THE CHOCÓ COUNTRY ON THE WESTERN COAST OF COLOMBIA
Upon returning to Cartago from our expedition to the bleak paramo
of Santa Isabel, we began preparations for a visit to the notorious
Chocó, which lies along the western coast and within the San Juan River
watershed. This section of the country presents the other extreme
in climatic conditions. It has been rarely visited by naturalists
on account of its inaccessibility; and the few who have succeeded
in forcing their way within its inhospitable borders have found it
impossible to remain any length of time. Malarial and yellow fevers are
endemic among the natives, but quickly sap the vitality and life of
newcomers into the region; rain falls daily--four hundred inches being
the average precipitation for one year--and the heat is so intense that
when the sun appears during the intervals between showers the whole
jungle is converted into a steaming inferno. Small wonder, then, that
the fabulous wealth in gold and platinum of the Chocó has been little
more than touched.
Our plans called for an overland trip to Nóvita on the Tamaná River;
after reaching that point local conditions would have to guide our
subsequent movements. Trail there is none, but a footpath, often so
faint that it loses itself among the vegetation or in the beds of
streams, serves the purpose of partially guiding the stalwart negro who
carries the mail to Nóvita at infrequent intervals, as well as others
who undertake to cross the Western Range into the tropical lowland.
The townspeople of Cartago had heard a good deal, in a general way,
about conditions existing in the Chocó, but they could give no
information of practical value. We haunted the market and other places
where _peons_ congregate in numbers in our endeavor to secure porters
for the trip. The few who reluctantly expressed a readiness to go did
not seem physically fit for such strenuous work, so I rejected them.
One day a caravan of oxen arrived from the settlement of Salencio, and
I hastily engaged them for the return trip, as these animals, while
slow, are sure-footed, and can pick their way through mud and jungle
that horses could not penetrate.
Leaving Cartago, we crossed the arid Cauca Valley; the land west of
the river is more rolling than on the opposite bank, but the character
of the plant life is much the same. Within an hour Ansermanueva, a
cluster of twenty or thirty adobe hovels, was sighted in the distance,
but the trail divided just before reaching the village and we followed
the southern branch. Beyond this fork the climb into the mountains
began; there are two ridges, six thousand eight hundred feet and seven
thousand five hundred feet high respectively, with a ravine of five
thousand eight hundred feet between. The “cloud” forest does not begin
below the top of the first ridge; then there is an abundance of mosses,
ferns, bromelias and other epiphytes forming a growth that is both rank
and beautiful, and equalling in density that found in any other region.
The greater luxuriance of the flora on the western slope indicated a
heavier rainfall on that side; this is accounted for by the fact that
the summits of the various ridges stop the moisture-laden winds from
the Pacific, to a large extent, and cause them to precipitate the water
on the ocean side of the divide.
Within two days we arrived at Salencio, small, dilapidated, situated
on a little plateau between the peaks, and inhabited mainly by
half-breeds. We were advised to wait until the weekly market-day, when
many people from the surroundings would come to town, and it would be
possible to secure porters for the continuation of the journey. In
the meantime we made short excursions into the neighboring forest;
they yielded several novelties, among them a splendid example of the
military macaw (_Ara m. militaris_). This gorgeously colored bird is
rare, indeed, and we have never seen more than two at the same time.
Spectacled bears were said to be common and to come to the clearings
when corn is ripe; the number of pelts exhibited by the inhabitants
amply verified their assertion.
When Sunday came, and with it the gathering of people always present
when market is held, we had no trouble in engaging the required
_peons_, each of whom agreed to carry a pack of seventy-five pounds.
Early the next morning they appeared, eager and ready for their
undertaking. They shouldered their loads and started away at a fast
gait, while we brought up the rear of the column to prevent straggling.
The way lay across a low, forested ridge, and then adhered closely to
the bamboo-covered banks of a small stream called locally Rio Cabeceros
or Rio Vueltas, but which is really the headwaters of the Sipi River.
At one time we waded in the knee-deep water a distance of over three
miles, as it was easier than to force a way through the matted plant
life on either side. I soon discovered that the porters did not possess
the endurance of those we had previously employed on other expeditions,
and I believe this was due to the fact that the use of coca leaves is
unknown in this part of Colombia. Whenever our _peons_ had an abundance
of coca to chew they seemed tireless in the performance of their work;
those not given to the habit required large and frequent meals, ate
_panela_ all day long as they marched, and were capable of covering a
short distance only in the course of a day’s walk. We were compelled to
halt early and chose the top of a knoll for a camping site.
A steady downpour of rain had fallen the entire afternoon, which
continued throughout the night, and this, coupled with the severe
cold (the elevation being seven thousand two hundred feet) and the
desirability of preparing hot food, caused us to long for the comforts
of a huge camp-fire. Dry wood was out of the question, but the men
cut down a tree, the green wood of which burned readily, and had soon
started a fire adequate for working purposes. Their ponchos, which had
become saturated with water, were of no service in keeping them warm,
so they sat up the entire night, singing, telling stories, and drinking
hot coffee in their endeavors to remain cheerful and keep warm.
On the following day the vegetation was far more dense, and advantage
was taken of numerous narrow fissures in the mountainside roofed over
with logs and moss; through these tunnels we crawled on hands and
knees, but that was easier than forcing a way through the tangled mass
of plants growing above. When camp was made that night the base of a
tree was selected for a fireplace. At first glance it seemed that the
diameter of the vine-covered trunk must be at least ten feet, but this
was a delusion. After the men had vigorously plied their machetes on
the creepers, moss, and ferns, a stem not over two feet across was
revealed; they cleared away the lower tangle, leaving a protecting
umbrella-like canopy overhead that shielded the entire party from the
rain while they cooked their food.
We crossed three ridges in all, the elevation of each being slightly in
excess of seven thousand feet, with depressions of from two thousand
feet to three thousand feet between them. All are heavily forested, the
growth above four thousand feet being subtropical in character, while
that lower down is typical of the tropics and comparatively open.
At the end of the third day we heard the welcome roar of water, and
not long after halted on the bank of the Hávita River. A naked negro
came from the far side in answer to our calls, and ferried us across
the stream in a huge dugout canoe. There we found a settlement of half
a dozen bamboo huts filled with lazy negroes clothed in scanty attire.
The place is called El Puente. About one hundred yards below the group
of hovels, the Hávita is joined by the Rio Ingara. The water of both
streams is swift, cool, and of a bluish-gray color. Each of the streams
is about seventy-five yards wide just above the junction.
After crossing another ridge which required two days’ time, we reached
Juntas de Tamaná, on the south bank of the Hávita, a stone’s throw
above the point where this stream empties into the Tamaná, and but four
hundred feet above sea-level. Excepting only the little clearing in
which the fifteen dilapidated negro abodes stand, the entire country is
covered with a forest of tall trees; there is little undergrowth, but
many of the lower branches are covered with epiphytes, and long vines
or “forest ropes” dangle down from the interlocking tree-tops to the
very ground.
The negroes of Juntas are a miserable, sickly lot. They suffer from
lack of food, for the simple reason that they are too indolent to
grow in sufficient quantities the plantains, yuccas, and other plants
that thrive with a minimum of attention in such a favorable location.
Instead of making clearings and cultivating the fertile ground, they
prefer to lounge in their hammocks and take a chance at starving to
death. At irregular intervals, when the pinch of want is too great
to endure longer, the men paddle in canoes to their _fincas_ to cut
sugar-cane, gather plantains, and to pick palm-nuts in the forest. Upon
their return the family gathers about the food and eats until not a
vestige remains. So effectively do they attack the mound of provisions
that one might easily imagine a swarm of locusts had paid the region a
visit.
[Illustration: Native of Juntas de Tamaná with trail-haunting
blacksnake.]
[Illustration: The author with natives of Juntas de Tamaná.]
A day or two after our arrival at Juntas a two-year-old child belonging
to one of the families died. The news spread rapidly and by night
the entire neighborhood had turned out for a wake. We followed the
crowd. The baby, in a white dress, with bright red and green ribbon
trimming, lay in a wooden box on the table. A canopy of muslin had
been erected above the bier which was strewn with wild flowers. The
room was packed to suffocation with the black forms of the populace,
which glistened in the dim, flickering candle-light. At first bottles
of _aguardiente_ were distributed, and every one had a number of
liberal-sized drinks. Then the older folks withdrew against the four
walls and, squatting on the floor, sang or lamented as fancy dictated.
The younger people divided into two parties and played games around
the coffin. One of them was a kind of charade and, when the guessing
side solved the riddle, they pursued and caught the others, amid loud
shouts and laughter. I feared constantly that they might upset the
coffin. Occasionally some one would stop long enough to pet or caress
the dead little form, and address a few terms of endearment to it, such
as _pobrecito_, _angelito_, or _tan lindito_. The revelry lasted until
daylight; then a procession slowly wound its way to a newly dug grave
and deposited its burden, leaving the only little mound visible that
side of the Tamaná.
Christmas was drawing near. We were surprised to see the women
apparently making preparations for a celebration, which is most unusual
in South America. They worked several days cutting the weeds around the
village and cleaning up the place. When we asked about it, they said it
was not on account of the approaching _fiesta_, but a form of penance
they performed annually in atonement of their sins. Apparently the men
were without blemish, for they gazed upon the workers and addressed
jocular remarks to them from the comfortable retreat of their hammocks,
even enumerating particular misdeeds and suggesting special forms of
penance that might be effective.
The next stage of our journey had to be performed on the river. We
secured a huge _bongo_ and stalwart negro paddlers, and December 21
found us speeding down-stream toward Nóvita. The Tamaná is a rapid
stream, varying between one hundred and three hundred yards in width.
Its bed is strewn with boulders, causing rapids easily navigable on the
downward voyage, but difficult and dangerous to negotiate when bound
up-stream. Then there are deep passages between high, crumbling banks,
where the water glides silently onward like an olive-drab stream of
molten glass. The densest of tropical jungles lines both banks; its
matted walls facing the river are interrupted by small clearings at
infrequent intervals, where low hovels stand surrounded by the rich
foliage of banana and yucca plants. Chonta-palms, with bristling, spiny
stems, rear their plumed heads above the other forest-trees, or droop
over the water in a graceful manner, forming a dainty filigree against
the brazen sky. The brassy, merciless sun blazed down with unrelenting
vigor, and we were glad when dark storm-clouds obscured the sky and
provided a greatly needed respite.
It was possible to proceed only to a point called Cabeceros, below
which rapids of a formidable character obstruct further navigation. The
few negroes living on the river-bank can usually be induced to assist
in making the portage, men and women alike undertaking to carry packs
to Tambito at the foot of the rapids. Here it was necessary to secure
another _bongo_ and the trip was resumed.
The Tamaná grows wider constantly. Cataracts are of more frequent
occurrence and present greater hazards in their navigation. The
_bongo_, made of a huge tree-trunk and measuring thirty feet in length,
and a yard in width, was most seaworthy; but frequently it shipped
water in alarming quantities, and scraped and bumped over the hidden
rocks until we expected the craft to be rent asunder and flounder.
During the greater part of the afternoon we were in sight of a high,
isolated mountain, appearing on the map under the name Cerro Torra.
So far as I can learn no explorer has ever succeeded in gaining its
summit, and when I beheld the vast stretch of impenetrable jungle
extending from the river to apparently the very top of the mountain, I
could readily understand why the few men who had attempted this piece
of exploration had failed in their undertaking.
Late in the afternoon we landed at Nóvita. I was somewhat surprised at
the size of the town, which consists of about fifty hovels. The white
population, which was very small, consists mainly of traders, and is
more or less transient. I was told that they remain in the region a
year or two to buy gold and to sell their stock of provisions and
merchandise at exorbitant prices, and then return to a more healthful
climate--to suffer many years afterward from the effects of their
sojourn in the Chocó.
Nóvita is essentially a mining town. A good deal of gold and platinum
are washed out of the small streams that form a network in the
surrounding country. The negroes and Indians bring in the precious
metals in small quantities--wrapped in leaves--and trade them for
tinned food and cloth. However, the town seemed to be on the decline
in favor of Condoto, Pueblo Rico, and Quibdó, where richer mineral
deposits had been located.
The forest contained comparatively little wild life, and that was
typical of the Pacific tropical faunal zone. We daily took long tramps
and discovered numerous things of more than passing interest. Among
them was a colony of nesting black-and-yellow orioles (_Icterus_).
The birds had selected a solitary ceiba-tree standing in the centre
of a banana-field. It was seventy feet to the lowest limbs and the
trunk was so thick and smooth that no predatory animal could climb it,
which insured the safety of the colony from such a source of danger.
The nests, like huge pears, dangled from the tips of the branches; I
counted one hundred and four, and there must have been many others
concealed by the foliage. The adult birds were busy and excited,
and were coming and going in steady streams, keeping up their noisy
chattering all the while. We found numerous bits of egg-shells, white
with black dots, on the ground, indicating that the young were just
hatching.
One evening as we were returning from a long hunt, we noticed lines
of bats emerging from the little church standing on the edge of the
village. Next day (Christmas) I visited this rendezvous accompanied
by several negro assistants. The bats were all concealed within the
board walls, so that it was impossible to get at them, but the negroes
unhesitatingly tore away the slabs of flattened bamboo and soon had
the room filled with a squeaking, fluttering swarm which they attacked
with sticks. This method of attack proving too slow, they grabbed
guns and fired into the masses amid wild shouts of merriment. When
the pandemonium was over and the heap of slain had been collected,
they respectfully removed their hats and in passing out of the church
reverently bowed the knee before the altar.
We had been cautioned to be on the alert for snakes. The deadly
bushmaster or _verrugosa_ was said to be particularly abundant. While
hunting one day, Allen shot a hawk and placed it in the back pocket of
his hunting-coat. To all appearances the bird was dead; while crawling
through a thicket a short time later he felt a sudden sharp sting in
his back and, throwing up his hands in terror, yelled, “Oh, Lord! one
got me at last,” thinking, of course, that he had been struck by a
snake. Hurriedly removing his coat, the discovery was made that the
supposedly dead hawk had been stunned only and, reviving, had promptly
dug its talons in the first thing that offered a firm hold. One may
well imagine the unpleasantness of such an experience.
Occasionally we saw a species of blacksnake that grows to a length
of more than twelve feet. It is perfectly harmless, but has the
disagreeable habit of haunting trails and footpaths near the villages.
When a pedestrian approaches it rears its head several feet above
the ground and calmly gazes into his face. The first few times this
happens, the sudden, upward lunge of the big head, the rapidly playing
tongue and the beady eyes give one a decided shock and provide ample
cause for flight. Later, one becomes more or less accustomed to it.
This snake was also plentiful in tropical Venezuela and Bolivia.
[Illustration: Nóvita, the largest town in the Chocó.]
It was impossible to secure fresh meat at Nóvita; salt beef was
imported in barrels, but it was of such poor quality that we could
not eat it. We therefore depended on toucans and parrots for our
meat-supply, and found both species very palatable.
The paper money used throughout the greater part of Colombia is not
recognized by inhabitants of the Chocó. It rots in the wet, hot
atmosphere and for that reason is valueless. Neither are gold coins
wanted, but some of the shopkeepers accepted them at a twelve per
cent discount. The money that finds favor is composed of silver coins
from Mexico and practically all the other South and Central American
republics; it is valued according to size, the “dollars” passing for
forty cents, the halves for twenty, and so on. I found a number of
United States half-dimes circulating at two cent, and dimes at four
cent values, and “collected” all that came within reach.
After a few days’ hunting around Nóvita we secured another _bongo_ and
resumed our journey down-stream. The Tamaná empties into the San Juan,
about ten miles below Nóvita. The latter river is wider and deeper, but
there is no change in the country bordering it. All day long we glided
steadily onward, stopping at noon only for a brief respite from the
burning sun. At dusk we landed to spend the night near a negro hut. The
floor was raised five feet from the ground and the ragged, thatched
roof nearly touched it; there were no walls. Altogether it was a most
primitive dwelling, in which the dusky forms of the occupants moved
like shadows against the dim light of their cooking fire. Noanamá was
reached the next day. It is not quite so large as Juntas de Tamaná,
and stands on a bluff overlooking the river. The inhabitants are all
negroes; the males wore breech-cloths only, while the costume of the
women consisted of a narrow cloth fastened around the waist with a
string. Both men and women spend a few hours each day washing gold on
the river-bank, securing enough from this work to pay for provisions
brought from Buenaventura. When they have accumulated a small quantity
of the fine, sparkling flakes they embark in their canoes and make
their way to the seaport in three days, there to do their trading. It
was impossible to hire them for any kind of work; one woman had flour,
but could not bake bread for lack of fire-wood, because no one would
carry it from the forest one hundred yards away. Indians came to the
village daily. They wore many ornaments of beaten silver about their
necks and wrists; some of them also had earrings made of the same
metal, the size of doorknobs; they were so heavy that a framework of
sticks placed at the back of the head had to be used to support their
weight. I was greatly amused by the actions of one stalwart young brave
who, with his wife and baby, came to the settlement each day. While
in town, where he might be observed, he paid no attention whatever to
his family; he walked several paces in front of the woman, who, of
course, carried the baby, and not once even condescended to glance in
their direction. However, when they reached the river-bank or some
other secluded spot where he was safe from prying eyes, he snatched the
infant from the mother’s arms, kissed it, tossed it into the air and
acted exactly like any other fond parent. If any one approached, he
hastily returned it to his wife and resumed his taciturn expression.
At times a small steamer, the _Fluvial_, from Buenaventura, visits the
settlements on the lower San Juan. We waited in vain ten days for her
appearance. However, a launch belonging to a miner, a Mr. Stapleton,
chanced to pass, and the owner kindly offered to take us to the coast.
The San Juan grows constantly wider. Its banks are dotted with the
conical huts of Indians; the floors are always raised on poles, high
above the ground, to escape the floods and insects.
As we sped down the river many of the naked, painted savages rushed
out in their canoes, paddling and yelling like demons in attempts to
overtake the launch. I do not know what object they had in mind as we
always outdistanced them. We also saw others catching crabs in places
where the high, sheer banks were honeycombed with holes made by these
crustaceans. They had slender, sharpened sticks with a barb on the
end, which they inserted in the burrows and then withdrew with the
struggling victims impaled on them.
We reached the mouth of the San Juan in two days’ time. The river
is very wide at this point and dotted with low mangrove islands.
A sand-bar almost completely blocks the estuary, and when we left
the next morning we had great difficulty in finding a passage. Then
followed a wild, careening dash of forty miles in the open ocean. The
launch was but twenty-one feet long, and we were compelled to go out of
sight of land to avoid rocks and reefs; but dusk found us well within
the confines of Buenaventura Bay, ploughing through the placid water
at great speed and frightening up innumerable flocks of brown pelicans
that much preferred to float comfortably on the unruffled surface, and
took wing only as a last resort to escape being run down.
Buenaventura had never seemed attractive or inviting to us before, but
after a month in the steaming coastal land, with its almost constant
downpour, insect pests, and terrific heat, it appeared to be altogether
delightful. We returned to Cali and spent weeks on our backs suffering
from the fevers with which we had become inoculated. Allen’s attack was
so severe that he was compelled to return to the United States two days
after reaching San Agustin on our next expedition, and just before the
discovery of some of our most valuable material.