For the last ten years, I have led wildlife eco-tours in Costa Rica. Although I've had many exhilarating encounters with monkeys, sloth, jaguar and other exotic rainforest animals, there is one trip that stands out for me - when our tour group was privileged to witness a most extraordinary event. On that particular trip, our band of wildlife enthusiasts included Jim and his teenage son, Andy. This father and son were not our typical clients. Jim was a stern-mannered former military man in his late fifties, who didn't say much, but often seemed to butt heads with his son. I felt sorry for Andy, whose enthusiasm throughout the adventure was at odds with Jim's hard edge and controlling manner. Once Jim even got a little rough with Andy, yanking him harshly by his arm when Andy lagged behind trying to catch a red and blue poison arrow frog. No one said anything, but most of the group gave Jim a wide berth after that. I tried to spend a little extra time with Andy. He told me he was dying to see a jaguar. So we stole away late at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, to look for glass frogs and other nocturnal animals. It was our little secret. Midway through the trip, in a remote area of Corcovado National Park, our group found a troop of twenty white-faced capuchin monkeys, which we stopped to observe. White-faced capuchins are often used in movies because they are extremely smart and behave much like humans. While these monkeys are normally quite friendly and social, this troop had one alpha male that was unusually aggressive. He was very territorial, and by noon we had already witnessed several violent skirmishes. When any of the other monkeys got too close, he raced toward them, baring his teeth and sometimes even taking a swipe at them. We nicknamed him "Ah-nuld" after Arnold Schwarzenegger. We followed the monkey troop, keeping a respectful distance from them as they foraged through the forest and occasionally stopped to feast on ripe figs hanging on the trees. Bringing up the rear of the troop was a very young monkey, not more than ten inches tall, whose mother was already teaching him how to climb branches and follow the others. Every so often the mother reached around the trunk of a wide tree to a branch on the far side. This was the hardest thing for the little monkey to do. He would stop, whimper, and go back and forth examining every other option before he'd finally make a leap around the trunk. Our group clapped excitedly each time he succeeded. After a while, the young monkey grew tired and began falling behind. The farther behind he got, the louder he whimpered and wailed to get his mother's attention. His mother stopped and waited for him, but she never went back. Finally, the infant came to a large tree that was just too wide for him to get around. His crying grew louder and louder until at last his mother retraced her steps and allowed him to use her back as a bridge. Once safely around, she continued at the rear of the troop with the tired little fellow now clinging tightly onto her back, still crying. His crying got louder and more annoying until it drew the attention of the alpha male leading the troop - the terrifying Ah-nuld. Baring his teeth and hissing angrily, the big male made his way over to the mother and child with fire in his eyes. The mother assumed a protective posture and let out a loud snarl. We all held our breaths, not sure what Ah-nuld would do, but expecting the worst. When Ah-nuld reached the mother and child, his face suddenly softened. He looked directly at the baby monkey as if seeing him for the first time. Then Ah-nuld reached for the terrified infant, cupped the baby's tiny face gently in his hands and planted a kiss right on his forehead. The baby stopped crying immediately. Ah-nuld stayed there, gently cradling the baby's head and lovingly grooming his fur with his teeth. Our group let out a collective sigh of relief. We were so struck by the tenderness of the moment that we barely noticed Jim, our own Ah-nuld, quietly sobbing. No one said anything, perhaps out of politeness, but I suspect inwardly everyone was glad to see Jim soften up a little. Buzzing with excitement, we made our way back to the lodge. After dinner, I sat with Jim and several others on the veranda, swaying in hammocks and listening to the sounds of the rainforest, as beautiful and varied as a symphony. The peace was broken when Andy walked out on the porch and Jim reached out, grabbing the boy's arm roughly. Andy tensed. My heart sank as I expected yet another power struggle between the two. All eyes were anxiously on the father and son. Then Jim drew Andy to him, gave him a hug and said, "I'm so glad we're doing this trip together. I've always wanted you to have an experience like this. Andy, I know you don't always feel it, but I love you." Andy looked at his Dad in shock as if it were the first time he had heard him say "I love you." Later, we found out it was. Reprinted by permission of Josh Cohen © 2003 from Chicken Soup for the Nature Lover's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and Steve Zikman. In order to protect the rights of the copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent. All rights reserved.
