Costa Rica: Volume One

"I've sorta fallen in like with this place," Chris said as we sat, staring at the ocean from the luxury of our air conditioned rental car, ten days into a fifteen day surf excursion to Costa Rica. This would be the only day we didn't surf (ed. note: not true), having spent the night prior at the Black Sheep pub; an English establishment that acts like a time machine in the midst of the jungle. Our early a.m. routine had been interrupted by many beers and more than one gin and tonic. This trip was different than our other adventures, though, as we were staying in a rather nice "surf hotel" some 100 meters from a beach break groomed by offshore winds from sun up till sometime around ten. Crowded after eight, we had decided to surf from first light till our arms expired, and then head back to the house for breakfast. A routine that was working, until today. With only a few hours remaining before our rental was due for return, Chris, Rena, Karissa and I explored the surrounding area, searching for surf, drinking beer at tiny bars and filling the back of our Toyota Fortuner with food and water for the rest of the week.

Rock Hopper.


Around the rock...

Sun Up.

Would Yogi...

Ocean Goer.


Escape from the Temple of Doom!

Wishy Washy.

Hot Sand.



Hip Pack.

Tip Top.

Time Travel.


Lake Arenal.


Good Company.

Garbage Truck.


Abandoned Bus.

Buy some, get some...

Not sure...

Late at Eight.

Click here to read all of our Costa Rica reports.

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