ASCENT OF THE PARAMILLO--COLLECTING ON THE RIO SUCIO
The return to Medellin from Puerto Valdivia occupied five days. We
again went to our former headquarters, the “Gran Hotel,” and spent a
few busy days packing the large collections brought from the Lower
Cauca. Then we began to gather provisions and cargo mules for a second
expedition.
Upon leaving Medellin we started northwestward, having in view an
ascent of the Paramillo, a lofty spur of the Andes, jutting out of the
Western Range slightly below latitude 7° south. This region, so far as
I am able to discover, had never been explored.
At first the trail is wide and very good, so that within four hours
after starting we reached the summit of the first ridge, eight thousand
seven hundred and fifty feet up. A great cleft in the bare, rocky
peaks forms a natural pass and saves a climb of at least an additional
thousand feet. The slope on the other (western) side is more gentle.
We were immediately impressed with the barren nature of the country,
for, with the exception of a few patches of low brush, and clumps of
withered grass, there was no vegetation. An occasional glimpse of the
Cauca River, far below, presented the picture of a broad yellow ribbon
lying upon a brown, rocky plain.
That night we reached San Geronimo, a small town well down in the
valley. Limited plots of ground are irrigated in the vicinity of the
settlement, where rice, corn, and pasturage are cultivated by the
inhabitants. Yellow-rumped tanagers, anis, and finches (_Sycalis_) make
this little oasis their home, and add greatly to its attractiveness.
Next morning we were in the saddle before six o’clock. A few hours
later, after crossing a low ridge, we came suddenly upon Sopetran, a
beautiful little town completely hidden in groves of palms, mangoes,
and other lovely trees. The cluster of some hundreds of snow-white
houses with red roofs, wide, well-kept streets, and the abundance of
multicolored birds fluttering and singing among the deep green foliage,
render Sopetran one of the most attractive towns of its size I have
seen in tropical America.
At noon we reached the Cauca and crossed that sluggish, muddy stream
on a suspension bridge about eight hundred feet long. The cables are
anchored in picturesque brick piers built into the face of the steep
banks, and hundreds of swallows utilize as nesting-sites the small
openings where the wires enter the masonry. Gravel flats flank the
sides of the river, and bare, sandy islands divide the water into
several channels. The elevation is approximately two thousand feet.
One league beyond the Cauca lies the town of Antioquia. If Sopetran
is the last word in attractiveness, Antioquia must be placed at the
extreme other end of the scale. The wide, arid valley supports no
vegetation except occasional clumps of cacti and dwarfed mimosas,
which rather add to its desert-like appearance. The heat is almost
unbearable, as the Western and Central Andes, hemming in the valley
between huge walls of pink clay and sandstone, shut off all ventilating
winds.
Although it was still early in the afternoon, we decided to spend
the rest of the day in Antioquia, as the pack-mules seemed nearly
exhausted; but it was not long before we heartily regretted not having
avoided the town and made camp out in the open plains. Our _arriero_
had guided us to the little hotel, where a matronly _señora_ received
us with evident joy and a great deal of ceremony, probably because
we were the first guests in some time; we soon discovered, however,
that she was not the only one to whom our visit gave pleasure. Fleas
in droves appeared from the cracks in the brick flooring and made
their way through leggings, trousers, and all other wearing apparel
as quickly and easily as the proverbial rat running through a cheese;
and when we entered our room, vermin of a still more objectionable
character rushed joyfully from the beds, walls, and chairs to gloat in
hungry anticipation at their prospective victims. We erected our cots
in the _patio_ and spent a long, long night out in the open.
Buriticá was reached on the following day. Immediately after leaving
Antioquia, a mere ledge of a trail begins the ascent of the Coast
Range, and while a good deal of anxiety was felt for the safety of the
pack-animals, it was nevertheless a relief to escape from the cheerless
desert wastes and the intolerable heat of the low country. The altitude
of Buriticá is six thousand two hundred feet. On account of the jaded
condition of the mules, we spent a half-day in the town, and also
lightened the cargoes by leaving at the inn all equipment intended for
a subsequent journey in another direction. We had, of course, never
visited Buriticá before, but I had not the slightest hesitation in
leaving with perfect strangers a good deal of valuable material. The
honesty of the Colombians is well known, and we did not lose a single
thing by theft during the entire two years I spent in that country.
At Tabacal, a half day’s ride from Buriticá, we lost sight of the Cauca
River. Our view was shut off by an independent ridge of mountains
several thousand feet high, which rises out of the valley between the
range we were on and the stream. A slight change was also perceptible
in the character of the country; extensive areas covered with brush now
dotted the slopes, although at infrequent intervals; and on the extreme
tops of both ranges a thin fringe of green was plainly discernible.
The country is also very rough and broken, and there are a number of
ridges to be crossed, many of which are two thousand feet high. Several
separate mountains, not connected with the main ranges, stand here and
there like giant, man-hewn monoliths, rising from a basal elevation of
three thousand to eight or nine thousand feet, which magnifies their
tremendous proportions.
On the fifth day we reached an altitude of eight thousand feet, and
entered a fine strip of forest, the first we had seen on this journey.
This is the beginning of the forested zone, and close scrutiny
revealed the fact that it begins at precisely the same height on both
the Central and Coast Ranges, and continues to the very top of the
mountains, several thousands of feet higher up. We travelled along the
top of the ridge for some miles, and then again descended abruptly to
the barren valley where the little village of Peque is situated, and
where our journey by mules ended.
Peque contains about fifty dilapidated mud huts, and its population is
mostly of Indian descent, but includes some pure-blooded Indians. We
had a letter of introduction to one of the latter, Julian David, who
is the chief man in the town, and he rendered us every assistance. He
called together a number of sturdy young half-breeds and requested them
to join the expedition; in other words, told them to carry our packs to
the top of the Paramillo. The men eagerly agreed to do this, for they
had never before been in the service of strangers, and the trip to the
high country and also the society of _gringos_ promised interesting
possibilities. We spent a few days investigating the neighboring
country, while the men had their wives prepare the provisions for their
use during the trip.
Some of the country surrounding Peque once doubtless bore a light
forest growth, with heavier forest in the ravines; but by far the
greater part is naturally barren or covered with brush thickets. I was
told that at the time of the Spanish invasion forty thousand Indians
inhabited the region, and as the several mountain streams supply an
abundance of water, and the soil responds fairly well to cultivation,
there seems to be no reason why it should not have supported an
extensive population; at the present time only a few hundred people are
left, the others having gone to swell the ranks of victims exacted by
the lust of the conquerors.
The forested zone, beginning at eight thousand feet on the ridge we
had just traversed, gradually extends its limits downward as one goes
farther north, until at Peque it reached as low as five thousand feet
in the deeper and well-watered ravines; and, as previously stated, at
Puerto Valdivia it reaches the very edge of the Cauca.
One day an inhabitant of Tabacal rushed into our room and begged me
to show him the wonderful diamond ring he said I wore while in his
village; he had been away at the time, so had not seen it, but tales
had reached his ears upon his return of the marvellous brilliancy
of the stone which lighted up the whole street as we walked along.
At first I wondered from what sort of an hallucination the man was
suffering, for neither my companion nor myself carried any diamonds
with us; finally I remembered that, in trying to find our way through
the street at Tabacal, we had used a small electric flash-light to
avoid falling over the pigs or into the mud-wallows; whereupon I
demonstrated its mysterious powers to him, and he started back on his
two days’ walk a better-informed but nevertheless a most-disappointed
man.
A stream of clear, cold water flows around one side of the hill upon
which Peque stands, and to this we went nightly for a swim. Don Julian
could not quite believe us when we told him of the purpose of our
nocturnal prowls; so one night he accompanied us to the stream and,
wonder of wonders, we actually did go into the water. I invited him to
join us, but he said: “No, such a thing is unheard of; and, besides, an
Indian is just like a cat; when either one gets wet it dies!”
When the half-breed porters who were to carry the equipment finally had
their _charque_ and _jarepas_ all ready, they shouldered their packs
and started for the mountains. As there was no trail, an additional man
was engaged to go in advance and clear an opening with his machete.
[Illustration: The porters en route to the Paramillo.]
[Illustration: Cuña Indians at Dabeiba.]
A three hours’ walk brought us to a point called El Madero, because
a few trees had once been cut down there for their lumber, but the
clearing was overgrown with blackberry-briars, brush, and guavas. Then
we plunged into the unexplored forest.
It was our plan to follow along the top of an undulating ridge
which one of the men said was the shortest and easiest route to the
Paramillo. He knew from experience, having once visited the region some
sixteen years before. It was during the course of a revolution; his
father was pursued by the opposing forces and fled into the forest,
taking his son, who was then a small boy, with him, and eventually
reaching the Paramillo, they spent some time there in concealment.
At first the forest was fairly penetrable, but soon the moss-draped,
liana-garlanded walls closed about us in a compact mass; ferns, palms,
and arums sprang up from the ground in a matted jungle to join the
heavily laden branches above. Then our trail-cutter was pressed into
service, and plied his machete with deadly effect on the vegetation,
with the result that a narrow tunnel was opened, through which we
walked or crawled as occasion might demand.
On account of the long climb, having ascended five thousand feet during
an eight hours’ march, we made camp at three o’clock at an elevation of
ten thousand feet. This gave us an opportunity of observing a few of
the birds living in this untouched wilderness. There were wood-hewers
and yellow-headed tanagers; parrots and blue-throated jays. A large
harpy-eagle sat majestically on a low branch, surrounded by a flock
of California woodpeckers, which screamed and scolded and darted at
his head; but he sat perfectly motionless, utterly disdainful of such
ignominious prey.
There was no water on the ridge, but a supply was secured from a ravine
a thousand feet lower down; it was the last we had until we reached the
Paramillo two days later.
The second day’s march we hoped would be over a gentler slope, but it
was soon discovered that our ridge consisted of a number of knolls
rising from five hundred to a thousand feet above the mean level, and
the forest grew denser constantly. Every foot of the way had to be
cleared. In places we actually walked over the top of the vegetation;
the branches were covered with a solid tangle of creepers, climbing
bamboo, bromelias, and moss, and formed springy aerial bridges. More
frequently it was easier to burrow underneath, so tunnels many yards
long were cut, through which the porters crawled on hands and knees.
The tops of some of the eminences were void of trees, their place being
taken by jungles of bamboo, wild oleanders, shrubs, and clumps of tall,
coarse grass with blades eight feet high and six inches wide, the edges
of which cut like knives. That night we camped at eleven thousand
three hundred and fifty feet up. The men eagerly cut down clumps of
bromelias, hoping to obtain water from the bases of the leaves, but all
they found were a few drops of vile, black liquid filled with drowned
insects. Although we had travelled steadily for ten hours, I doubt if
we had covered more than three miles.
A few hours after starting, on the morning of the third day, we
emerged suddenly from the gloom of the forest. Instead of the tall,
overburdened trees, there were extensive areas covered with brush,
evergreens, stunted pines, and ferns. Beyond stretched the bleak,
wind-swept slope of the Paramillo. At sight of this, the porters
struggled on frantically, for the attaining of the goal meant a release
from their heavy burdens--and water. That afternoon the last knoll
had been crossed and the packs deposited on a rocky flat which was to
serve as a camping-site. Each man started in a difference direction in
search of a brook, and by dusk a pot-hole at the bottom of a ravine,
and only a few hundred yards from camp, had been found containing
several hundred gallons of pure, icy water. Never was a discovery more
earnestly welcomed, and the men sprawled around the edges of the pool
and drank their fill; then it was arranged that they should stay
with us for the night, start back to Peque the next morning, and return
for us after ten days. Our cook was of course to remain with us.
[Illustration: Our camp on the Paramillo.]
The Paramillo region is composed of a series of sharply inclined peaks,
the highest of which has an elevation of thirteen thousand feet, and
is interspersed with ravines and deep fissures. The surface consists
mainly of dark sandstone, so shattered over vast areas that a thin
litter of particles covers the fundamental rock. Occasionally a thin
vein of white quartz crops out to the surface, especially where, as
often occurs, the strata stand in a perpendicular position.
At night the temperature dropped to 28° F., and ice half an inch thick
formed on the reservoir; in the morning the ground was white with
frost. The sparse vegetation on the slope consists of _frailejones_,
blueberry-bushes and tall, tough grass; stunted trees and bushes, all
covered with moss, grow in the deeper ravines. Hunting in these latter
places was a never-ending source of delight; there was no water so
it was possible to walk unrestrictedly underneath the green vault of
brush which fringed the sides and met overhead. Many little mammals’
trails zigzagged over the moss-covered rocks, and burrows opened into
the steep banks; if we stole noiselessly along, or better still, sat
quietly for a few minutes, the inquiring eyes of a paca, a large,
spotted, tailless rodent, were sure to peer timidly out of some dark
opening, to be followed later by the animal’s entire body as it moved
out stealthily to nibble on the tender sprouts. Numbers of woolly,
yellow rats (_Melanomys_) also appeared to stare with beady, black
eyes, and to nervously twitch their noses; sometimes they came out
boldly to chase one another over well-defined runways and through mossy
tunnels; but more often, they were content merely to gaze from the
entrance of some safe retreat into which they vanished at the first
suspicious move on our part. Deer, too, were seen occasionally, but
they were not numerous; they grazed on the slopes in broad daylight,
and had snug lairs in dense clumps of bushes which always commanded a
view of the surrounding country. We saw no cougars or bears although we
found the remains of several deer which had apparently been killed by
these animals.
Birds were extremely scarce and, strange to relate, exceedingly wary.
Collecting them was heart-breaking work; the slopes are so steep,
that it was impossible to walk many yards without becoming utterly
exhausted, and tramping through the high, wet grass chilled the lower
extremities to numbness. The slaty finch (_Phrygilus_) so common at
Santa Isabel, and two species of honey-creepers (_Diglossa_) were
by far the most common; followed by a queer, wren-like little bird
(_Scytalopus_) called tapacola, which lives among the densest ferns and
mosses; it was seldom seen, but a cheery whistle apprised us constantly
of its presence. There was also a gorgeous humming-bird, the whole body
being of the most resplendent, iridescent deep rose and green colors;
we located a nest of this species, a tiny moss cup scarcely an inch
across, suspended from a creeper dangling beneath a bower of protecting
leaves; it held two minute eggs, so fragile that the mere touch of a
finger would crush them.
One day we ascended the highest peak in order to obtain a good view
of the surrounding country. The Paramillo rises like a rocky island,
out of an ocean of forest. Clouds fill the depressions between the
neighboring peaks, and surging, tumbling banks of white roll up the
slopes or ascend in columns to spread out in funnel-shaped masses in
the higher altitudes and become dissipated by the sun. To the southward
rises the lofty Paramo of Frontino, many miles distant, the flat top
dimly outlined in a grayish haze.
Toward the close of the tenth day, we heard loud calls and, soon after,
our faithful porters dashed into camp. We were astonished at their
number for, according to our agreement, only the original number was
to return, there being no need for the trail-cutters; however, several
additional men had arrived. Upon reaching the Paramillo, we had
jestingly remarked that we should ascend the highest peak because we
could perhaps see New York from the top; the extra men heard of this,
and seriously explained that they had come to make the ascent in order
to get a view of “Rome where the Holy Father lives!”
Early the next morning, we broke camp and started back. The homeward
trip was much easier, for the packs were lighter, and the greater part
of the distance was down-hill. After two days we emerged from the
lower edge of the forest, and there was Don Julian and a delegation of
natives waiting to convoy us back to Peque and welcome us home.
Don Julian provided horses for our return to Buriticá. They were
unquestionably the poorest animals I had ever seen, and I disliked
greatly to use them; but as no others were to be had it was a case
of either taking the ones available or remaining in Peque for an
indefinite period. However, they arrived safely in Buriticá after
two days’ time, and having secured a new pack-train we started
northwestward toward Atrato drainage.
Leaving the little town and the semiarid country surrounding it, we
proceeded straight to the top of a ridge eight thousand feet high,
where a narrow strip of forest grew; and then descended on the other
side into the valley of the Rio Canasgordas. At this point the stream
is a mere rivulet, but it widens rapidly and the fertile banks are
planted in sugar-cane, maize, and bananas. Huts built of mud and
grass, half concealed by orange-trees dot the narrow valley; near them
half-naked, dark-skinned children, pigs, and chickens ran about in a
care-free manner or stared at us as we passed.
Lower down the river is flanked by wide belts of tall bamboo. Birds
were not particularly abundant, but occasionally we caught sight of a
yellow-rumped tanager as the bird darted through the foliage; or heard
the familiar _kis-ka-dee_ of a tyrant-bird perched on some high branch
to sing, and to wait for insect victims to come within range of its
snapping, insatiable beak. We spent the first night in the town of
Canasgordas, and the second in a dilapidated house known as Orobajo.
The family living here was in great distress owing to an epidemic of
some kind of virulent fever which had appeared in the district. There
was no food in the house, with the exception of a few beans, but after
scouring the neighborhood our cook succeeded in purchasing a hen and a
dozen _jarepas_ which we divided with the infirm family.
While waiting for supper we went on a tour of inspection over the
premises and located a house-wren’s nest in the roof. It contained
one young bird, and the people told us that the other had been killed
by falling to the ground. Later we found several other nests of this
species, but in no instance were there more than two eggs or birds in
one nest. This fact is most interesting; in a temperate climate the
house-wrens rear a large brood--eight being not an uncommon number of
young; but near the equator two seemed to be the usual amount.
Below Orobajo the river is known as the Heradura. It flows past the
village of Uramita, which was all but deserted. The fever that had
invaded Orobajo had also visited this place and more than half the
inhabitants had died. A few men were engaged in pumping salt water from
shallow wells which was led in bamboo pipes to a battery of low pans
where boiling evaporated the water and left the salt. So far as we
could see there was no other industry in the town.
[Illustration: Dabeiba on the Rio Sucio.]
Dabeiba, our first objective, was reached the third day after leaving
Buriticá. As we gained the summit of the last ridge, a wonderful view
lay before our eyes. The little town, composed of whitewashed houses
with red-tile roofs, glistened in a flat valley carpeted with the
softest green. On one side a river, called the Rio Sucio, raged and
fumed over a rock-encumbered bed; fields of cotton dotted its banks,
the snowy bolls and yellow blossoms almost obliterating the large
green leaves. Forested hills enclosed the peaceful view as with a
protecting hand which would shield it from the terrors of the frigid
Andes on one side, and the steaming Atrato lowlands on the other. In
this garden spot we decided to remain, but our arrival was nearly
marked by a tragedy. On account of the noonday heat I had tucked a
towel under my hat which, hanging down in the back provided, in a
measure, protection from the hot sun. One of our _peons_, in a spirit
of fun, told several small boys we chanced to meet that I was the
bishop come to pay the town a visit; the urchins rushed into the road
and prostrated themselves at my horse’s feet, imploring a benediction.
Fortunately the animal took fright at this unusual occurrence and
bolted to one side before it could be restrained, narrowly avoiding
trampling the kneeling forms in its path.
At Dabeiba we made the acquaintance of a tribe of interesting
Indians--the Cuñas. They lived in banana-leaf huts, scattered over
a wide area, but spent most of the time in town, looking into open
doorways, begging for rum, or standing in silent groups on the street
corners. They are a short, well-knit people of a dark-brown color.
When in the forest they wear a breech-cloth only; but the priest has
provided them with large muslin sheets that they promptly dyed a
dirty-brown hue with _achiote_ seeds, which they wear while in town.
They also wore heavy necklaces of silver coins, and bunches of weeds
tied about the neck for charms. At first sight it appeared as if they
had no teeth, but further scrutiny revealed the fact that their dental
equipment was perfect, though colored black from the juice of a fruit
which they chew continuously. The body is liberally besmeared with
grease--especially before they enter the river to bathe, so that the
water rolls off as from a duck’s back. One of the men was entirely
covered with star-shaped marks of a deep-blue color which had been
stamped on with a die made of wood. They spoke practically no Spanish,
but were a friendly lot and enjoyed being photographed.
In order to reach the best hunting-ground, it was necessary to go to
the other side of the river, but this was not difficult owing to the
fact that a raft ferry was available. Birds were plentiful about the
outskirts of the town, though of species common to open country and
easy to observe in more accessible regions; we therefore spent the
greater part of our time in the forest.
One of our first and most interesting discoveries was a species of
pigmy motmot (_Hylomanes_). It is no larger than a sparrow and has
a very short tail in contrast to the long “pendulum” tails of the
better-known varieties. This little blue-and-green bird lived in the
dense vegetation on the steep slopes, and when several flocked together
they joined in a loud, cackling chorus at frequent intervals.
The cotton-fields sheltered a varied fauna. Hummingbirds came to the
blossoms, and numbers of fat, red insects resembling potato-bugs lived
among the drooping white fibre of the opened pods. Doves ran over the
ground, and small rodents had their burrows at the base of the thick
stems.
While at Dabeiba we met one of the most delightful Colombians--a type
which I am afraid is vanishing, even as the forests and virgin wilds
disappear before the onslaughts of civilization. He had but recently
penetrated farther into the wilderness, cleared a few acres of ground
and erected a humble cabin of bamboo and wild banana leaves; to this
he urged us to come for as long a time as we should care to remain; so
one morning we gathered together the most essential articles of our
equipment and tramped through the intervening eight miles of jungle
to his home. The beauty of the forest is indescribable; and wild life
was so abundant that by the time our journey’s end was reached we
had attained such a stage of thrilling expectancy it was difficult
to restrain our enthusiasm for the few hours needed to seek shelter
indoors from an approaching storm. The shrill cries of parrots cleft
the air; trogons _cooed_ plaintively; toucans yelped and rattled; and
from all sides came the _whush-whush-whush_ of giant orioles’ wings
as the black-and-yellow forms hurried by to seek their pendent nests
swaying dizzily from the branches of some giant ceiba towering regally
above the unbroken forest.
While we waited for the storm to subside, the cook shelled corn and
then, placing it in a wooden mortar together with a handful of ashes,
began to pound it to remove the skins. This operation required about
half an hour, so frequently she paused to rest; but no sooner had
she deserted her post than a swarm of _cargador_ ants invaded the
receptacle, and the first intimation we had of their presence was when
a file of white kernels began to descend the side of the mortar and
cross the floor at our feet. How the small insects are able to carry
the large, heavy grains is a mystery. The burden weighs many times as
much as the ant which bears it, and almost hides it from view. Later,
we saw swarms of the same species at work in the clearing; they cut
sections from the edges of corn leaves by digging one mandible into
the leaf for a secure hold, and then rip toward it with the other;
the cut is always circular. Most of the insects worked from right to
left, but one out of every five seemed to be “left-handed” and worked
in the opposite direction. When the section of leaf is detached it is
dexterously swung over the cutter’s back, and away it marches with the
green banner waving aloft. In addition to carrying this load, several
small ants often mount on the leaf for a free ride to the nest.
That night another denizen of the wilds invaded the house; as we
sat quietly in front of the hut listening to a shrill, uncanny
_oh-ho-ho-ho-ho_ coming from the forest, and which the natives said was
the mating call of the three-toed sloth, but which we recognized as
the song of a giant frogmouth or goatsucker, a cat owned by the family
began to cut queer capers about the fireplace. A light revealed a
good-sized bushmaster making its way across the kitchen floor. Whether
the reptile had been attracted by the warm glow of the embers--for
the rain had been followed by a decided drop in temperature--or
had entered the structure to forage for mice, I do not know; but
fortunately the cat had discovered its presence in time to prevent
some one from stepping on it, and was striking at it playfully with
its paws. After that the cook slept on a bench instead of on the earth
floor, as had been her custom.
Our daily excursions took us far into the forest which invested the
low, rounded hills in all directions. There were few trails, but a
lack of undergrowth made walking easy. On one of our first hunting
expeditions we found the rare ground-cuckoo (_Neomorphus_), a beautiful
iridescent greenish-black bird which, on account of its terrestrial
habits, has nearly lost the power of flight. Once before, I had seen
this bird, and that was on the upper Orinoco, near the foot of Mount
Duida. There the single individual was engaged in a curious game of tag
with a tinamou; the birds chased one another about on the leaf-strewn
ground, over logs, and through the underbrush, and jumped over one
another’s back as if playing leap-frog. We also found the flat-billed
motmot in considerable numbers. These birds usually clung to the lianas
drooping in festoons and loops above the small mountain brooks, and
were exceedingly stupid and unsuspicious. They uttered no note, and
sat motionless many minutes at a time, silhouetted like dark, ragged
spectres on their perches. Among the moss or green leaves their color
blended well with the surroundings, and we doubtless passed numbers
without being aware of their presence.
Not all the birds inhabiting the forests at Alto Bonito are
inconspicuously colored, however. There are gorgeous little tanagers,
humming-birds, toucans, and trogons. The latter, especially, are
creatures of such exquisite beauty that they seem to belong to a world
more ethereal than our own; their brilliant scarlet or yellow breasts
resemble a flower of dazzling color, for which the shimmering, metallic
wing-coverts and back provide a resplendent setting. The bird is as
fragile as it is beautiful, and was evidently not intended to be
defiled by the touch of mortal hands. If a specimen is shot, many of
the feathers are lost before the bird reaches the ground, and at the
impact of the ground many more are shed. The skin is so delicate that
it takes an expert to remove it, and even then the bird is the despair
of field-naturalist and taxidermist alike.
There was also a splendid representation of the parrot family, ranging
from noisy little parrakeets to huge, green amazons. This reminded
me of an interesting provision of nature whereby three families of
birds frequently found in the same locality are able to obtain their
sustenance. They are the parrots, trogons, and toucans, all of which
feed upon fruit, each seeming to secure its food in a different manner.
The zygodactyl feet of parrots enable them to _climb_ out to the tip
of fruit-laden branches and to cling to them in any position while
feeding; toucans, endowed with an enormously elongated bill are able to
_reach_ a long distance for a coveted morsel, which is grasped between
the tip of the mandibles and tossed back with an upward jerk of the
head, to be swallowed; a trogon has a very short beak and neck, and the
delicate feet are not adapted to climbing, but the wings of the bird
are so constructed as to enable it to hover, from which position the
fruit it desires may be snapped off the stem, when the bird returns to
its perch to devour it.
One day our host’s son, aged thirteen, undertook to guide me to a
distant part of the forest, where he said a large herd of peccaries
had their feeding-ground. At first we passed through a part of the
country well known to me, as I had taken a number of hunting excursions
over the same ground; then we ascended a steep slope and, reaching the
top, began to explore a vast stretch of heavy woods but rarely visited
by any one. Although we had come for the express purpose of hunting
peccaries, there were so many rare prizes on all sides that it was
impossible to adhere strictly to our first intention; the temptation to
add new treasures to our collection proved too great. Dainty little
pigmy squirrels played in the top of the palms, or clung like lichens
to the tree-trunks.
Some of the trees bore ripe fruit, and to them many animals came which
are hard or even impossible to find under other conditions, thus making
an ideal spot for the naturalist. A few seeds of the alligator-pear
cast away by a hunter years before had taken root and grown into
good-sized trees; the fruit dropped to the ground as it matured,
attracting agoutis, which collected, apparently from some distance, to
feed on the rich morsels. Other trees were laden with small berries.
Although there was no sound to indicate the presence of a living thing,
we usually discovered that first impressions were deceptive. If we
waited a short time, a gentle patter on the leaves at our feet rewarded
our patience; and then a close scrutiny of the leafy vault revealed
silent, dark forms carefully moving among the tops of the branches and
reaching out to pick the fruit upon which they were feeding. Gradually
the shadowy forms assumed the shape of toucans, parrots, or macaws; the
latter two birds are very wasteful and drop far more food than they eat.
The presence of an ant army is invariably advertised by the sharp
chirp of the ant-wrens attending it. We encountered one, and spent an
exciting half-hour securing two species of ant-birds, one black with
white shoulders (_Myrmelastes_), and the other of a brown color with a
white line running through the centre of the underparts (_Anoplops_);
they had been feeding on beetles and spiders, and examination of the
stomach contents revealed also a few ants. After shooting a bird it was
necessary to enter into the thick of the voracious insects to hunt for
it; but before the trophy could be recovered swarms of ants had climbed
up our legs and clung with a bulldog grip.
Occasionally we saw a flock of manakins--brilliant little sprites of
the forest, always found in the densest thickets. Some are black with
golden heads; others, also black, have yellow breasts and long tufts of
feathers on the throat, giving the bird a comical, bearded appearance;
a third species had a vivid scarlet crest. The males only are brightly
colored; the females are green.
There were signs of peccaries in abundance, but the constant shooting
had frightened them away; so after inspecting an ancient Indian tomb
consisting of a pile of carefully placed stones, overgrown with
creepers, we started for home. Instead of retracing our steps over the
many miles we had come, we followed a narrow gorge which we knew must
lead to the Rio Sucio. Progress was slow and difficult, for the brook
descended in a series of falls, and the rocks were covered with moss
and were slippery; however, having started _via_ this route, it was
impossible to retrace our steps.
There was little of interest along the course of the treacherous
little stream; but we discovered nests of a barred black-and-white
wren (_Thryophilus_) swinging gayly above the water. The basket-shaped
structures had been placed in the wildest, darkest spots, and each
contained a single young bird, dozing peacefully in the entrance
opening, lulled to sleep, no doubt, by the semigloom and the sound of
rushing water.
As we picked our way along slowly and painfully, frequently wading
through water three feet deep, a dark, shadowy form lunged from the
blackness of a cavern among the boulders and clung for an instant
to the cuff of my hunting-coat; then it dropped to the ground, and
slowly disappeared among the rocks. My companion, who was a few feet
in advance, had just turned to make some comment, and it was not until
his frantic shriek brought me back to earth that I fully realized what
had occurred. A bushmaster, apparently four or five feet long had
become exasperated at our close proximity, and aimed a deadly thrust
at the disturber of its diurnal slumber. This habit of the snake is
well known; by nature it is sluggish; one person may pass close by
without arousing its anger, while to a second individual, immediately
following, it will show resentment, although it may not strike; but a
third may consider himself fortunate, indeed, if he does not draw the
full measure of the reptile’s fury.
The exploration at Alto Bonito yielded such rich returns that we
regretted the necessity of leaving; but a field-naturalist’s time is
not unlimited, and presently we found ourselves riding across the
parched Antioquian desert, _en route_ to Medellin.
The work at Alto Bonito provided the last link in the chain of facts
regarding the forestation of northwestern Antioquia, and also throws
some light on the extension of the mountain ranges. For information on
the latter subject we were compelled to rely largely on data furnished
by Señor Cspinas, director of the School of Mines, Medellin; Señor
Ernesto White, an engineer who has made surveys in the region, and the
reports of Indians.
The Western Cordillera terminates in the Cerro Aguila, just below 9°,
near the Golfo de Urubá, and is less than one thousand feet high. The
range breaks down, gradually, north of the Paramillo. In latitude 7½°
the highest peak is known as Alto Esmeralda, four thousand feet high;
and the Abibi, a few miles farther north, reaches an altitude of only
three thousand six hundred feet.
A trail recently built (by Señor White) from Turbo on the Gulf of Urubá
to Montana on the Rio Sinú crosses the very country about which we knew
least; the elevation of its highest point is eight hundred feet, and
every mile of the way was cut through heavy virgin forest.
_PART II_
VENEZUELA