Bushmaster
- bzukowsk
- Jan 27, 2021
- 4 min read
June 2, 2013: The Bushmaster was born: So there I was, in the middle of the night, deep in the Costa Rican jungle with nothing but my headlamp...
I tell my story to a group of thru hikers around the campfire. They are all a bit haggard - 3 months and 871 miles will do that to you. I’m looking no better myself after 120. Our beards have become unruly, locks of hair are matted down on foreheads from days-old sweat. But tonight is cool, a light breeze carries sounds of the forest. The flames rise and fall. My captivated audience leans forward from their makeshift seats. Everything seems to have gone quiet.
Boomstick, Maverick, and Slim have each told their own ‘origin stories’. We’ve swapped tales of our hiking adventures, even life before the trail. My story began with some misadventures from my research in Costa Rica. I‘ve got some good ones, including the Bushmaster story...
When I went to live with the Bribri tribe, my professor (a herpetologist by training) had to mention the Bushmaster Viper. A twelve foot snake, the largest in Central America. And I just knew I had to find one. I was going to live for one month on the Kekoldi reservation: a patchwork of stitled huts, agroforestry, and wildlife habitat. The remote reaches still contained mature rainforest, an increasingly rare sight on Costa Rica’s southeastern coast, and a requisite habitat for the Bushmaster. This viper was among the first conversations that I had with Keysaur, my host brother and soon-to-be best friend.
Both of us were wide-eyed 20-year olds with a passion for the animal kingdom. Keysuar was a wildlife tour guide. I was an aspiring scientist. To this day, and to reiterate, I’ve met a lot of amazing naturalists around the world - no one had lived to be as impressive as this guy. He knew the names of every bird in Costa Rica... in English, Spanish, Latin, AND Bribri. He could whistle sounds I never fathomed that a human could make - enticing birds to emerge from the densely vegetated rainforest. He always knew just where and when to look. We spent many days wandering the rainforest together - as well as on the soccer pitch, swapping stories or listening to heavy rock music. We were nearly inseparable for an entire month.
Although, on our first acquaintance, his appearance was relatively unassuming. Lengthy, straight black hair spilled over his eyes. He was dressed in a worn tshirt, fraying jean shorts, and a pair of old, strapless crocs. His reticent demeanor belied this knowledge and passion I would come to know so well. But it was typical to most of my first interactions with members of the Tribe. He listened silently to my inquiries about the Bushmaster. Keysaur nodded, he’d seen two in his life. Maybe we would go out looking sometime.
As we got to know each other, this attitude shifted. Keysuar realized we shared a joy of 3am hikes, being deep into the primary rainforest when the animals awoke (or nocturnal ones bedded down). We found many things in our daily adventures - tropical birds, jaguarundi paths, tree frogs of every color - but the Bushmaster remained elusive. We explored some of the best habitat, near old growth forest and stream beds. And even began to search in all hours of the night, when vipers are most active.
So there I was, in the middle of the night, deep in the Costa Rican jungle with nothing but my headlamp... and it hit me. I finally asked, what in hindsight was an obvious question, “Keysuar, what if this snake bites me?”
Keysuar’s trademark smile broke out. It was late at night, the beam of my headlamp shined directly on his T-shirt. The bright glow illuminated this grin. He sat on a downed tree trunk, stretched out his open hand and asked for my iPod. Bemused, I passed it over. Keysuar (like many good guides) has a flair for the dramatic. He took the collection of our favorite music and selected a metal song. The smile disappeared and he locked eyes with me in the dark. “You might as well just sit down on a log and relax. By the time you listened to [your favorite song], you’d be dead”. He gave the hand over throat gesture. ”You’re joking”, I retorted. Keysuar also enjoyed teasing me. And I’d just learned the Spanish word for joke. Completely straight-faced, he just shook his head. Three weeks of tromping through the rainforest and suddenly I was quaking with fear. “Take me home Keysuar! A la casa!” I never booked it faster through a forest than I did that evening. It was the last time we ever searched explicitly for a Bushmaster.
Several years later, the campfire erupts with laughter - knee-slapping, belly shaking convulsions that pierce the veil of silence. A few beers deep and many miles behind us, the night is full of such moments. “Do you have a trail name?”, Maverick asks. I shake my head. “Ben, man, we dub you, the Bushmaster.” A thin branch is tapped on my shoulder and I arise, the Bushmaster is born.
But I was born to love the trail...
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