Last Stop: Quepos

We stayed at a fabulous place for two nites, in Santa Teresa: Calocita. A cool German dude runs the place, named Chris. Tell him John and Collin the pilots referred you. His rooms are German clean and secure, bathrooms are 3 star hotel nice (maybe even 4 star), for $35 a nite. Deal. 

After a morning surf session (Collin only; I didn’t go out) we ate breakfast and planned our next, and last, leg together. I left it to Collin as to where he wanted to be dropped off. He chose Quepos, on the Pacific coast, about 70 miles south of Tambor, where we flew in the other day. We grabbed a cab to Tambor around noon and got there just before one. As we rounded the corner to the airstrip, my heart started to pound. Did I really leave the Red Sled for two nites, all alone on a tarmac in the middle of nowhere?? What was I thinking? This is Central America! Chris thought I was nuts. But he’s German. Nevertheless it got me worried. What if someone broke into the plane? Took my life raft (a cool grand)? Stole my tires? Broke something? Broke anything? But all fears were laid to rest when we got to the airstrip. It was a hub of activity, with one Cessna Caravan on the ground and another flying in. The red sled was just as I had left it. In fact I believe the airstrip may have 24 hour security.

We preflighted. All looked good. Since we couldn’t get hold of Coco Control from the ground, we would have to call them from the air to file a VFR flight plan to Quepos. As we taxied to the end of the runway, which was 20 feet from where we parked the plane, Collin called for Tambor traffic and we learned another Caravan was on final. We waited two minutes, they landed, and we took off. Climbed to 5500 feet, direct Quepos.

15 miles out we started talking to traffic; there was one plane in the pattern and another behind us. Two miles out, and we couldn’t see the airstrip. I knew where it was on the GPS but still we could not see it. It was well hidden among the trees. Not until I was on final did we see it, and we were almost over it. So I went around. All for the better, since another plane was following us in, and it was faster than us. While we were messing around in the pattern we heard other chatter in spanish, saying something about "Americanos" and "Mooney" and "tienes que hablar ingles!" Clearly they were amused we were flying around their local airport. After the go-around I greased the landing and pulled up next to a Cessna 172. The airstrip was going off; planes waiting in line to take off, planes landing, quite busy for a single strip. I parked my plane adjacent to the Cessna and locked it up for the nite. The pilot of the Cessna, Alex, gave us some information regarding the area and flying in Costa Rica.

As we exited the airport, I was going to hail a cab but an (obvious) American was dropping off a couple guys, and as they got back in their truck, I asked them if they were headed to town. They offered us a ride. Turned out Kevin, the driver, lived in N Dakota most of the year but also has a place in Costa Rica. He’s in the real estate business and has, or has access to, a Pilatus and a jet. Sheesh. I asked him if they took the Pilatus down here. His response.: “Hell no. You guys ever heard of commercial?”

Tonight is the last nite Collin and I will hang out together. Today was the last flight I will have him in the right seat. Tomorrow I will depart Quepos for Liberia, clear outbound customs, top up my fuel tanks, and continue to Managua, where I will spend the nite. I think both Collin and I are feeling a little anxious about our respective next chapters. He will stay in Costa Rica, and I will start heading back north. It’s going to be a lonely ride without my co pilot. My plan is to head to Managua tomorrow, and then to Cozumel the following day. I will then stay on the Yucatan for a few days and dive some cenotes with a friend. Collin’s plan is to head for Domenecal tomorrow, and then to see what happens.

View from our room at the Coco beach Hotel

Tomorrow is today. This morning, both Collin and I woke up at 7. The nite before, around midnite, clouds had begun to fomr, big towering cumulus ones. When I woke up around dawn, there were still clouds, but an hour later I could see daylight through my eyelids. "Sun", I said, still in bed eyes closed. "Nah, that's lightning", says Collin. I mumbled some expletive then rolled over. The sky would begin to clear and by 8 all looked good. Relief. We had breakfast, I checked the weather, then we grabbed an illegal cab (pirata) to Quepos town and then to the airport for $10. I dropped Collin off at the bus station where he would take a bud to Domenecal. I then headed to the airport, solo.

Alex was there, working on his cessna. He was installing a downward facing camera. He flies for UNESCO and the Nature Conservancy. Great guy, very funny. Originally from Italy, he's been in CR for 9 years, flying around. We talked some, then a couple other planes flew in (Nature Air I think). Alex knew those pilots too so we talked some more. Pilots can talk all day though, just stand around and BS, so I figured I better just get going. I preflighted, took off, and filed VFR enroute to Liberia. About 15 minutes into the flight i heard Alex on the radio. Before I switched frequencies he called me up and wished me a safe flight. It was touching. Pilots make a tight community.

I was alone in the red sled, climbing to 10,000 feet. It was weird not having Collin in the right seat, and for a second I thought,  "What the hell am I doing flying by myself over the mountains of Costa Rica?" But only for a flash. I am comfortable flying solo; almost all of my 400 hours of crosscountry time is solo.The flight was smooth and uneventful.

The best deal in Costa Rica

 I landed at Liberia in Costa Rica and went through the process of exiting the country. First stop: Administration office, where I entered and a new guy was there. I told him what was up and he said, "you have to pay a departure fee." Of course I do, I thought. I always pay a departure fee. I knew it was too good to be true; upon arrival CR administration charged me only $5. "No problema", said I. He began to work with his computer on the form. I don't know what kind of computer it was; maybe a 386? It took like 5 minutes for him to fill out this form and print it out. "Cuantos dolares?" I held my breath. "Dos." Pause. "Dos?". Smile. "Si, dos". Deal! Then he asked me if i had a general declaration form, to which I said no, so he gave me one. Then he said, "One dollar." I figured he wanted a buck for the form so I took a buck out and gave it to him. "No, one dollar", he said, and gave me back one of the two bucks I gave him for the departure fee! It was a whole $1 to leave the country. Unbelievable. By far, the deal of the entire trip. CR may not be cheap but to fly in and out of it is basically free. After passing through immigration (you do not have to go through customs, so I was told; weird but true in my case at least.), to whom I submitted my general declaration, I bypassed all the security lines in front of all the commercial passengers ("perdonne, piloto"), and walked to the tower to submit my flight plan. The guy there was a real character. I cannot remember his name but he was a riot, very latin american, funny, but a terrible flight planner. He erroneously told me Managua was north-northeast of us, when I knew it was north-northwest. Nevertheless I figured he knew something I did not (yeah I know, like how to read a map) so I put down 11,000 feet for my IFR flight plan. I figured it should be 12,000 (I ended up at 10,000 when ATC asked if i wanted 11 or 10). Then he called for the gas truck to meet me at my plane, which was really courteous, but again, I thought, hmm, that's not how Collin did it last time. I specifically asked if I could pay at the plane and he assured me, Si. I thanked him, and went to my plane. There I waited for maybe 10 minutes before a guy in a golf cart came over and said i had to pay for the fuel first. Which is exactly what Collin did the other day. I told him the guy in the tower said I could pay at the plane, and the guy says, "yeah, he doesn't know." Anyway I prepaid for 80 liters ($120) and rode back out to the plane with the fuel truck. It took exactly 80 liters and was completely full. I guess I know my plane's rate of fuel burn (or more likely it was total luck). The gas truck guy was impressed. I got in, preflighted, and at exactly 1245PM I called up the tower to pick up my clearance to Managua. They asked me to wait for a commercial jet to land, then they asked me to backtaxi far enough so a twin otter could take off before me, then finally it was my turn. On turnout, climbing, the tower thanked me for my help, and said, "See you next time." They remembered the red sled. It made me feel pretty good, for some reason. Makes me want to come back. The flight to Managua was very pleasant, uneventful, though I was in the soup for maybe half the time. I'm used to that, too. Dropped out of the soup at around 2,000 feet and made a visual approach into Managua. And boy did they remember El Americano; they told me to taxi to Charlie 5 which I just assumed was where I put it the time before, away from the commercial airliner terminal and next to the other general aviation planes. As I proceeded, the tower calls me up and says, "7154U, turn 180 degrees". Oh. I turned around and proceeded to taxi just behind the parked commercial airliners. I saw some other planes up ahead, maybe 100 yards away from the terminal, and I figured they were putting me there. Nope. "54Uniform, park next to the Delta jet." You mean the 737? Yup. They parked me right next to, and perpendicular to, a 737. I was twenty feet away from the terminal. Rock star parking. I got out, greeted everyone like we were old friends, and they whisked me through immigration, customs was nonexistent, and voila, back in Granada for the nite. 

In the past two weeks we have flown about 24 hours and have covered some 3000 nautical miles across five countries. I still have another 20 or so hours in the air over the next 10 days before this grand adventure comes to a close. It ain’t over yet…