Art Peekel

The white-faced monkeys come and go. People down here told me they would. Now that I think of it they never seem all that comfortable--at least not in the trees around the house where I’m staying. They always have an eye out for the guy in the window. When that guy was Mel, my landlady’s husband, my guess is he tried to scare them away.

At first they came almost like clockwork at 7:00 am. The spiny red plum sized fruit in the tree just outside the window facing west was the big attraction. I like the fruit too. Reminds me of leeche nuts. It’s sold in the Farmers Market and by women with large baskets full of them on their heads as they walk along the road through town.

There were usually a dozen or more of these “organ grinder monkeys,” as I like to call them, of all different sizes and apparent ages. They were quick, moving from one tree to another with astounding acrobatic skill and especially daring leaps. It was a nonstop Cirque du Soleil.

In the past week or so I’ve seen far fewer and not every day. They seem to be passing through or looking for leftovers. I’m hoping a few will come while my visitors are here.

One day last week a couple of howler monkeys made their appearance. It was the first time I’d ever seen them “up close and personal” so to speak. Oh I’ve heard them off and on, day and night since I moved in, but they were always off in the distance and high in the tree tops. This pair seemed content to munch on buds and leave pods at the very tips of the branches of a tree not 20 yards from one of my windows. They were at about my eye level and seemed in no hurry. They didn’t mind that I was goggling them. No signs of interest in me or fear of me.

“Cool,” I thought, “maybe they’ll drop by from time to time for something to eat. It will be great if they come when my friends are visiting.”

What I’d really like is for a group of howler monkeys to camp out overnight in the trees right over the house. Then, at about midnight, give out one of their bone chilling howls. That would be an experience my friends would never forget.

If you ever meet John N., my dear friend and formerExeter student, ask him about the roar of the lion we heard one night on the Serenghetti. The two of us were convinced it was right outside our room in the lodge. I got out of bed and closed the window.

This particular day in Punta Uva started out like most others, though a bit more on the quiet side than usual. At least there weren’t any major events by noon. No monkeys of any kind to be seen or heard. And no toucans! Even the next door dogs, roosters and turkeys were not sounding off as they do so often.

I had not slept well the past few nights due to the“serenading” of the howler monkeys, so by early afternoon I began to entertain the idea of a nap, which was something I hadn’t done since arriving in Costa Rica. That’s probably because I was getting at least eight hours of “sound sleep” every night. A whole lot more than when I was teaching, I’ll have you know.

My decision to read in bed was based on the good lighting from the window over the foot of my bed and the safety of the mosquito netting that hung down from above the bed. I assured myself of my best intentions by taking my copy of WHAT HAPPEN--A Folk-History ofCosta Rica’s Talamanca Coast and my reading glasses with me into the protected reading environment. Of course it wasn’t long before my eye lids shuttered closed and I was out for the count.

There’s no way of knowing just how long I was nodding, but when the phone rang it startled me. First there was the disorientation. Then the debate over whether or not to answer it. Several seconds and rings later I lifted the receiver.

My response was garbled as I was only semiconscious. I still hadn’t decided if I should greet the caller with a phrase or two in Spanish or simply start with English. Always dangerous to lead the caller into thinking you can speak the language, let alone understand it.

“Been there and done that,” as the saying goes, in acouple other languages. I remember well experiences in Greece while teaching at Athens College in Psychico and in Germany while visiting my friend Stefan E. and his family in Hamburg. It’s a bit like walking in a mine field because you’re never sure if the next step you take in translating your thoughts into that other language will blow up in your face.

I mumbled a “hello” rather than an “hola.” It was Noble, my neighbor. He was calling to invite me to dinner at Selvin’s, my favorite little outdoor restaurant just down the road. His wife Elaine was in Missouri visiting her mother for three weeks.

“How thoughtful of you,” I said. “I’d like that. Thanks for thinking of me!”

It actually had occurred to me earlier in the day that we might be getting together for dinner because we did so the same night last week with a few other people.

“We’re meeting at six-thirty,” he explained.

“I’ll be there! Thanks for calling!” I replied and hung up. “That was very nice of him,” I thought to myself and smiled.

I glance at the clock. Hummm..., three hours to catch more z’s. And I smiled again.

Moments after crawling back into my nest, I glanced out at the tree framed by the window that faces north. My eyes weren’t focusing; it was a“thousand-yard stare.” Nothing was registering. I was still in something of a daze--ready to doze off again.

Then a signal reached my brain: “ALERT!” It’s hard to describe, but let’s call it a reflex. My mind was telling me there was something out there I should see.

“Focus! Look carefully! There’s something worth seeing! Don’t miss this!”

Sure enough! There definitely was something moving among the leaves on the tree not 25 yards away. The thought that it might only be a squirrel did NOT thrill me. When seeing my first squirrel a couple weeks ago I had jokingly said to myself that my furry little nemeses must have followed me all the way from Palatine. (Not funny!)

Perhaps the white-faced or howler monkeys were back. But there wasn’t enough activity to suggest any of them. This was something different--very slow and deliberate. Then it occurred to me!

“The binocs! Get the binocs!” I literally rolled out from under the mosquito netting and onto the floor. Quickly to the “dry box” for my binoculars. In no time I was at the window scanning the tree with the glasses. Nothing! I tried without them.

“There!” At the thickest cluster of branches and leaves was the distinct and deliberate movement of a creature that had to be at least the size of a large raccoon. Noble had told me that raccoons and opossums live in the area.

“Raccoons this big,” he assured me with his hands about two feet apart. “They get really big around here. And they can be nasty too!” he warned. “The opossum is another mean critter, so you have to be careful.”

Oh the stories I could tell you about the raccoons who lodged in the attic of my old garage in Palatine. They thought they had first rights on the grapes that grew in my back yard. Those masked marauders were very belligerent.

Well, I didn’t feel particularly threatened by this situation, but my curiosity was certainly intensifying. I focused the glasses on the spot whereI had seen the movement. “And what to my wonderingeyes did appear but...” the sloth!

“It’s back!” I shouted (not too loud so as to scareit away). But you better believe I was one excited guy. Wish you had been there.

It was a big one--two and a half feet long, at least. The arms alone seemed almost that long. The legs were short and thick like those of a chimpanzee. I could clearly see the three narrow claws, at least 5 inches long, on the front hands. So here for my private viewing was none other than the elusive three-toed sloth (or three-fingered, as someone corrected me the other day).

The head was too small for its body. The neck was long and flexible to the point of permitting the head to turn more than 180 degrees or so it appeared. Reminded me of that famous scene in “The Exorcist.” As it hung upside down the head turned in seemingly all directions. I thought to myself “It’s doing an E.T. impersonation!”

There’s nothing much of a tail. It’s more like that of a chimp or an ape than a monkey. What I saw was a stubby thing similar to that of some dogs, a Boston Terrier for example.

I wasn’t sure of the color at first. The rain had dampened its coat and made dark streaks. Mottled gray and brown comes close, though there was definitely a hint of blue-green algae growing on its back. All this helped to create a very effective camouflage. And sure enough, just as I had read, the hair really did seem to grow in the opposite direction of most other mammals--from the stomach to the back.

It had a light gray mask over the top of the eyes and down the nose that made me think it was a negative of a photo taken of a raccoon. The face, especially the eyes lacked any expression. The way it looked and acted made me wonder if it was in a stupor.

I watch for over an hour. What little movement there was was a study in calculation and determination. It hung upside down from one branch or another in the same general vicinity for the entire time. Occasionally the claws would scratched through the matted down fur. Made me wonder if it had fleas o rjust mosquito bits like I have.

At one point it did climb part way down the very large trunk of the tree to get to a lower branch. I wondered how it would manage because there was no way it could wrap its claws, arms or legs around the trunk. At best it might reach a third of the way. But it did just fine, as would a bear or lion.

At one point toward the end of my concentrated viewing it moved to the very end of a branch to eat the most tender leaves and buds. I had read that they have a low rate of metabolism and so can live on relatively small amounts of food. Also, they don’t drink but rather get their water from licking dew and rain drops on leaves or from eating juicy leaves. Then it maneuvered to a significantly smaller branch on a different tree. Within a few minutes of the transfer there was a rustle of leaves on the branches in that area. Had it fallen?

I could see it, but not clearly even with the binoculars. It froze. Not the slightest movement as far as I could tell for several minutes. I wondered if it feared falling to the ground, especially when so very high in the tree tops? Do they ever fall?

I turned away from the window in order to take care of some things in the kitchen. Periodically I monitored the movements of the sloth. There was no movement from that spot for quite some time. So I checked less frequently.

The sky opened. There was a flash of lightening and aloud clap of thunder (both uncommon in these parts, at least during my stay). I wondered to myself “What do animals like the sloth do when it rains really hard?” I soon found out.

It had crawled up onto a branch. I watched as it situated itself so that it could wrap one arm around another part of that branch over head while wrapping the other arm around its body. It then proceeded to bury its head in its arm and wait for the rain to stop. So in the rain, at least on this occasion, it did not hang but rather sat up.

I don’t know if it went to sleep but that’s my guess. Did you know that a sloth typically sleeps more than 15 hours a day? In any case, it was there when night came.

At dawn the sloth was gone. I knew it could not have gone far, but there was no spotting it with or without binoculars. Not likely that it crawled down to the ground. Noble told me that sloths come down only if absolutely necessary to get to another tree for food and to defecate, which they do only once a weeks, if memory serves me right. (And how could you forget something like that, eh?)

You may have some unanswered questions about sloths, so let me share a few more facts that I read on the Internet. Ordinarily sloths eat, sleep, mate and give birth upside down. As a result their liver, stomach, spleen and pancreas are in different positions from other mammals. And the life span of a sloth is thought to be between 30 and 40 years.

Oh, here’s one more little tidbit. Their ancestor is the Giant Ground Sloth, which lived before the last ice age and was the size of the modern elephant. How would you like to see one of them hanging from a tree?

I was thrilled to have seen the sloth again. Perhaps it was the same one as before, but there was no way of telling because I hadn’t gotten a good look at the first one. It probably was. I’m told they don’t hang out together. (Pardon the pun.) They are a rather solitary type. Sort of like I have been the past month.

My hope is it will return. I’d enjoy seeing it again. My friends who come to visit would be intrigued. I’d love to be able to say to them “Look! It’s back!”