The Adventurer’s Son by Roman Dial, and some Costa Rican synchronicities.
Roman Dial’s The Adventurer’s Son is a deeply honest piece of writing. Dial, a hardcore adventurer, displays admirable vulnerability in this story of family-building and loss. He examines the heart of the adventurer, how it yearns to walk the knife edge cornice between life and death while simultaneously questioning that desire, especially when it causes others pain. He grapples with the guilt of encouraging adventure in his son—also named Roman—as adventure led ultimately to his death.
The narrative is riveting, the anxiety and uncertainty palpable as a desperate father searches for his son. The writing left me wanting here and there, but is ultimately as good as it needs to be to keep the reader glued to the page. And as we do with all books, I related this one to my life. I thought about how I have made others worry as I disappear into the mountains or desert again and again. And I couldn’t help but compare myself to both Romans. I have so much admiration for their capabilities as wilderness travelers. The book made me want to do more, but it also made me want to be cautious. Additionally, it illuminated a number of synchronicities.
A couple of weeks after returning from my cousin’s wedding on the Osa Peninsula in Costa Rica I was scrolling through the news when I noticed the wreckage of a familiar-looking plane at rest on the smoldering rainforest floor. The ABC News headline read “2 American Families Killed in Costa Rica Plan Crash”. We had just flown on one of those planes, a 12-seater Cessna used to take tourists all over the country from the capital city of San José.
When I stepped inside the tiny plane two weeks prior I was terrified. I looked around at the other passengers and identified a man with gray hair and mustache as a very likely candidate for the father of the bride, and my uncle. We slowly and awkwardly made the connection while the pilots prepared for takeoff. It had been more than 20 years since we’d last seen each other.
The single-engine propeller began spinning and we taxied slowly to the end of the runway. A few jets landed and took off while we waited our turn. I watched the pilot and copilot look at some paper on a clipboard. One pointed to a line of text, the other pointed as well, and then did something with the controls. What were they doing? I wasn’t really enjoying watching the sausage get made.
The engine revved louder and we crept down the runway and slowly and impossibly lifted into the air. I was amazed the thing was capable of staying aloft; it bucked and fell and steadied and strained and I just gripped my then-wife’s hand and prayed to something to let us not die. When we reached what seemed like a decent soaring altitude we made a slow 180 and started to head back to San José. Maybe the engine was too loud, but they didn’t tell us why we were turning around. We’d find out upon landing, we assumed. When we did land they told us the airport on the peninsula had closed, that it had no lights so we wouldn’t be able to land in the dark. I wasn’t relieved at first; the story felt far-fetched, but they put us up in a nice hotel and we made the journey in the morning. When I saw the airport on the peninsula, however, with its dirt runway and lack of lights, the story made sense.
While on the peninsula I dreaded the flight back to San José. And so when I later saw on the news that one of these planes had gone down, I wasn’t surprised at all. I clicked on the headline and it took me to an ABC News video. The anchor said that an American tourist was the first on the scene and the camera then panned to him.
“Matt Wolfe?”, I exclaimed out loud.
It was my parents’ realtor from Utah. What were the chances? And more importantly, what was the significance of this synchronicity?
When I started reading The Adventurer’s Son by Roman Dial I discovered that his son disappeared on the Osa Peninsula. A very mild coincidence. As I read on I realized he disappeared into the Corcovado National Park where we took a tour during our visit. Still just a minor coincidence. But then when Roman goes looking for his son he sets up basecamp at the Iguana Lodge, the exact same place where the wedding took place in 2017. He speaks of Lauren and Toby the owners, people who I met and had conversations with.
Then, when Roman goes to Carate to search the southern part of the park he encounters a guide named Roger. Was it the same Roger who drove us to and from Carate when we were there? There’s no way to know for sure. Roman stays for a couple of days at the La Leona Eco Lodge, the same Eco Lodge where we stayed. But it makes sense at this point.
Later, when on the north side of the park, news arises that a gold miner was the last to see his son alive. I turned the page and came face to face with a photo of Jenkins, our guide in Corcovado. Roman was there in 2014 and since then gold mining had been banned in the park and all the miners were given jobs as guides. So, it all makes sense that we would have had Jenkins as a guide, but the synchronicities are still bothering me. I don’t know what they mean or if they mean anything at all.