Thin slivers of morning light slip through the cabin’s wooden blinds, slicing across the sheets in bands of gold. Warmth crawls up my arm where it is bathing in the light, pulling me from the depths of a heavy, travel-drunk sleep. Now, drifting between dream and daylight, I hear it again.
A hollow, guttural bellow rolls through the forest, deep and resonant, rising and falling in powerful, ambient waves. It is not a birdsong or breeze. It’s something more primeval. The sound vibrates through the walls of our lodging, rattling the cabin’s ribs, and even trembling in my chest. I lie still, half-awake, heart hammering, unsure if I am dreaming or being summoned.
Growing up in the wild bush of Africa, I have woken to the roars of lions and the yelps of jackals, but this — this is different. I edge toward the window, careful not to disturb my wife, Francesca, and peer out into a blur of mist and dense green jungle. There, clinging to an overhanging branch, a dark form shifts, broad-shouldered, tail coiled like a serpent, eyes catching the first spill of light. Then another roar shakes the trees.
Howler monkeys — giants of the canopy, the jungle’s most efficient alarm clock. I had seen them before, but never this close. Their cries echo over the lake, and the forest begins to stir to life. Nature reaches through our window, whispering for us to rise, to follow, to chase what awaits beyond those trees. It is as if the land itself had found its voice, calling us to begin the day.
Costa Rica marks the natural crescendo of our Central American journey, the next chapter after we’ve been tracing Panama’s windswept coasts and Nicaragua’s rugged shores. My wife and I came chasing the wind, but what draws us in runs much deeper than that singular element — a country where forests hum with life and communities live in conscious harmony with the land. Renowned for its nature-first ethos, Costa Rica offers more than reliable wind, it echoes with the heart of kiting — a sport built upon respecting the elements that move us above and in the water.
Two radically different realms lie ahead in this beautiful country with upland lakes cradled by volcanic silhouettes and Pacific salt water bays where arid hills tumble into the sea. This interweaving of geography traces how the landscapes intertwine, how the wind shapes the water, and for the conscious traveler, how every moment forges a deeper connection with the natural world.
Cresting the winding road into the Northern Highlands, we are startled by a flash of red that streaks across our path. It is a lone scarlet Macaw, its wings blazing an electric blue as it darts from under the canopy. We freeze, stunned. Our first sighting of this iconic bird after climbing through Arenal’s cloud forest feels like good fortune.
Our base for this adventure is in La Fortuna, a town hugging the hillside, with wooden cabins of bamboo and volcanic stone. From the terrace of our rustic cabin, the valley unfolds below us with a rolling sea of green jungle canopy, and mist curling through the trees. The Arenal Volcano rises above it, dominating the sky.
Minutes after our arrival, the lodge owner beckons us to a nearby tree where a mother sloth cradles her baby. Grinning, he exclaims, “Pura Vida!” — a phrase that echoes the joy and spirit of this wild place. Here there are ample rainforest reserves. Wildlife corridors, Lake Arenal, and the national park converge beneath the volcano’s slopes. Past La Fortuna, the shoreline curves toward Tierras Morenas, where the lake’s renowned wind spot sits beneath the hills.
Eager to hit the water, we load our gear and wind our way along the lake on twisting roads through groves and farmland. As the valley narrows, the wind funnels between the slopes, whipping whitecaps across the bay. Around the final bend, a sign for “Tico Wind” appears, and our hearts race as we roll into the fabled launch spot.
Stepping onto a grassy lakeside meadow, Lake Arenal stretches before us, framed by rolling hills and pastures. Forested slopes and mountain folds give way to Arenal Volcano, towering in a near-perfect cone — a striking and cinematic backdrop.
The earthy, lawn-like launch area offers ample shaded spots and birdsong drifting from the forest behind. As we rig our kites, the atmosphere feels easy and most welcoming. Families and windsport regulars mingle on the grass, comparing foil setups, sharing tips, and taking in the sweeping volcanic scenery.
Perfectly aligned with the incoming Caribbean airflow, the valley walls funnel the wind, striking us head on. Steady at first, then building into driving gusts, hinting at the full-powered ride ahead. Launching from the lakeside bay with red clay sand underfoot, I marvel at the vivid contrast of the green hills and sparkling lake before I join the other riders carving across this freshwater expanse.
The water is pleasantly warm. The volcano’s summit flickers between haze and cloud, and the shoreline is dotted by small coves and tranquil inlets. Further out, the valley-routed wind stretches across the deep water forming a long rolling chop. This is the high-speed playground for windsurfers, wings, and foilers.
From the lake’s heart, the man-made reservoir impresses with its scale. Wooded hills and low-impact lodges merge effortlessly into the landscape, leaving it feeling untouched despite its hydroelectric roots. Between tacks, a double rainbow lifts across the hazy foothills, crowning an already perfect scene.
It is impossible not to fall for Arenal immediately. Sustainability is not a slogan here; it is woven into daily life. Clear rivers, immaculate trails, and thriving wildlife make the region’s eco-ethos impossible to miss. Between kitesurfing sessions, hot springs, jungle hikes, and canopy tours beckon, showcasing a landscape that feels clean, intentional, and vibrantly alive.
As we move on and descend toward the Pacific, leaving Arenal’s rainforest slopes behind, the world first appears in fog and waterfalls with the volcano looming ahead on the horizon. As we head west, the landscape yields rural stretches unfolding into curving roads threaded between grazing cattle and slow-spinning windmills. Shrouded cloud forests soon give way to open sky, and the green-topped highlands dissolve into golden sugarcane fields and rolling cattle country.
From there, the land opens more into the wide, sun-scorched lowlands of Guanacaste, stretching along the country’s remote border with Nicaragua. Just hours apart, the air here is now dry, the sunlight sharp in a vivid showcase of Costa Rica’s microclimates where entire ecosystems shift in a single day.
Turning off the Pan American Highway, we climb toward La Cruz, the final outpost before the coast. From a roadside cliff viewpoint, we see turquoise Pacific waters shimmering below, lapping the country’s driest coastline. Isla Bolaños, a tiny wildlife sanctuary, nestles quietly in the distance. Then comes the wind. We feel its signature instantly — those deep, surging gusts channeling straight through the pass.
Every tree and shrub here bears its imprint: contorted trunks bowed in permanent lean, branches twisted, leaves shredded by seasons of unyielding force. The landscape itself seems to breathe with it all — a reminder that the earth holds memory, shaped by whichever element lingers longest, and that each place offers a different tempo to abide by.
By the time we reach Bahía Salinas, the transformation is complete: rainforest has given way to ranchlands, lush, arid, mountain humidity giving way to sunbaked stone and scrub. Rugged terrain unfolds before us as a wild frontier ready to be explored. Winding between farmers’ paddocks, our dusty track finally spills onto Playa Copal, Bahía Salinas’ main launch area.
The bay arcs in a broad horseshoe, its coarse brown sand stretching wide under the heat, the ground warming through sun-scorched grains. Behind, dry tropical scrub gives way to patches of forest softening into distant, earthen ridges. It is a far cry from Arenal’s cool green grass and rust red mud. The sand blisters our feet, anchoring us in a landscape reduced to heat, wind and grit.
The deep, mineral-tinted blue of the lake becomes the clear, sunlit turquoise of the ocean. On the beach, flying sand stings our legs as the northeasterly Papagayo trade winds tear across the shoreline. Gusts of untamed energy race across the bay, exploding in white-capped fury. At the heart of it, Isla Bolaños rises like a jagged monolith, a craggy volcanic mass standing firm amid the swirling blues.
Unlike the highlands with their curated, contained feel, Bahía Salinas strikes us as raw and untamed. Remote and rustic, it is nature pared back to its essentials, a wild counterpart to the polished highlands we had left behind.
With little shade on the beach, we drift toward Blue Dream Kiteboarding, the area’s first kite school, its rough-and-ready base pieced together from tree trunks and driftwood. Hammocks hang between makeshift poles and the improvised roofing of driftwood and foliage casts just enough shadow to escape the scorching sun. Nothing feels permanent at this stripped back wind camp molded by the elements, quietly honoring the light touch practices that help preserve this stretch of coastline.
Shuffling along the sandy bottom to alert the stingrays, I edge carefully forward. The warm Pacific closes around me as I push off. Close to shore, flat, shallow pockets offer an easy glide. Just beyond, the bay transforms. Bump-and-jump conditions lift the board beneath me as the water deepens, dark and restless. Reaching forward to adjust my depower strap in a brief lull, I nearly collide with a giant, green sea turtle, its moss-speckled, barnacle-laden shell hovering beside me in quiet curiosity. Pelicans wheeling overhead, gliding alongside, I have had them join me in the surf lineup before, but never while kiting.
Approaching Isla Bolaños, a mile offshore, I thread my way through a living frenzy of birds diving into a silver school of fish, wings and fins thrashing in the bubbling water. The island rises like a weathered sentinel, revealing a white sandy beach and calm, flat water that gives me the perfect take-off.
While riding, I keep watch for dolphins and whales, frequent companions here and reminders that every moment on the water is in coexistence within a vibrant, untamed ecosystem. Arenal itself is easy to reach, with an infrastructure and unmistakable adventure-hub energy, while Bahía Salinas feels like a forever home to wind nomads drawn to simple living, strong wind and untamed nature at every turn.
What Francesca and I appreciate most while kite surfing here is how Costa Rica’s eco-tourism philosophy and the spirit of windsports intersect as a reminder that the best rides are often found where nature is preserved and allowed to speak for itself.
Although worlds apart, Arenal and Salinas remain bound across Costa Rica’s verdant landscapes and borders. One rises through mist and rainforest, the other sprawls across salt flats and wide open drylands. Both volcanoes are shaped by the forces of nature and a culture of deep conservation, telling a story of contrast, rhythm, and echo.
The wind that sculpts this region is more than local. Born over the Caribbean, the Papagayo breeze races across Nicaragua, funnels through Central America’s mountain gaps, and spills into the Pacific. This gap-wind phenomenon bridges two oceans and two nations, carrying sails across Ometepe’s volcanic waters, lifting kites on Arenal’s highland lake, and powering riders over Salinas’s dry bay.
Ignoring all borders, the wind guides the water, shapes ecosystems, and forges moments that endure in the landscape and beyond.
From lagoons and freshwater lakes to volcanoes and rainforests, our wind-swept journey carries us across this living landscape. Every story remains inseparable from its source and surroundings. Each tale is molded by earth, air, and those that move with the rhythms of nature. In the end, it is this enduring resonance that lingers long after the journey fades.
