March 2010: Costa Rica was a country I put off visiting for a long time. Why? Because it’s the most touristy country in Central America, with a large number of American expats who, in some ways, have altered its identity. I preferred destinations lacking tourist infrastructure—wild, remote places full of adventure, like the Darién Gap and the Mosquito Coast of Honduras.
But Costa Rica had something these other countries didn’t—or if they did, the quality wasn’t the same. Its national parks are exceptionally well-protected, preserving rainforests and their wildlife in a way that makes it remarkably easy to see animals that have become nearly impossible to spot elsewhere. This was my main motivation for visiting.
When I read about a reserve protecting the largest primary lowland rainforest in Central America—home to some of the world’s most endangered animals, where creatures like tapirs, monkeys, and even jaguars roam freely and, due to the lack of hunting, show little fear of humans—I knew this was the place I had to visit.
With a week in Costa Rica, I sought out the wildest and most ecologically unique destination in the country, and arguably in all of Central America: Corcovado National Park. Located in the remote Osa Peninsula, this rainforest proved to be a true gem—one of the finest I’ve visited anywhere in the world. Its immense biodiversity, raw beauty, and abundance of wildlife make it exceptional. As one of the best-preserved lowland rainforests in the region, reaching it requires effort and sweat—but the journey is well worth it. Even after eventually visiting every country in the world and exploring countless national parks, Corcovado remains one of my favorites.

Corcovado National Park location

Corcovado National Park Map showing where I started hiking at Carate and my destination Sirena Station in the core of the park
Getting to Corcovado National Park
To visit Corcovado National Park and camp in its core, securing a permit in advance is essential, as they sell out quickly. The number of permits is limited to minimize the impact of tourism on the park’s delicate ecosystem. I booked multiple nights of camping at Sirena Station and brought my own tent and camping gear, intending to find a spot near the grassy airfield in Sirena.
Corcovado is located in the remote southwestern Osa Peninsula and is most easily accessed via a domestic flight to Puerto Jiménez. From there, multiple colectivos run to the park entrance in Carate. Carate has numerous eco-tourism bungalows along the beach, allowing for day hikes into the park. However, I wanted to venture deep into the rainforest, fully immersing myself in its wildness and abundant wildlife. For that reason, I chose to camp for several nights in the park’s core.

Puerto Jimemez main street
The flight to Puerto Jiménez was on a small turboprop plane, and upon landing on the side of a dirt runway, the town immediately felt like a dusty, remote frontier outpost. The heat was intense, and with little tree cover, I wandered through the quiet streets searching for a place to eat and a way to catch the colectivo to Carate, the entrance to Corcovado National Park. However, since I had arrived early in the morning, the town was eerily still, and I wasn’t having much luck.
Eventually, I approached an airplane hangar where an American man was working on a small Cessna, making some mechanical adjustments. I asked him if he knew where I could find the colectivo to Carate. He looked up and, after a brief pause, said, “You’re in luck—I’m flying there in an hour. If you want to join me, the flight is free.”
I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Plane I hitch hiked in to the landing strip at carate near the entrance of Corcovado NP
The pilot dropped me off on a sandy runway in Carate, a remote stretch along the beach. From there, I began my hike, following the shoreline past scattered eco-bungalows before the path gradually disappeared into dense, untouched rainforest. As I ventured deeper, I entered Corcovado National Park at the La Leona Ranger Station, where the true wilderness began.

17 KM hike to Serene Station along beaches, jungle paths and crossing crocodile and shark infested rivers
The trail to Sirena stretches nearly 15 miles and is not for the faint of heart. Most visitors opt for the boat, but the trail is simply too incredible to miss. It follows the beach yet can be tricky to navigate, so I chose to walk along the sand—an easy decision, except during high tide. I encountered very few people along the way, making it a rare luxury to have such a wild and beautiful place all to myself.
Overhead, flocks of scarlet macaws screeched, their brilliant red, blue, and yellow feathers flashing against the green jungle canopy. As I made my way along the trail, I waded across several rivers, the water reaching anywhere from my knees to my waist. I knew from my research that these rivers were home to crocodiles and bull sharks, so I didn’t linger during my crossings.

17 KM hike to Serene Station along beaches, jungle paths and crossing crocodile and shark infested rivers
As I followed the trail deeper into the jungle, I encountered the most wildlife. I came across three tapirs—an incredible sight, as despite all my rainforest travels, this was the first time I had ever seen them in the wild. In most other places, heavy poaching has made them nearly impossible to find.
One tapir, wallowing in the mud, allowed me to get within just ten feet. As I watched, it suddenly began grinding its teeth, producing an ominous sound—a clear warning. Taking the hint, I slowly backed away, leaving it undisturbed.
Tapirs can be surprisingly aggressive when threatened, and their powerful jaws are capable of tearing through flesh. Keeping my distance was definitely the right call.

Tapir on the trail

Rivers I crossed
On my second day camping in Sirena, I returned from a morning hike to find my tent had been invaded by army ants—and they weren’t just crawling inside; they had started consuming it. I tried brushing them away, but they quickly turned on me. Realizing I was no match for their relentless assault, I surrendered my tent to them and made my way to the ranger station, hoping to find an available cabin.
Unfortunately, all the rustic cabins were booked. As I explained my predicament to the rangers, a family from my home state of Minnesota overheard my story. Without hesitation, they offered me an open bunk in their cabin. Grateful for their kindness, I gladly accepted.
The family, traveling with their two junior high-aged kids, soon became my new friends. We ended up hiking back to Carate together, sharing stories along the way. The father, amused by his children’s fascination with my travel adventures, even went a step further—he booked me an eco-bungalow for one night on the beach alongside them in Carate, saying his kids would love to hear more of my stories.

Common iguana

Monkeys

Coatis are common raccoon-like creatures that scavenge for scraps in areas frequented by people.

Tapir on the trail

Scarlet macaw common on the trail

Peccory

Jesus Lizard

After emerging from a few days deep in Corcovado National Park, I stayed in an eco-bungalow on the beach in Carate.
After leaving Corcovado, I traveled overland by bus across the Osa Peninsula to Puerto Jimenez, stopping for a night to camp at a surf spot along the way in Cabo Matapalo, where I camped on Playa Pan Dulce (known for its double point break) and surf. Another camper generously let me borrow their inflatable surfboard, but unfortunately, the ocean was completely flat.
From Puerto Jimenez, I took a long bus ride north to Dominical, a well-known surf town. Since it was Semana Santa—Easter Week—the roads were packed with holiday travelers. Partway through the journey, the bus driver informed me that the bus couldn’t take me all the way due to the holiday chaos, and there were no connecting buses available. With night approaching and no other options, I was stuck. However, the bus driver, a genuinely kind man, went out of his way to drive me the last hour to Dominical in his personal car. He was concerned for my safety and wanted to make sure I reached my hotel without trouble—an act of kindness I won’t forget.
I spent a couple of nights in Dominical, attempting to surf the massive beach break. The conditions were rough—huge, messy waves made paddling out a challenge—but it was still an adventure. Afterward, I took a bus back to San José, caught my flight home, and left Costa Rica with incredible memories of its wilderness, people, and wild surf.