CARTAGO TO THE PARAMOS OF RUIZ AND SANTA ISABEL
Dawn revealed the fact that Cartago was not materially different from
Cali. It was not so large, however, and the temperature was much
higher. Upon our arrival the preceding night we had finally succeeded
in arousing a sleepy landlord, who admitted us to a dusty, bare room in
the Hotel Colombia. We had learned long before this time that the word
“hotel” usually meant a roof only over one’s head and perhaps food,
so we at no time travelled out of sight of our baggage, with which we
could make ourselves fairly comfortable under almost any circumstances.
The country surrounding Cartago is level and of a dry nature; at any
rate, it does not compare at all favorably with the Cauca Valley at
Cali. We saw few evidences of cultivation and the number of cattle and
mules grazing on the scanty vegetation was very small.
The outskirts of the city are picturesque. The huts are low and lightly
built of slabs of flattened bamboo; fences made of split bamboo neatly
woven in a basket pattern surround them, and cannon-ball trees rear
their slender, awkward branches laden with great glistening spheres
of green fruit, high above the narrow, muddy sidewalks. When the
huge calabashes are ripe they are collected and used as containers
for water, wash-basins, bowls, and a variety of utensils; narrow
sections that have been split carefully and resemble miniature pointed
barrel-staves even serve the purpose of spoons.
A small marsh lies just in back of Cartago. It was filled with several
species of aquatic plants--mostly water-hyacinths and wild lettuce
on which cattle fed, half submerged in the murky water. Swarms of
mosquitoes issued from the stagnant borders and invaded the town at
nightfall, but this was by no means the only breeding-place of the
obnoxious insects. Drinking water, kept in uncovered kegs and pots,
teemed with larvæ, and glasses full of it set before us in one of the
shops were fairly alive with wrigglers.
One thing impressed me as being really appalling, and that was the
number of infirm beggars in the streets. In most Colombian towns
beggars are permitted to ply their profession only one day each week
and are required to wear a cardboard license tag suspended from a
string around the neck; but it seemed as if they were out in full force
every day in Cartago. Some of them presented an offensive appearance;
they were suffering with leprosy and other terrible diseases, and were
in such a pitiful plight that one was literally touched at mere sight
of them. They always asked alms in the name of the Virgin and all the
saints, and if results were forthcoming heaped a copious blessing on
the donor; but in the event that nothing was given the benediction
was in some instances replaced by such a tirade of profanity that one
quickly realized what a good opportunity to acquire merit had been
neglected.
We left Cartago as soon as possible and after a half-day’s ride
over gently rolling, brush-covered country reached the Rio Viejo. A
good-sized dwelling known as Piedra Moller stands near the river; there
one may obtain men and dugout canoes with which to cross the stream.
Beyond the river the trail passes through a little valley or depression
about four leagues across. Tall brush, some first-growth forest, and
extensive jungles of bamboo flank the narrow passageway. I counted
no less than forty species of birds during the afternoon and heard
the notes of several others that I did not recognize. Small green
parrakeets (_Psittacula conspicillata_) were exceedingly plentiful.
They always reminded me of English sparrows--not in appearance but by
their actions. Flocks of them sat on telegraph wires or house-tops,
chirping and chattering incessantly, or fed on fruits or seeds in the
bushes. They are also abundant in towns and villages and nest under
tile roofs, in hollow posts, and in holes in walls. The people are very
fond of the little “love-birds” as they are called and keep them in
their patios as pets.
At Balsas, which served as the first night’s stopping-place, we
discovered a whippoorwill’s (_Stenopsis ruficervix_) nest in a clump of
bamboo. The single egg had been deposited on the leaves near a bamboo
sprout that was rapidly pushing its way upward like a huge stalk of
asparagus. The incubating bird fluttered away as we approached, but we
returned the next morning and Allen secured a photograph of her on the
nest.
Noon of the next day found us at Finlandia, an inviting village with a
population of about four hundred, and situated at an elevation of six
thousand four hundred feet. All this country is the foot-hills of the
Central Andean Range. Rounded hills follow one another in a succession
of gentle billows, the sides of which are so gradual that one hardly
realizes there is a steady ascent. The forest that covers the ridge on
the other side of Finlandia is of a heavy, subtropical character--the
first of its kind we had encountered on this trip. Red howling monkeys
were roaring in the ravine below, but the birds of the forest belonged
to a fauna different from the one we had just left.
The palm-filled valley of the Boquilla had been reached by night.
Salento, with its low, whitewashed houses, was clearly visible on top
of the next ridge. It required just thirty minutes next morning to
reach the town after a climb of nine hundred feet. We did not stop at
the settlement, but continued up the time-honored trail leading to
Quindio Pass; within a short time forest of the most promising kind had
been reached and camp was being made in a sheltered spot about half a
mile above a lone house called Laguneta. The pack-animals were sent
back to Salento, where there was an abundance of pasturage, until they
should be required again.
The woods at Laguneta were rather open and there was little underbrush.
The trees, however, were burdened with moss, bromelias, orchids, and
other epiphytes. Climbing bamboo and creepers filled the few clearings
with impenetrable thickets. Most of the vegetation had small, harsh
leaves, and the stems were gnarled and stunted. Clusters of fruit
resembling pokeberries, on which numerous species of birds fed, grew on
tall bushes near the forest’s edge. Begonias covered with red and white
flowers filled the hollows.
The Laguneta region was remarkable for the number of ant-birds found
there (_Grallaria_, _Chamœza_, etc.) that are rare in collections
on account of the difficulty of collecting them. We secured fifteen
different species in the neighborhood. As they live in thickets and
on the ground, the only knowledge one has of their presence is their
strange whistling notes, distinct in each species, that come from some
gloomy spot deep in the tangled vegetation. _Grallaria squamigera_ was
to me the most interesting species. It is a huge, heavy-bodied bird,
olive above and tawny barred with black below. From a distance the
coloration reminds one of a large immature robin, but the tail is very
short and protrudes only about half an inch beyond the lower coverts,
and the long legs measure fully five inches. The plumage is long and
full. Occasionally we saw the shy creatures as we worked in front of
our tent in the afternoons; we always made it a point to be very quiet
and the reward came in the way of shadowy forms that unconcernedly
pursued their lives among the logs and brush without suspecting our
presence. This shows the advantage of camping in the midst of the
wilderness, where one is sure to see and hear wild things at the most
unexpected times--experiences that are lost if one does not spend his
entire time in the very heart of their environs.
[Illustration: The town of Salento.]
Squirrel Woods is the name we applied to a spot below Laguneta and
several miles nearer to Salento. On the upward journey the place
had been singled out as being unusually attractive for a week’s
collecting, owing to the number of birds and particularly of squirrels
seen from the trail. This, however, proved to be the one place in all
Colombia where we were not welcome, and in this regard it is unique in
my two years’ experience in that country.
After leaving the Quindio trail we followed a narrow path through
fields and forest for nearly a mile. It led to a neat, new cottage
surrounded by pastures in which there were cattle and horses. The
owner and his wife, middle-aged Colombians of the mestizo class, but
of better appearance than the average, did not seem overjoyed to see
us; they had no room, they said, for strangers. Explanations and the
display of credentials bearing flaring, important-looking seals were
of no avail; the people did not care to have the drowsy tenor of their
ways disturbed by a couple of gringos. The region, however, was too
alluring to forego, so we camped beside the house and took possession
of the veranda for sleeping-quarters. There we remained a week, much to
the displeasure of our unwilling hosts.
We had supposed that the presence of a wheat-field surrounded by
primeval forest had led to an increase in the number of small mammals
indigenous to the region, but this assumption proved right in so far as
squirrels only were concerned. A granary had been built in the centre
of the clearing, which was of considerable extent; bundles of grain
were piled in it from floor to roof. Squirrels of three species came
from the woods, and ensconcing themselves in the structure feasted
on the wheat. They ran the entire distance between the forest and
the house on the ground, taking advantage, however, of any logs or
branches that littered the place. They were especially plentiful in
the early morning and just before sundown. If one crept cautiously to
the border of the field he was sure to see dark little forms scamper
over the ground and disappear in the storehouse. The animals were very
tame at first and did not leave their shelter until one was but a few
yards away; then they appeared on all sides and ran quickly to the
protecting woods. Later they posted a sentinel or remained on the
alert, for no sooner did we reach one side of the clearing than all the
squirrels hurried away on the opposite side, being careful to keep the
granary between themselves and us. There were many stray dogs in the
neighborhood; they pursued the squirrels while making their pilgrimage
across the open space, and devoured any they succeeded in catching.
There were also other marauders that exacted a heavy toll in grain from
the farmer. Yellow-throated woodpeckers (_Melanerpes flavigularis_)
and green and yellow jays (_Xanthoura yucas_) were always about and
frequently came to grief in our traps set for small rodents.
A species of pigmy opossum (_Thylamys caucæ_) lived in the woods. It is
the size of a mouse, but has a longer tail. The slate-colored little
animals prefer small cavities in tree-trunks for their homes, where
they spend the days curled up in sleep; if disturbed they are very
sluggish and may be taken in the hand, their only concern being to find
a dark spot where they can snuggle up to one another and go to sleep
again. At night they are more active and go on foraging expeditions for
fruit, insects, and almost anything of an edible nature they can find.
The camp pet at this time was a young sloth (_Cholœpus andinus_). The
slow-moving little beast reminded one of a “Teddy Bear,” and when
it clambered among the branches of a tree it always recalled to me
Hudson’s description to the effect that he “hugged the branches as if
he loved them.” Our pet had been brought in by a native hunter who had
shot the mother and found the young one clinging to her long, gray
hair. It was easy to handle owing to its inactivity, but occasionally
it struck viciously with its front feet, each armed with two formidable
claws, and also snapped suddenly in an attempt to bite, its strong
teeth enabling it to inflict severe injury. It ate quantities of tender
green leaves at regular intervals, but it was always necessary to first
sprinkle them liberally with water and then feed them to the little
creature one at a time and in quick succession. I have kept a number
of sloths at various times and found that they thrived on young shoots
and buds of many trees and plants, such as cacao, cabbage, lettuce, and
almost any succulent vegetation.
I know of no animal that appears more stupid and lifeless than a sloth.
They move with great difficulty and in a sprawling posture on the rare
occasions when they descend to the ground, on account of the peculiar
formation of the feet; nor do they attain any great speed while moving
in the tree-tops, where they always maintain an inverted position
except when climbing up or down a trunk. When resting they roll up
into a ball, and as a species of green alga not infrequently grows on
the fur, they are very inconspicuous among the leaves and moss-covered
branches of their home--at least when viewed from below. But from above
they do not always escape the sharp eye of the harpy-eagle, which is
their chief enemy.
In spite of its lifeless appearance, it would be difficult to find
a mammal more tenacious of life; in this respect it resembles the
reptiles. Sloths will withstand the most frightful wounds and
frequently make their escape after having been shot many times. The
natives are very fond of the flesh and not infrequently capture the
animals when cutting down trees in clearing land; a favorite way to
kill them is by drowning, but this is a lengthy and barbarous process,
as it requires a long submergence before the creatures cease struggling
and life is extinct.
People of the lower class attribute peculiar powers to the sloth. They
say that when one of the animals finds it necessary to descend to the
ground it is unable to climb back to its lofty perch; but a friendly
cloud is always hovering near by which envelops it and carries it back
to any desired station in the tree-tops. In some localities they also
attribute the wild call of the giant goatsucker to the sloth. The only
time I heard the latter utter any sound was when a mother called to her
young that was a few feet away; she gave a fairly loud ‘peep’ and her
offspring at once went to her.
After a time our work at Squirrel Woods was completed, so, much to the
relief of the inhospitable couple, we left the place and returned to
Salento, where we had better fortune and were well cared for by one
Colonel Martinez; his wife had come from Bogotá, was a well-educated
woman, and, what interested us more just then, was a splendid cook. The
family conducted a fairly good _posada_ and shop and had various other
business interests, including several worthless mining claims along
streams flowing into the Quindio River just below. A few excavations
had been made into the hillsides; the largest was known as _La Mina del
Gallo_ and had yielded hundreds of tons of rocks and earth; but as not
a speck of the elusive yellow metal they so eagerly sought had been
forthcoming, the mine had been abandoned, and owls and bats inhabited
the dark tunnel. The greater part of the mining population had
deserted Salento for a place about ten miles distant, where extensive
cinnabar-fields had been discovered. They expected to acquire fabulous
riches extracting the mercury from the deposits. Some Englishmen headed
by a man named Lloyd-Owen were also interested in the enterprise, but I
learned later that the prospect failed.
At dusk we occasionally had a brief view of the Nevado del Tolima far
to the east. The snow-capped summit is over eighteen thousand feet
high, but we could never see more than a small portion of it on account
of the ridges that surrounded it. At night the snowy dome gleamed
white and frosty beneath a brilliant moon, and chill winds blew from
the frigid heights and roared through the town. The paramos of Ruiz
and Isabel, composed of high, cold valleys, plateaus, and snow-covered
peaks are south of the Tolima. We straightway resolved to visit that
region, and as the rainy season with its severe electrical storms was
fast approaching, no time was lost in starting on the expedition. My
experience on the Cerro Munchique was still too fresh to make me want
to duplicate it or expose any other members of the party to a similar
ordeal.
September 12 found us wending our way along the Quindio River toward
its headwaters. The valley floor is covered with grass that is kept
close-cropped by cattle and horses. Low shrubbery grows along the
river-bank; the stream--not over one hundred feet wide--is clear and
swift and the icy water rushes over a boulder-strewn bed. A scattered
growth of tall palms dots the entire valley and extends up the
mountainsides to an elevation of about nine thousand five hundred feet.
The trail is so indistinct that Allen and I, who were riding in advance
of the pack-mules, lost it and spent two hours in a vain endeavor
to recover the way; then we saw the cargoes and peons far below,
resembling moving black dots, and hurriedly rejoined them just as they
were leaving the valley for the abrupt slope. The trail from here
onward was steep and rough. Before us stretched a seemingly endless
succession of ridges, farallones, tall rocks, and high precipices that
reach a climax in the brown paramo of Santa Isabel, backed by walls of
gleaming snow. In looking back over the way we had just come we could
see the Quindio and the thousands of palms growing in its valley spread
before us like a map.
The lower slopes were barren, having but recently been burned over;
fire was still raging in a number of places and the hissing and popping
of burning vegetation could be heard frequently with distinctness.
Tall, smouldering stumps were clustered here and there like blackened
chimneys from the tops of which wisps and columns of smoke ascended
into a hazy sky. The pungent odor of burning green plants was at times
almost suffocating.
Forest begins at nine thousand five hundred feet. It is at first
somewhat open and reminded us of Laguneta. The rich mould of the
forest floor was very deep and caused us much anxiety lest some of
the pack-animals be lost, for they sank into it to a great depth, and
there was constant danger of their floundering and pitching headlong
down the mountainside. The arrieros took the utmost precautions, but
even then one of the mules became overbalanced and fell off the trail.
Fortunately the trees grew close together and one of the packs became
wedged between two of them and halted the rolling creature a short
distance below. It struggled there with feet in the air until the peons
released it and led it back to the trail.
Toward evening we reached a native hut--the second since leaving the
valley. The elevation of the place was ten thousand five hundred feet.
A large clearing in which white clover grew abundantly surrounded the
house. The inhabitants also had other clearings farther down, where
they planted corn and wheat. They were all suffering with colds and
the dreaded _dengue_, from which I was fortunately able to give them
some relief with the aid of our medical kit. In return for this service
they treated us most courteously and placed one of their two rooms at
our disposal, although it happened that a score or more of chickens
occupied the same quarters. The night was cold and damp. Next morning
the wretched people gave us milk and cheese and we purchased several
dozen eggs--certainly a great luxury in such an out-of-the-way place.
They also showed us the skin and feet of a tapir one of the men had
killed in the forest above. The hide had been used to make bottoms
for chairs and was of a black color. They reported the presence of
two species of bears, one entirely black and the other the tolerably
well-known spectacled bear. Although the latter is the only species of
bear supposed to exist in South America, I have been told repeatedly by
the people that a large black bear is found in the high Andes and have
seen skins that appeared to bear out their statements.
After leaving the house next morning we soon reached heavy mountain
forest. A deserted hut stood near the border of it, so on our return
from the paramo we spent several days there. The chief attraction about
the place was the abundance of white-throated sparrows (_Brachyspiza
capensis capensis_). Their cheerful little song cannot fail to endear
them to any one with even a limited æsthetic nature. Whether one hears
it in the hot, tropical lowlands or on a bleak mountain-top twelve
thousand feet above sea-level, the happy little melody is always the
same. Nor is the music confined to the hours of daylight only. I have
frequently heard it in the darkest hours of night, ringing clear and
sweet from somewhere out in the all-pervading blackness. These birds
are fond of the proximity of man and are most abundant where he has
chosen to break the soil and erect his abode. As a general rule they
are not gregarious, but I have seen them congregate in flocks of many
thousands to spend the night in some particularly attractive spot in
places where sleeping sites were limited in number. Farther south these
sparrows also gather in flocks of varying size during the winter season.
The nest is a neat, cup-shaped structure made of fine grasses; it is
placed in a low bush or on the ground. Two or three pale-blue eggs
thickly spotted with brown are laid and not infrequently two broods are
reared in a season.
During our stay at the solitary house on the edge of the great forest
a white-throat or _chingolo_ came daily and perched on the bannister
of our porch to pour out its overflow of happiness. We grew very much
attached to the confiding feathered mite and eagerly awaited its
frequent visits. After a short time I discovered the runway of some
small rodent under the porch and set a trap to catch the animal. Not
long after we heard the dull snap of the spring, and upon investigation
found the limp body of the unfortunate songster. The place seemed
deserted without the sprightly little bird and we never ceased to miss
it.
The belt of forest through which we penetrated before reaching the
paramo was magnificent. A species of orchid bearing long spikes of
yellow flowers was in full bloom; there were many hundreds of the
thick-leaved plants, some perched on lofty branches, others growing
from crotches but a few feet above the ground, but all surmounted by a
glorious halo of golden blossoms.
We left the forest with its giant moss-covered trees, ensnaring
creepers, and breathless silence that suggests a thousand mysteries,
at about noon. It ends abruptly and is replaced by a narrow strip
of low, dwarfed trees and bushes with small leaves that are either
very stiff or are covered with thick down. There were also clumps of
blueberry-bushes, but the fruit was woody, bitter and inedible for
human beings. Lupines and gentians grew in the hollows and numerous
composites thrived on the slopes; among the latter was one with showy
purple flowers that the peons called “arnica.”
After a stiff climb of an hour we gained the summit of a rise; the
whole panorama of the paramo was spread out before us--a marvellous
series of brown plateaus, sunken valleys with tiny rivulets meandering
through them, and stern ridges dotted with blackened, rocky peaks. The
snow-fields of the higher altitudes were entirely obliterated by banks
of cold, gray clouds.
The word _páramo_ means an elevated plain, barren of trees,
uncultivated, uninhabited, and exposed to the icy blasts of wind from
the higher elevations. This description exactly fitted the country
before us. We descended into one of the valleys, at the head of which
lay a placid lake of small size, and made camp at the base of one of
the protecting walls of rock that flanked it. The elevation of the
valley is about twelve thousand seven hundred feet, and the main peaks
of the range hemming in the paramo rise to a height of sixteen thousand
feet or more.
Long, wiry grass covered the valley floor; the top was bent over,
forming a billowy expanse of brown, variegated here and there with a
diminutive patch of green. Lifting any one of the tufts disclosed a
labyrinth of tunnels and runways apparently made by small mammals;
but, strange to say, we saw a small number only of rabbits, and few
rats came to our traps. If the network of tunnels harbored other
creatures, they effectively succeeded in evading our every effort to
discover them. Probably the denizens of this underworld had learned
the value of extreme caution and wariness because numbers of eagles
(_Lophotriorchis_) were always soaring overhead ready to pounce down on
any of them that for an instant relaxed their vigil.
[Illustration: The lake on the paramo of Santa Isabel.]
[Illustration: Snow on the paramo of Ruiz.]
A large part of the soil was springy beneath our step; it was
undermined by numberless rivulets which trickled from the slopes and
made their way to the stream in the centre of the valley. These wet
places were covered with extensive areas of daisy-like plants having
clumps or rosettes of stiff leaves; the squat, green hummocks were
strong enough to support one’s weight, but walking over them was always
accompanied by the feeling that they might give way suddenly and
precipitate one into the deep mire. Sphagnum flourished along the edges
of the marsh where it was not too wet.
The peculiar, gray, mullein-like plant called _frailejón_ thrives in
rocky places that were sheltered to some extent; but clumps of the
plants also braved the open, wind-swept slopes and grew to the very
edge of the snow-fields.
The heavy, orchid-laden forest through which we passed just before
reaching the paramo encroached upon the valley’s lower end, but for a
short distance only. There were well-worn trails made by tapirs and
deer that came nightly to feed on the abundant grass, for despite the
dry and withered appearance of the upper layer there was a deep carpet
of tender green shoots underneath.
There was an abundance of birds on the paramo, especially along the
bush-grown banks of the streamlet; but all were of dull colors--slaty
blue, gray, black, or deep brown, that harmonized well with the bleak
surroundings. Their habits reminded us of open-country birds of the
northern United States. Gray flycatchers ran over the ground; at
frequent intervals they mounted high in the air, like horned larks, for
which we at first from a distance mistook them. A small wren-like bird,
black with brown flanks (_Scytalopus sylvestris_), lived in the taller
herbage. It had a piping note that could be clearly heard fifty yards
away, but the agile bird was hard to see on account of its obscure
color and mouse-like habits that kept it constantly in the thickest
cover. Numerous marsh-wrens (_Cistothorus æquatorialis_) inhabited the
sedges, scolding and nervously flitting about.
More interesting than the foregoing, however, were large Andean snipe
(_Gallinago nobilis_) bearing at least a superficial resemblance to
the American woodcock. Single individuals or pairs of these birds
were found running over the bogs and drilling in the soft earth.
In many places the ground was perforated with dozens of the deep,
symmetrical holes where the tireless workers had labored diligently for
a meal. Shooting them was good sport. They sprang into the air with
a piping bleat and then sped away in a zigzag course for fifty or a
hundred yards, dropped back to earth and instantly merged into their
surroundings so completely as to be invisible.
The finches were perhaps better represented than any other family of
birds. A few goldfinches, in small bands, frequented the flowering
shrubs. A kind of slaty finch (_Phrygilus unicolor grandis_) was far
more abundant and fairly evenly distributed over the entire paramo.
We discovered a nest of this species among the grass at the base of a
frailejon; the structure was beautifully made of down taken from the
leaves of the plants that sheltered it. It contained two pear-shaped
eggs of a greenish color heavily speckled with fine dull-brown dots.
From a distance the small lake at the head of the valley appeared to
be a promising field for investigation. It yielded, however, but a
solitary Andean teal greatly resembling the gadwall (_Chaulelasmus_),
that was swimming on the unruffled water, and when this had been taken
our work in that particular spot was completed. The bottom of the pond
was covered with a solid mass of long _algæ_ far out as we could see;
these concealed any aquatic life that may have existed in the chilly
depths.
The weather was usually agreeable during the greater part of the day,
the thermometer registering in the neighborhood of 76° at noon, and
dropping to 30° at night. It rained little, but banks of clouds rolled
in frequently and precipitated a superabundance of moisture.
One day Allen and I undertook an exploration trip to the snow-line. We
started at daybreak, taking with us our guns, an abundant supply of
ammunition, cameras, and a small parcel of lunch. We made straight for
the head of the valley, passed the lake, and had soon reached the top
of the weathered ridge that formed the first barrier to our progress.
From the summit, fourteen thousand four hundred feet up, we could see
numerous other isolated depressions like the one we had just left;
in one of them was a newly made trench--probably the work of some
venturesome miner who had drifted to this lonely place in search of
gold. So far we had had not a glimpse of snow on account of the heavy
mist. We followed along the top of a hogback running northward and
gradually leading to higher country that flattened out into a marshy
plateau on its farther end. Progress was difficult. At each step the
bog quivered within a radius of several yards and the clumps of matted
vegetation depressed by our weight were quickly covered with water that
oozed from below. This was an ideal spot for snipe and several sprang
up as we painfully picked our way over the treacherous ground; but the
great exertion and high altitude had a demoralizing effect on our aim,
with the result that we were relieved of a good deal of ammunition
without securing a single bird in return.
A high wall of bare rock rose just beyond the confines of the bog,
and gaining the top of it we were up fifteen thousand feet. It was
covered with blackened rock fragments--mostly the result of weathering,
but some of them probably detached from the many towering crags and
columns by the shattering force of lightning. The highest point in the
wall is fifteen thousand two hundred feet. As we rested a moment to
recover our breath, a procedure necessary every twenty steps, the fog
suddenly lifted and disclosed the snow-bound slopes of Ruiz a short
distance away. Between us lay a valley flanked by perpendicular walls
of rock and hundreds of feet deep. The snow apparently extended down
two hundred feet lower than our station, making its lower limit fifteen
thousand feet.
We stood lost in admiration at the marvellous spectacle that
unfolded itself before us. The hurrying curtains of clouds revealed
ever-changing scenes. One moment miles of slopes covered with a
white mantle of snow stood out in bold relief; the next, they were
whisked from view and bare pinnacles of dark rock, like the spires of
a cathedral, appeared momentarily high above, their ragged outlines
softened by a veil of thin blue haze. Again, the lower edges of the
panorama came into view, revealing glaciers and avalanches of snow and
rocks perched on the brink of the wall ready to plunge with a boom into
the deep valley.
The floor of the valley was a series of ponds and morasses. Ducks
disported in the cold water, all oblivious of our presence, and
apparently safe in their, at least to man, inaccessible retreat. A
raging torrent tore along the base of the wall, adding its roar as a
fitting accompaniment to the general awe-inspiring character of its
desolate and inhospitable surroundings.
A whisp of vapor borne on a chill wind hurried across the intervening
chasm and blew into our faces. Time had passed faster than we realized
and we discovered that half of the afternoon was gone. Hurriedly we
began to retrace our steps along the wall of rock and through the
treacherous bog. By the time the sharp ridge was reached, clouds in
such volumes had rolled in over the paramo that everything was obscured
outside of a radius of a few yards from us. There was no trail of any
kind, and even the most familiar rocks assumed strange shapes swathed
in the dank vapor. A compass is useless under such circumstances.
Before long we reached the interlacing mass of ridges and, after
holding a consultation, followed along the top of one that seemed to
lead in the right direction. We stumbled along for two hours or more,
and then realized that we were lost. Darkness was fast approaching and
a raw wind swept down from the region of perpetual ice and snow. We
began to look for a sheltered spot in which to spend the night, for it
now seemed certain that each step was only taking us farther from camp.
Just then a rift in the clouds appeared, and before it again closed we
caught sight of a faint glimmer far below and to the right. That could
mean but one thing: it was a reflection from the lake at the head of
“our” valley. For more than an hour we had been travelling in exactly
the opposite direction. We gave up the thought of a bed of frailejon
leaves without regret and stumbled down the steep slope straight for
the spot where the lake had flashed into view. After many collapses
from thirst and fatigue we reached the brook with its crystal, ice-cold
water; then progress was easier, and within another hour the glow
of the camp-fire appeared through the haze, and soon we were snugly
ensconced in the depths of our blankets.
A few days after our journey to Ruiz the weather changed greatly.
Low-hanging fogs covered the paramo day and night; lightning flashed
among the clouds, and frigid gales roared over the plateaus. These were
signs of the coming winter and warned us to leave the paramo before
it was too late. Soon there would be only snow and ice, penetrating
mists, the reverberating roll of thunder, and blinding displays of
electricity. The elements would be unleashed and in all their grandeur,
and awe-inspiring frightfulness take possession of the upper world.
Life would then be unendurable, so we accepted the warning and returned
to Salento.