“Poor Carl.”
    
     Those two words will forever remind me of Costa Rica. My husband Jon and I had come to the Central American country to explore the area’s diverse ecology, from its landscape dotted with volcanoes and waterfalls to its rich array of plants and wildlife. And while I enjoyed exploring the dense rain forests and watching dolphins cavort in the waters off the Osa Peninsula, I was on a mission. I wanted to see and photograph the red-eyed tree frog.

     I’d always been fascinated by this cute, funky frog, his bulging red eyes giving the impression of constantly being caught unawares. It’s this expressive appearance that has made the red-eyed tree frog one of the most popular symbols of ecotourism in Costa Rica.

     “The red-eyed frog is very difficult to find,” said Marie, the manager Playa Nicuesa Rainforest Lodge, the first of two eco-lodges I visited during my vacation. “I’ve been here nine months, and I still haven’t seen one.”

     In the three days that I had been in the rain forest, I had seen dozens of frogs. There were small greenish-brown frogs about the size of a dime; small brown frogs the size of a Pink Pearl eraser and ones as big as softballs; large, lumpy toads; and one frog so tiny that to this day I still have no idea how our guide spotted it among the rainforest growth. But no red-eyed tree frog. I was beginning to lose hope.

     On the fourth day, we made our way north to the country’s Sarapiqui region. That night, with only our flashlights to guide us   as we walked to our resort’s dining hall, we passed a small pond. “Let’s take a spin around to see if there are any frogs,” I said. There was nothing but a few giant katydids and (much to Jon’s dismay) a spider.

     I don’t know what made me do it, but as we were leaving, I lifted a large leaf. I almost dropped my camera when I saw two red eyes staring back at me. I began to jump around and squeal like a five-year-old child on Christmas morning, startling Jon who had already started to walk away.

     I spent probably the next half hour trying to get a decent picture of the frog. Jon, ever-patient and illuminating the frog with one flashlight in his left hand and the other in his mouth, held the leaf up as I twisted myself into a human pretzel, trying to get a good shot without falling into the pond. Mission accomplished!

     The following evening, I practically skipped to the dining hall, hoping to once again spot the little green frog we had dubbed Carl. Although I didn’t spot Carl on our way to dinner, I was hoping to see him again afterwards. But just as we were sitting down to our meal, Kattja, one of the resort’s staff members came over to me with a camera. She had heard that I was interested in the frogs, and she wanted to show me some “neat” photos that another guest had taken just hours before. As I scrolled through the images, it suddenly made sense why I hadn’t seen Carl that night. There he was, in moment-by-moment detail, being swallowed by a snake!

     We tried to show enthusiasm for the photos because Kattja was so excited to show them to us, but after she left, we just looked at each other as if to say “what just happened?”

     Then Jon, bowing his head, simply whispered, “Poor Carl.”

     Now I know that Carl’s demise was simply nature taking its course, and over the next few days I saw two additional red-eyed tree frogs as well as colorful poison dart frogs and transparent glass frogs, but I couldn’t help but feel sorrow for bright green creature that had brought me such happiness.      Poor Carl indeed.