Costa Rica

Lightly, the patter of rain begins; dimples and small splashes on the thick brown water. From the river the crashing of waves can be heard. A grey bank of clouds on the horizon, above the sea. The glow of a burning sun, barely perceptible through a grey and tearful mist.

Mangroves dip moist hands, unseen, beneath the murky depths. Barnacles cling to them. Sometimes scratching the undersides of kayaks. Along them scurry hermit crabs. Beady black eyes like demented puppets staring out of shells. Far away, a howler monkey calls.

The rain falls, ever heavier now, and the ruptured water sings. Tiny explosions on the surface at first, and then full soaking sheets, gushing from all sides. A heron takes flight. To shelter.

I am as wet as I think you can get, so I carry on; past the gentle curves and banks of sand, the full and bustling trees.

The darkened sky flashes, a sheet of electric blue. And then, not a crack of thunder far away, but a noise that swallows me, a sky that´s full of sound.



Then. As the raindrops lose force, and thin strands of sunlight find water to make shine, something happens. I see something I have never seen before. Perhaps will never see again. But I know exactly what it is. It is a Basilisk. A Jesus Christ lizard.

I saw a picture of one once in a National Geographic I was vandalising for a geography coursework on rainforests. I remember the fragile drops of water, caught like frozen glass in the air. And the feet stretched wide, lightly catching the river´s surface, muscles taut and a body bursting with speed, even in the motionless shot. A blurry green background, and each succesive step, miraculously made.

In real life you don´t see any of these things. Just a very fast lizard running across a stream, quite impossibly, before your eyes. No individual movement discernible from the next.

During the holiday in Costa Rica with my dad we saw many incredible species of animals and plants, but I don´t think I will ever forget the first time I saw a lizard walk on water.