In Costa Rica, golfers encounter some of the wildest sights (and sounds!)

Is it quiet on the tee? The howler monkeys don’t think so.

Hidden in the canopy above me, the loudest mammals on Earth were yelling in violation of golf etiquette: these primates have rude manners and misleading names. Never mind the nickname. Howler monkeys don’t make many calls, but instead bark and roar at a volume disproportionate to their size. Most stand shorter than your putter, but their guttural sounds can be heard miles away. Think mini Chewbacca with a megaphone.

In another situation, the racket in my backswing could cause trouble. But that’s exactly what I was hoping for when I booked a tee time in Costa Rica – a chance to get up close and personal with nature and the sights and sounds that come with it.

Other than that, I wasn’t sure what to expect as my knowledge of Costa Rica had almost nothing to do with golf. I doubt I’m alone. For those who have never set foot in Costa Rica, the country tends to register as a Wikipedia page, filled with rainforests and coral reefs, waterfalls and waves, friendly locals, and an affordable outdoor lifestyle. It’s all true. Which has nothing to do with fairways and greens.

These same characteristics also make the country an attractive place for foreigners. Inland mountainous areas, coastal areas and roadside soda water — A humble, family-run cafe that serves Casado Plates and fresh juice—stop at yoga studios, surf schools, and espresso bars you might stumble upon in Santa Monica. A mix of local and imported power fuels an economy once driven by agriculture and now largely reliant on ecotourism.

Conservatism does more than help put food on the tables of Costa Ricans. Supported by public policy, it is also a source of national pride. The country is about the size of South Carolina and covers about 0.03% of the Earth’s land area, but is home to nearly 5% of its biodiversity. Hunting is not permitted. About a quarter of Costa Rica has been designated as a national park or wildlife refuge.

Golf is also present, but on a smaller scale, which makes sense given the numbers. There are only about 2,000 registered golfers out of a population of 5 million, and about a dozen courses, some of which are little more than makeshift backyard layouts. The oldest clubs, such as the Costa Rica Country Club, are clustered around the capital, San Jose. But for most visitors, the game unfolds on the northwest coast around the Papagayo peninsula, where the fairways share space with jungle and ocean.

Overlooking the bay of the same name, the peninsula is made up of steep headlands and secluded coves, with resorts embedded in the hillsides. The Ocean Course at the Four Seasons meanders along the coastal cliffs, with holes in a necklace shape that offer views at every turn. You drive from the green to the tee and emerge into a clearing to take in the stunning panoramic views.

The landscape is filled with local characters. By the time I turned the corner, the howling had died down. Near the clubhouse, though, I saw another species of monkey—the white-faced capuchin—acting on a snack attack on someone’s unattended cart. Passing through the back, I saw two bucks, antlers locked, vying for the attention of a doe who I swear looked slightly embarrassed. An anteater scurries across the railing beside the carriage path—a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it ghost.

When I’m not on the course, I do what golfers do best between rounds: I rest, but only long enough to get back to other activities. The Andaz hotel where I stayed offered snorkeling, paddle boarding and eco-zip lining through a nature preserve: there was a trapeze show for wannabe Tarzans. (And there’s more. Next month, the Papagayo Peninsula will cut the ribbon on Papagayo Park, a lifestyle center featuring a pump track, pickleball, pools, fitness decks and more, all available to guests and residents of Andaz, Four Seasons and The Ritz-Carlton Reserve Nekajui). Another way to visit the treetops is to take a canopy walk along rickety planks and rope ladders. From one of these high vantage points, I finally got a closer look at one of the culprits of the cacophony I heard on the course: a howler monkey leaning on a tree branch. My guide told me that they spent most of the day nibbling on the fermented fruit, which allowed them to relax with a gentle buzz without being drowsy and silent.

“So, they’re noisy and lazy, just like my kids,” I said.

But deep down, I felt jealous, not judgmental.

That evening I sampled a few cocktails on my own. But by morning, I was ready to nail it again. A short drive along the coast brings me to Reserva Conchal, a property designed by Robert Trent Jones Jr. that was originally a lion’s paw and still retains its wonderful wildness. The course winds through woods, around lakes, and borders mangroves that double as wildlife corridors. Iguanas skimmed the fairways. Toucans flashed overhead.

My partner is the resort’s director of golf, Carlos Rojas, who took up the sport as a boy caddying near the capital and never looked back. Full of energy—an energy he attributes to his all-carnivore diet (“No sugar, no carbs,” he says. “I’m never tired, ever”)—he struck me as the embodiment of joy. pure life“Pure life” is both a tribute and a national slogan. Rojas eats almost nothing but red meat, yet he oversees a seemingly green line: recycled water, 100 percent organic fertilizer, compost, even tees and ball markers made from recycled coffee grounds.

Golf is not widespread in Costa Rica, but what is available is perfectly in line with the country’s ethos: small-scale, sustainable, and in tune with nature.

Back at the Andaz that night, the jungle was once again filled with hustle and bustle. From the terrace, I heard howling in the canopy of trees—a racket, yes, but still oddly soothing. As daylight came, they were still chattering away while I strolled back to the Ocean Course for a quick spin before setting off. I imagined the cheers coming from the woods as I found the fairway with my tee shot.

I’d take over Baba Bui any day.