
can seem like a little bit of heaven when you’ve slept badly, feel grungy, injured and completely out
of place. I ordered the mucho grande desayuno with cafe con leche e azucur (coffee with cream and
sugar). I have trouble with languages, but can always remember how to order coffee. I have my
priorities.

I can’t say the camping experience was fun, but it was an adventure. One I can cross off my list for
a lifetime!

Bio: Beth Robinette is a Chemical Engineer who now works in Atlanta. Beth plans to hike the
entire Appalachian Trail and has done the first 374 miles. She lives frugally, not spending money on
her hair, clothing and make up, so that she can travel more - "This explains why I've been in 7
countries in the last year, but cannot get a date!" Beth recently returned from a trip to Turkey.
She's writing a book on solo travel for women.

Does this rainforest make me look fat?

San Juan and ocean in the distance

One of many waterfalls in
Bosque National Park

San Juan courtyard -
El Murro

Observation tower in
Bosque National Park