Caving In to Costa Rican Intrigue : Ecologically diverse Barra Honda National Park is honeycombed with mysterious underground caverns.

On my fourth day in Costa Rica, I turned down the chance for another day of deep-sea fly-fishing off the black-sand shores of Playa Carrillo. It wasn’t as if the angling was bad--I’d already fought and released a large Pacific sailfish and some yellowfin tuna.

My reasons had more to do with answering the siren call of a bunch of caves deep in Barra Honda National Park to the north--caves so shrouded in jungle-mountain mystique that until the last decade or so they were largely unknown to the outside world. Although more than 40 cave entrances had been discovered in Barra Honda’s limestone-rich soil, only 20-some had been explored by scientists and surveyors. The caves were said to contain stalagmites and stalactites that looked not only like icicles, but like curtains, pipe organs, fried eggs, soda straws and pearls. Cave creatures included bats, insects, sightless salamanders and fish in the underground streams.

So as my friends were delivered by wooden ponga to a sleek outboard for another day of fishing, I climbed into a dusty Landrover for a two-hour ride inland toward Barra Honda National Park.

On the dry Nicoya Peninsula that sticks out from the country’s Pacific coast, Barra Honda is situated near well-marked roads outside the town of Nicoya, about 200 miles west of San Jose. The park can be reached with a rental car, a decent road map and a sense of adventure. It covers 5,670 acres of dry, tropical forest spread over lowlands and limestone mountains.

My driver on the journey was Rick Ruhlow, an expatriot Californian in his early 30s who captained a sport-fishing boat for the lush Guanamar Resort at Playa Carrillo. Ruhlow’s boat was down with repairs during my visit, so when I told him about the mysterious Barra Honda cave system over drinks one night, he volunteered to drive me there to see the park and the caves for himself.

We set out from the village at Playa Carrillo just after dawn, bumping along on a dirt road in a truck normally used to haul fuel, ice and fish for the lodge. It was August, and the rolling countryside had been transformed into a lush green by the summer rainy season. “Everything wilts and even turns brown during the winter,” said Ruhlow. “If it wasn’t for the seasonal rain, this would be more like a desert.”

We rumbled up a mountain ridge from the flat coast, passing a collection of brutish, sinewy cows balanced precariously like mountain goats on the sides of the steep foothills. Our rugged, narrow roadway wound past small native huts capped with roofs of palm fronds or red-clay tiles. Papayas and mangoes grew freely around the cottages, and a few pigs and chickens poked through the underbrush. Twice we swerved sharply to avoid wiping out entire flocks of chickens that moved suddenly in front of us on the country mountain road. Once we encountered one of the classic wooden Costa Rican coffee carts, its bright colors muted by weather and time. It was pulled by a horse led by an old man with a machete hanging from his belt, sulking and determined over some distant goal. Later, we passed an entire family that had stopped to gather the edible pods from the living fence posts.

My ears popped soundly as we reached the top of the coastal ridge, and then popped again as we started our descent on the other side. In the valley below, we soon found ourselves on firm asphalt that would take us to the park entrance.

At a wooden sign announcing Barra Honda National Park as “six kilometers” away, we pulled over to try to find a guide with some local knowledge of the park. Ruhlow and I walked to a nearby house on the edge of the jungle where a young woman was washing a tub full of clothes over an open wood fire. Here, we found Asdrubal Diaz Gonzalez, a congenial young man who said he was “el presidente” of the local guide association. Enlisting his equally young friend, Florencio Gutierrez Enriquez, as his assistant, he scrounged up two plastic flashlights with the dimmest of yellow lights, and hopped into the back of our truck. After negotiating a day rate of about $12 for their services, we were off to the caves of Barra Honda.

At one point along our way, Asdrubal, speaking in Spanish, told Ruhlow that colonies of “killer bees” live in the surrounding jungle. Turning to me, Ruhlow repeated this information with casual indifference, as if he were commenting on the weather. I was struck by the irony of the situation: Tabloids had warned me for years of the “Coming of the Killer Bees,” and here I was, possibly coming to them.

Soon, we are at the entrance to Barra Honda. Although the weather was cool and dry--perfect for a long hike--there were no other vehicles parked outside the massive park. A T-shirted ranger collected 400 colones each (about $3) from us, and sent us on our way.

We began our hike on a clearly marked trail under the thick leaf canopy of the forest. Studded with limestone rocks and small boulders, the trail climbed at a steady pace up into the clouds of a mile-high mountain. We were traveling light for an all-day outing: Ruhlow carried a small knapsack with a quart-size plastic bottle of water and one banana; I shouldered a camera bag with a flashlight and a couple of granola bars. Our two teen-age guides were equipped with only the plastic flashlights.

Around us, the jungle floor was dry and uncluttered with the fretwork of vines and thick underbrush commonly associated with Central America. I could almost fool myself into thinking of it as a Southern hardwood forest. To do so, though, I’d have had to forget the Noah’s Ark mix of plants and animals that made this a special place. Above us, little white-faced monkeys scampered in the canopy, hip-hopping on the highest branches. Later, we heard the deep-throated groan of howler monkeys vibrating loudly from somewhere back in the forest.

A few of Barra Honda’s caves, like the one we were about to visit, were discovered as late as 1984, 10 years after the park was founded. Created in the limestone by rainfall and erosion over the last 600 million years, some of the caves are said to be as deep as 700 feet. Local legend, said Asdrubal, tells of one entrance somewhere on the mountain leading to all the caves, but it has yet to be found.

As we continued the steady upgrade hike, scores of butterflies inexplicably flitted out of the jungle and surrounded us in a sampler of primary colors.

The only ones I recognized were the brilliant iridescent blue morpho, sometimes with a wingspan as wide as two small hands. As they zigzagged through the forest, each morpho seemed to glow as if traveling under its own tiny black light. Asdrubal told us about the wild animals that thrive here, including jaguars, coyotes, wild boar, armadillos, coatimundis and sloths.

By the time we reached the first cave, we’d hiked uphill for almost two miles. The entrance was a simple opening in the top of a shaft of exposed limestone, a rocky crev ice that quickly fell away into a 60-foot-deep pit of darkness.

We hiked another 10 minutes to the next cave, another jagged hole in the limestone unannounced by marker or signpost. No need for rope, Asdrubal said, just climb on in. “El presidente” did just that, and I followed feet first, alternatively pulling and squeezing my way inside the rock- and earth-rimmed hole in this remote Central American mountain. Once fully inside, I began to slide downward as if I were in a rocky chute.

After a few feet, I landed solidly on a hard edge next to the guide-- “muy bien” --shook the dirt out of my hair and face, and flicked on my own flashlight. The house-sized cavern around us was a baroque rocky cathedral studded with limestone pillars and columns, stalactites and stalagmites splattered with sparkling white minerals. For its size, it was the most spectacular cave I’d ever seen.

Ruhlow slid down behind me. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he blessed the room in the special style of certain Californians. “Man,” he said, “this is righteous!”

Feeling water droplets on my arms, I aimed my light upwards to illuminate a tight cluster of black bats hanging from a nook in the scalloped ceiling. As they began to stir, their wings beat the air like tiny fans, creating the only breeze in the otherwise humid cave.

Asdrubal led me across rocky boulders to another smaller room where we both had to duck our heads to enter. Here, he doubled his hand into a fist and used his knuckles to lightly tap on each thick stalactite as if he were playing a xylophone.

I crawled hand-over-hand back up the chute to daylight, where we made our way through the jungle to the cavern known as Terciopelo. Created from a chasm large enough for several of us to fall into at once, Terciopelo is one of the deepest caverns in all of Barra Honda, and the most famous.

Still, penetrating Terciopelo that day would have taken more than determination: We would also have needed a way, namely some ropes and pulleys, to get us down inside the steep, plunging chasm, and at least one more guide to help each of us down some 75 feet to the cave floor.

In fact, most of the caves do not offer easy access to the general public, and it is not advisable to attempt to enter any of them without experinced guides. With advance notice, park rangers can take visitors down into Terciopelo, and several San Jose-based tour operators run spelunking tours into the caves. Impromptu arrangements with local guides obviously carry an element of risk and are best made when one member of the party speaks fluent Spanish and is familiar with the area.

Even though we didn’t go into the cave, our visit to Terciopelo wasn’t wasted since it was situated near the top of one of the highest points on the mountain. We gingerly picked our way over the steep, precarious trail that wound up and around the cave mouth, climbing steadily above Terciopelo to the mountaintop.

Once there, the jungle fell away and we were blessed with a grand vista that stretched beyond the lush valley below, all the way back to the Pacific coast and the vast Gulf of Nicoya. We all sat on small limestone boulders at the edge of the plunging overlook, and breaking out the granola bars and banana, indulged in a $2 lunch with a million-dollar view.

GUIDEBOOK: Dropping into Barra Honda

Getting there: Barra Honda National Park is about half an hour by car from the town of Nicoya. Take the main road east and follow the signs for the village of Barra Honda. You can also come from the east (San Jose) via the Tempisque ferry and follow the signs for the village. The road to the village is paved; beyond that the dirt road to the park is marked by national park signs. There is a ranger station in the southwest corner of the park where basic maps and information generally are available.

Visiting the caves: For cave descents, make arrangements with the National Parks Service in San Jose several days to a week before you go. It may be advisable to bring your own caving equipment; check with park service personnel. They won’t take you down in the rainy season or during Holy Week. Another avenue: Check with San Jose-based tour companies such as Turinsa (from U.S. telephones, 011-506-21-9185) or Tikal Tours (tel. 011-506-23-2811) regarding their methods, equipment provided, expertise and rates for spelunking tours. Obviously, tours are not advised for those with fears of heights or closed places. And, as with all cave decents, there is an element of risk.