03/08/2025
Santa Fe National Park | Field Notes
Shared by Christian Gernez, naturalist guide at Isthmian Adventures.
Our first of three hikes that day had already offered a richness of life:
A dark river of army ants crossed the trail in perfect formation, and a bicolored antbird darted behind them, skipping along in their wake, our guests Mario and Loes captivated by the rhythm of miniature survival.
Then, just past a waterfall, the trail bent gently alongside a creek. The air shifted. Light filtered differently. I paused and said,
“You notice I’ve been scanning the ground more here. This is perfect habitat for snakes, warm, open patches near water. If one were sunbathing, this is where she’d be.”
And just like that—I almost missed her.
A equis as we call her in Panama, was stretched out across the trail. Not coiled. Not moving. Simply still, soaking in the sun. Her patterned back disappeared into the leaf litter, except where the light made her shimmer like old bronze.
I found myself too close and jumped back.
Not in fear, but in reflex. In respect.
We stood quietly, observing. Then Loes leaned in and said,
“Her skin looks fuzzy.”
“Velvety?” I offered.
“Yes,” she smiled. “Exactly.”
That’s when I remembered: in other parts of Central America, they call her terciopelo. Velvet.
She is often feared. Misunderstood. But that morning, she wasn’t a threat.
She was just… there. sunbathing, Present.
Like all reptiles, terciopelos are ectothermic. While we mammals produce our own body heat through metabolism, she depends on the sun.
Without warmth, she can’t digest, can’t move, can’t survive.
She wasn't blocking our way, she was simply fulfilling her morning ritual in a quiet patch of light.
And far from being a villain, she plays a crucial role in the forest:
Regulating rodent populations.
Feeding hawks, owls, and other predators.
Acting as a silent indicator of a healthy, intact ecosystem.
We gave her space. Circled wide. Left her where we found her, calm, still, part of the forest’s rhythm.
That morning had been full of beauty: waterfalls, birds, insects.
But somehow, it’s that quiet presence, not the many waterfalls we saw, not the birds, that stayed with us the longest.