To Parinacochas
After a few days in the delightful climate of Chuquibamba we set
out for Parinacochas, the "Flamingo Lake" of the Incas. The late Sir
Clements Markham, literary and historical successor of the author of
"The Conquest of Peru," had called attention to this unexplored lake
in one of the publications of the Royal Geographical Society, and had
named a bathymetric survey of Parinacochas as one of the principal
desiderata for future exploration in Peru. So far as one could judge
from the published maps Parinacochas, although much smaller than
Titicaca, was the largest body of water entirely in Peru. A thorough
search of geographical literature failed to reveal anything regarding
its depth. The only thing that seemed to be known about it was that it
had no outlet. General William Miller, once British consul general in
Honolulu, who had as a young man assisted General San Martin in the
Wars for the Independence of Chile and Peru, published his memoirs
in London in 1828. During the campaigns against the Spanish forces
in Peru he had had occasion to see many out-of-the-way places in the
interior. On one of his rough sketch maps he indicates the location of
Lake Parinacochas and notes the fact that the water is "brackish." This
statement of General Miller's and the suggestion of Sir Clements
Markham that a bathymetric survey of the lake would be an important
contribution to geographical knowledge was all that we were able to
learn. Our arrieros, the Tejadas, had never been to Parinacochas,
but knew in a general way its location and were not afraid to try to
get there. Some of their friends had been there and come back alive!
First, however, it was necessary for us to go to Cotahuasi, the
capital of the Province of Antabamba, and meet Dr. Bowman and
Mr. Hendriksen, who had slowly been working their way across the
Andes from the Urubamba Valley, and who would need a new supply of
food-boxes if they were to complete the geographical reconnaissance
of the 73d meridian. Our route led us out of the Chuquibamba Valley
by a long, hard climb up the steep cliffs at its head and then over
the gently sloping, semi-arid desert in a northerly direction, around
the west flanks of Coropuna. When we stopped to make camp that night
on the Pampa of Chumpillo, our arrieros used dried moss and dung for
fuel for the camp fire. There was some bunch-grass, and there were
llamas pasturing on the plains. Near our tent were some Inca ruins,
probably the dwelling of a shepherd chief, or possibly the remains
of a temple described by Cieza de Leon (1519-1560), whose remarkable
accounts of what he saw and learned in Peru during the time of the
Pizarros are very highly regarded. He says that among the five most
important temples in the Land of the Incas was one "much venerated and
frequented by them, named Coropuna." "It is on a very lofty mountain
which is covered with snow both in summer and winter. The kings
of Peru visited this temple making presents and offerings .... It
is held for certain [by treasure hunters!] that among the gifts
offered to this temple there were many loads of silver, gold, and
precious stones buried in places which are now unknown. The Indians
concealed another great sum which was for the service of the idol,
and of the priests and virgins who attended upon it. But as there
are great masses of snow, people do not ascend to the summit, nor is
it known where these are hidden. This temple possessed many flocks,
farms, and service of Indians." No one lives here now, but there are
many flocks and llamas, and not far away we saw ancient storehouses
and burial places. That night we suffered from intense cold and were
kept awake by the bitter wind which swept down from the snow fields
of Coropuna and shook the walls of our tent violently.
The next day we crossed two small oases, little gulches watered from
the melting snow of Coropuna. Here there was an abundance of peat
and some small gnarled trees from which Chuquibamba derives part of
its fuel supply. We climbed slowly around the lower spurs of Coropuna
into a bleak desert wilderness of lava blocks and scoriaceous sand,
the Red Desert, or Pampa Colorada. It is for the most part between
15,000 and 16,000 feet above sea level, and is bounded on the northwest
by the canyon of the Rio Arma, 2000 feet deep, where we made our camp
and passed a more agreeable night. The following morning we climbed
out again on the farther side of the canyon and skirted the eastern
slopes of Mt. Solimana. Soon the trail turned abruptly to the left,
away from our old friend Coropuna.
We wondered how long ago our mountain was an active volcano. To-day,
less than two hundred miles south of here are live peaks, like El
Misti and Ubinas, which still smolder occasionally and have been
known in the memory of man to give forth great showers of cinders
covering a wide area. Possibly not so very long ago the great
truncated peak of Coropuna was formed by a last flickering of the
ancient fires. Dr. Bowman says that the greater part of the vast
accumulation of lavas and volcanic cinders in this vicinity goes
far back to a period preceding the last glacial epoch. The enormous
amount of erosion that has taken place in the adjacent canyons and
the great numbers of strata, composed of lava flows, laid bare by
the mighty streams of the glacial period all point to this conclusion.
My saddle mule was one of those cantankerous beasts that are gentle
enough as long as they are allowed to have their own way. In her
case this meant that she was happy only when going along close to
her friends in the caravan. If reined in, while I took some notes,
she became very restive, finally whirling around, plunging and
kicking. Contrariwise, no amount of spurring or lashing with a stout
quirt availed to make her go ahead of her comrades. This morning I
was particularly anxious to get a picture of our pack train jogging
steadily along over the desert, directly away from Coropuna. Since
my mule would not gallop ahead, I had to dismount, run a couple of
hundred yards ahead of the rapidly advancing animals and take the
picture before they reached me. We were now at an elevation of 16,000
feet above sea level. Yet to my surprise and delight I found that it
was relatively as easy to run here as anywhere, so accustomed had my
lungs and heart become to very rarefied air. Had I attempted such
a strenuous feat at a similar altitude before climbing Coropuna it
would have been physically impossible. Any one who has tried to run
two hundred yards at three miles above sea level will understand.
We were still in a very arid region; mostly coarse black sand and
pebbles, with typical desert shrubs and occasional bunches of tough
grass. The slopes of Mt. Solimana on our left were fairly well covered
with sparse vegetation. Among the bushes we saw a number of vicuñas,
the smallest wild camels of the New World. We tried in vain to get
near enough for a photograph. They were extremely timid and scampered
away before we were within three hundred yards.
Seven or eight miles more of very gradual downward slope brought
us suddenly and unexpectedly to the brink of a magnificent canyon,
the densely populated valley of Cotahuasi. The walls of the canyon
were covered with innumerable terraces--thousands of them. It seemed
at first glance as though every available spot in the canyon had been
either terraced or allotted to some compact little village. One could
count more than a score of towns, including Cotahuasi itself, its long
main street outlined by whitewashed houses. As we zigzagged down into
the canyon our road led us past hundreds of the artificial terraces
and through little villages of thatched huts huddled together on spurs
rescued from the all-embracing agriculture. After spending several
weeks in a desert region, where only the narrow valley bottoms showed
any signs of cultivation, it seemed marvelous to observe the extent
to which terracing had been carried on the side of the Cotahuasi
Valley. Although we were now in the zone of light annual rains, it
was evident from the extraordinary irrigation system that agriculture
here depends very largely on ability to bring water down from the
great mountains in the interior. Most of the terraces and irrigation
canals were built centuries ago, long before the discovery of America.
No part of the ancient civilization of Peru has been more admired
than the development of agriculture. Mr. Cook says that there is no
part of the world in which more pains have been taken to raise crops
where nature made it hard for them to be planted. In other countries,
to be sure, we find reclamation projects, where irrigation canals serve
to bring water long distances to be used on arid but fruitful soil. We
also find great fertilizer factories turning out, according to proper
chemical formula, the needed constituents to furnish impoverished soils
with the necessary materials for plant growth. We find man overcoming
many obstacles in the way of transportation, in order to reach great
regions where nature has provided fertile fields and made it easy to
raise life-giving crops. Nowhere outside of Peru, either in historic or
prehistoric times, does one find farmers spending incredible amounts
of labor in actually creating arable fields, besides bringing the
water to irrigate them and the guano to fertilize them; yet that
is what was done by the ancient highlanders of Peru. As they spread
over a country in which the arable flat land was usually at so great
an elevation as to be suitable for only the hardiest of root crops,
like the white potato and the oca, they were driven to use narrow
valley bottoms and steep, though fertile, slopes in order to raise the
precious maize and many of the other temperate and tropical plants
which they domesticated for food and medicinal purposes. They were
constantly confronted by an extraordinary scarcity of soil. In the
valley bottoms torrential rivers, meandering from side to side, were
engaged in an endless endeavor to tear away the arable land and bear
it off to the sea. The slopes of the valleys were frequently so very
steep as to discourage the most ardent modern agriculturalist. The
farmer might wake up any morning to find that a heavy rain during
the night had washed away a large part of his carefully planted
fields. Consequently there was developed, through the centuries,
a series of stone-faced andenes, terraces or platforms.
Examination of the ancient andenes discloses the fact that they were
not made by simply hoeing in the earth from the hillside back of a
carefully constructed stone wall. The space back of the walls was
first filled in with coarse rocks, clay, and rubble; then followed
smaller rocks, pebbles, and gravel, which would serve to drain the
subsoil. Finally, on top of all this, and to a depth of eighteen
inches or so, was laid the finest soil they could procure. The
result was the best possible field for intensive cultivation. It
seems absolutely unbelievable that such an immense amount of pains
should have been taken for such relatively small results. The need
must have been very great. In many cases the terraces are only a few
feet wide, although hundreds of yards in length. Usually they follow
the natural contours of the valley. Sometimes they are two hundred
yards wide and a quarter of a mile long. To-day corn, barley, and
alfalfa are grown on the terraces.
Cotahuasi itself lies in the bottom of the valley, a pleasant place
where one can purchase the most fragrant and highly prized of all
Peruvian wines. The climate is agreeable, and has attracted many
landlords, whose estates lie chiefly on the bleak plateaus of the
surrounding highlands, where shepherds tend flocks of llamas, sheep,
and alpacas.
We were cordially welcomed by Señor Viscarra, the sub-prefect, and
invited to stay at his house. He was a stranger to the locality, and,
as the visible representative of a powerful and far-away central
government, was none too popular with some of the people of his
province. Very few residents of a provincial capital like Cotahuasi
have ever been to Lima;--probably not a single member of the Lima
government had ever been to Cotahuasi. Consequently one could not
expect to find much sympathy between the two. The difficulties of
traveling in Peru are so great as to discourage pleasure trips. With
our letters of introduction and the telegrams that had preceded us
from the prefect at Arequipa, we were known to be friends of the
government and so were doubly welcome to the sub-prefect. By nature a
kind and generous man, of more than usual education and intelligence,
Señor Viscarra showed himself most courteous and hospitable to us in
every particular. In our honor he called together his friends. They
brought pictures of Theodore Roosevelt and Elihu Root, and made a
large American flag; a courtesy we deeply appreciated, even if the
flag did have only thirty-six stars. Finally, they gave us a splendid
banquet as a tribute of friendship for America.
One day the sub-prefect offered to have his personal barber attend
us. It was some time since Mr. Tucker and I had seen a barber-shop. The
chances were that we should find none at Parinacochas. Consequently we
accepted with pleasure. When the barber arrived, closely guarded by a
gendarme armed with a loaded rifle, we learned that he was a convict
from the local jail! I did not like to ask the nature of his crime,
but he looked like a murderer. When he unwrapped an ancient pair of
clippers from an unspeakably soiled and oily rag, I wished I was in
a position to decline to place myself under his ministrations. The
sub-prefect, however, had been so kind and was so apologetic as to
the inconveniences of the "barber-shop" that there was nothing for it
but to go bravely forward. Although it was unpleasant to have one's
hair trimmed by an uncertain pair of rusty clippers, I could not
help experiencing a feeling of relief that the convict did not have a
pair of shears. He was working too near my jugular vein. Finally the
period of torture came to an end, and the prisoner accepted his fees
with a profound salutation. We breathed sighs of relief, not unmixed
with sympathy, as we saw him marched safely away by the gendarme.
We had arrived in Cotahuasi almost simultaneously with Dr. Bowman and
Topographer Hendriksen. They had encountered extraordinary difficulties
in carrying out the reconnaissance of the 73d meridian, but were now
past the worst of it. Their supplies were exhausted, so those which we
had brought from Arequipa were doubly welcome. Mr. Watkins was assigned
to assist Mr. Hendriksen and a few days later Dr. Bowman started south
to study the geology and geography of the desert. He took with him
as escort Corporal Gamarra, who was only too glad to escape from the
machinations of his enemies. It will be remembered that it was Gamarra
who had successfully defended the Cotahuasi barracks and jail at the
time of a revolutionary riot which occurred some months previous to
our visit. The sub-prefect accompanied Dr. Bowman out of town. For
Gamarra's sake they left the house at three o'clock in the morning
and our generous host agreed to ride with them until daybreak. In his
important monograph, "The Andes of Southern Peru," Dr. Bowman writes:
"At four o'clock our whispered arrangements were made. We opened
the gates noiselessly and our small cavalcade hurried through the
pitch-black streets of the town. The soldier rode ahead, his rifle
across his saddle, and directly behind him rode the sub-prefect and
myself. The pack mules were in the rear. We had almost reached the
end of the street when a door opened suddenly and a shower of sparks
flew out ahead of us. Instantly the soldier struck spurs into his
mule and turned into a side street. The sub-prefect drew his horse
back savagely, and when the next shower of sparks flew out pushed
me against the wall and whispered, 'For God's sake, who is it?' Then
suddenly he shouted. 'Stop blowing! Stop blowing!' "
The cause of all the disturbance was a shabby, hard-working tailor
who had gotten up at this unearthly hour to start his day's work by
pressing clothes for some insistent customer. He had in his hand
an ancient smoothing-iron filled with live coals, on which he had
been vigorously blowing. Hence the sparks! That a penitent tailor
and his ancient goose should have been able to cause such terrific
excitement at that hour in the morning would have interested our own
Oliver Wendell Holmes, who was fond of referring to this picturesque
apparatus and who might have written an appropriate essay on The Goose
that Startled the Soldier of Cotahuasi; with Particular Reference to
His Being a Possible Namesake of the Geese that Aroused the Soldiers
of Ancient Rome.
------
FIGURE
The sub-perfect of Cotahuasi, his military aide, and Messrs. Tucker,
Hendriksen, Bowman, and Bingham inspecting the local rug-weaving
industry.
------
The most unusual industry of Cotahuasi is the weaving of rugs and
carpets on vertical hand looms. The local carpet weavers make the warp
and woof of woolen yarn in which loops of alpaca wool, black, gray,
or white, are inserted to form the desired pattern. The loops are cut
so as to form a deep pile. The result is a delightfully thick, warm,
gray rug. Ordinarily the native Peruvian rug has no pile. Probably the
industry was brought from Europe by some Spaniard centuries ago. It
seems to be restricted to this remote region. The rug makers are a
small group of Indians who live outside the town but who carry their
hand looms from house to house, as required. It is the custom for the
person who desires a rug to buy the wool, supply the pattern, furnish
the weaver with board, lodging, coca, tobacco and wine, and watch the
rug grow from day to day under the shelter of his own roof. The rug
weavers are very clever in copying new patterns. Through the courtesy
of Señor Viscarra we eventually received several small rugs, woven
especially for us from monogram designs drawn by Mr. Hendriksen.
Early one morning in November we said good-bye to our friendly host,
and, directed by a picturesque old guide who said he knew the road to
Parinacochas, we left Cotahuasi. The highway crossed the neighboring
stream on a treacherous-looking bridge, the central pier of which
was built of the crudest kind of masonry piled on top of a gigantic
boulder in midstream. The main arch of the bridge consisted of two
long logs across which had been thrown a quantity of brush held down
by earth and stones. There was no rail on either side, but our mules
had crossed bridges of this type before and made little trouble. On
the northern side of the valley we rode through a compact little town
called Mungi and began to climb out of the canyon, passing hundreds
of very fine artificial terraces, at present used for crops of maize
and barley. In one place our road led us by a little waterfall,
an altogether surprising and unexpected phenomenon in this arid
region. Investigation, however, proved that it was artificial, as
well as the fields. Its presence may be due to a temporary connection
between the upper and lower levels of ancient irrigation canals.
Hour after hour our pack train painfully climbed the narrow, rocky
zigzag trail. The climate is favorable for agriculture. Wherever the
sides of the canyon were not absolutely precipitous, stone-faced
terraces and irrigation had transformed them long ago into arable
fields. Four thousand feet above the valley floor we came to a very
fine series of beautiful terraces. On a shelf near the top of the
canyon we pitched our tent near some rough stone corrals used by
shepherds whose flocks grazed on the lofty plateau beyond, and near
a tiny brook, which was partly frozen over the next morning. Our
camp was at an elevation of 14,500 feet above the sea. Near by were
turreted rocks, curious results of wind-and-sand erosion.
The next day we entered a region of mountain pastures. We passed
occasional swamps and little pools of snow water. From one of these
we turned and looked back across the great Cotahuasi Canyon, to the
glaciers of Solimana and snow-clad Coropuna, now growing fainter
and fainter as we went toward Parinacochas. At an altitude of 16,500
feet we struck across a great barren plateau covered with rocks and
sand--hardly a living thing in sight. In the midst of it we came to
a beautiful lake, but it was not Parinacochas. On the plateau it was
intensely cold. Occasionally I dismounted and jogged along beside my
mule in order to keep warm. Again I noticed that as the result of my
experiences on Coropuna I suffered no discomfort, nor any symptoms
of mountain-sickness, even after trotting steadily for four or five
hundred yards. In the afternoon we began to descend from the plateau
toward Lampa and found ourselves in the pasture lands of Ajochiucha,
where ichu grass and other little foliage plants, watered by rain
and snow, furnish forage for large flocks of sheep, llamas, and
alpacas. Their owners live in the cultivated valleys, but the Indian
herdsmen must face the storms and piercing winds of the high pastures.
Alpacas are usually timid. On this occasion, however, possibly
because they were thirsty and were seeking water holes in the upper
courses of a little swale, they stopped and allowed me to observe
them closely. The fleece of the alpaca is one of the softest in
the world. However, due to the fact that shrewd tradesmen, finding
that the fabric manufactured from alpaca wool was highly desired,
many years ago gave the name to a far cheaper fabric, the "alpaca"
of commerce, a material used for coat linings, umbrellas, and thin,
warm-weather coats, is a fabric of cotton and wool, with a hard
surface, and generally dyed black. It usually contains no real alpaca
wool at all, and is fairly cheap. The real alpaca wool which comes into
the market to-day is not so called. Long and silky, straighter than
the sheep's wool, it is strong, small of fiber, very soft, pliable and
elastic. It is capable of being woven into fabrics of great beauty and
comfort. Many of the silky, fluffy, knitted garments that command the
highest prices for winter wear, and which are called by various names,
such as "vicuña," "camel's hair," etc., are really made of alpaca.
The alpaca, like its cousin, the llama, was probably domesticated by
the early Peruvians from the wild guanaco, largest of the camels of the
New World. The guanaco still exists in a wild state and is always of
uniform coloration. Llamas and alpacas are extremely variegated. The
llama has so coarse a hair that it is seldom woven into cloth for
wearing apparel, although heavy blankets made from it are in use by
the natives. Bred to be a beast of burden, the llama is accustomed to
the presence of strangers and is not any more timid of them than our
horses and cows. The alpaca, however, requiring better and scarcer
forage--short, tender grass and plenty of water--frequents the most
remote and lofty of the mountain pastures, is handled only when the
fleece is removed, seldom sees any one except the peaceful shepherds,
and is extremely shy of strangers, although not nearly as timid as its
distant cousin the vicuña. I shall never forget the first time I ever
saw some alpacas. They looked for all the world like the "woolly-dogs"
of our toys shops--woolly along the neck right up to the eyes and
woolly along the legs right down to the invisible wheels! There was
something inexpressibly comic about these long-legged animals. They
look like toys on wheels, but actually they can gallop like cows.
The llama, with far less hair on head, neck, and legs, is also amusing,
but in a different way. His expression is haughty and supercilious
in the extreme. He usually looks as though his presence near one is
due to circumstances over which he really had no control. Pride of
race and excessive haughtiness lead him to carry his head so high
and his neck so stiffly erect that he can be corralled, with others
of his kind, by a single rope passed around the necks of the entire
group. Yet he can be bought for ten dollars.
On the pasture lands of Ajochiucha there were many ewes and lambs,
both of llamas and alpacas. Even the shepherds were mostly children,
more timid than their charges. They crouched inconspicuously behind
rocks and shrubs, endeavoring to escape our notice. About five o'clock
in the afternoon, on a dry pampa, we found the ruins of one of the
largest known Inca storehouses, Chichipampa, an interesting reminder
of the days when benevolent despots ruled the Andes and, like the
Pharaohs of old, provided against possible famine. The locality is
not occupied, yet near by are populous valleys.
As soon as we left our camp the next morning, we came abruptly to the
edge of the Lampa Valley. This was another of the mile-deep canyons
so characteristic of this region. Our pack mules grunted and groaned
as they picked their way down the corkscrew trail. It overhangs the
mud-colored Indian town of Colta, a rather scattered collection of
a hundred or more huts. Here again, as in the Cotahuasi Valley, are
hundreds of ancient terraces, extending for thousands of feet up the
sides of the canyon. Many of them were badly out of repair, but those
near Colta were still being used for raising crops of corn, potatoes,
and barley. The uncultivated spots were covered with cacti, thorn
bushes, and the gnarled, stunted trees of a semi-arid region. In the
town itself were half a dozen specimens of the Australian eucalyptus,
that agreeable and extraordinarily successful colonist which one
encounters not only in the heart of Peru, but in the Andes of Colombia
and the new forest preserves of California and the Hawaiian Islands.
------
FIGURE
Inca Storehouses at Chinchipampa, near Colta
------
Colta has a few two-storied houses, with tiled roofs. Some of them
have open verandas on the second floor--a sure indication that the
climate is at times comfortable. Their walls are built of sun-dried
adobe, and so are the walls of the little grass-thatched huts of the
majority. Judging by the rather irregular plan of the streets and
the great number of terraces in and around town, one may conclude
that Colta goes far back of the sixteenth century and the days of
the Spanish Conquest, as indeed do most Peruvian towns. The cities
of Lima and Arequipa are noteworthy exceptions. Leaving Colta,
we wound around the base of the projecting ridge, on the sides of
which were many evidences of ancient culture, and came into the
valley of Huancahuanca, a large arid canyon. The guide said that we
were nearing Parinacochas. Not many miles away, across two canyons,
was a snow-capped peak, Sarasara.
Lampa, the chief town in the Huancahuanca Canyon, lies on a great
natural terrace of gravel and alluvium more than a thousand feet
above the river. Part of the terrace seemed to be irrigated and
under cultivation. It was proposed by the energetic farmers at
the time of our visit to enlarge the system of irrigation so as to
enable them to cultivate a larger part of the pampa on which they
lived. In fact, the new irrigation scheme was actually in process of
being carried out and has probably long since been completed. Our
reception in Lampa was not cordial. It will be remembered that
our military escort, Corporal Gamarra, had gone back to Arequipa
with Dr. Bowman. Our two excellent arrieros, the Tejada brothers,
declared they preferred to travel without any "brass buttons,"
so we had not asked the sub-prefect of Cotahuasi to send one of
his small handful of gendarmes along with us. Probably this was a
mistake. Unless one is traveling in Peru on some easily understood
matter, such as prospecting for mines or representing one of the
great importing and commission houses, or actually peddling goods,
one cannot help arousing the natural suspicions of a people to whom
traveling on muleback for pleasure is unthinkable, and scientific
exploration for its own sake is incomprehensible. Of course, if the
explorers arrive accompanied by a gendarme it is perfectly evident
that the enterprise has the approval and probably the financial
backing of the government. It is surmised that the explorers are
well paid, and what would be otherwise inconceivable becomes merely
one of the ordinary experiences of life. South American governments
almost without exception are paternalistic, and their citizens are
led to expect that all measures connected with research, whether it be
scientific, economic, or social, are to be conducted by the government
and paid for out of the national treasury. Individual enterprise is
not encouraged. During all my preceding exploration in Peru I had
had such an easy time that I not only forgot, but failed to realize,
how often an ever-present gendarme, provided through the courtesy of
President Leguia's government, had quieted suspicions and assured us
a cordial welcome.
Now, however, when without a gendarme we entered the smart little
town of Lampa, we found ourselves immediately and unquestionably the
objects of extreme suspicion and distrust. Yet we could not help
admiring the well-swept streets, freshly whitewashed houses, and
general air of prosperity and enterprise. The gobernador of the town
lived on the main street in a red-tiled house, whose courtyard and
colonnade were probably two hundred years old. He had heard nothing
of our undertaking from the government. His friends urged him to take
some hostile action. Fortunately, our arrieros, respectable men of high
grade, although strangers in Lampa, were able to allay his suspicions
temporarily. We were not placed under arrest, although I am sure
his action was not approved by the very suspicious town councilors,
who found it far easier to suggest reasons for our being fugitives
from justice than to understand the real object of our journey.
The very fact that we were bound for Lake Parinacochas, a place well
known in Lampa, added to their suspicion. It seems that Lampa is famous
for its weavers, who utilize the wool of the countless herds of sheep,
alpacas, and vicuñas in this vicinity to make ponchos and blankets
of high grade, much desired not only in this locality but even in
Arequipa. These are marketed, as so often happens in the outlying
parts of the world, at a great annual fair, attended by traders who
come hundreds of miles, bringing the manufactured articles of the
outer world and seeking the highly desired products of these secluded
towns. The great fair for this vicinity has been held, for untold
generations, on the shores of Lake Parinacochas. Every one is anxious
to attend the fair, which is an occasion for seeing one's friends, an
opportunity for jollification, carousing, and general enjoyment--like a
large county fair at home. Except for this annual fair week, the basin
of Parinacochas is as bleak and desolate as our own fair-grounds,
with scarcely a house to be seen except those that are used for the
purposes of the fair. Had we been bound for Parinacochas at the proper
season nothing could have been more reasonable and praiseworthy. Why
anybody should want to go to Parinacochas during one of the other
fifty-one weeks in the year was utterly beyond the comprehension
or understanding of these village worthies. So, to our "selectmen,"
are the idiosyncrasies of itinerant gypsies who wish to camp in our
deserted fair-grounds.
The Tejadas were not anxious to spend the night in town--probably
because, according to our contract, the cost of feeding the mules
devolved entirely upon them and fodder is always far more expensive
in town than in the country. It was just as well for us that this
was so, for I am sure that before morning the village gossips would
have persuaded the gobernador to arrest us. As it was, however, he was
pleasant and hospitable, and considerably amused at the embarrassment
of an Indian woman who was weaving at a hand loom in his courtyard
and whom we desired to photograph. She could not easily escape, for
she was sitting on the ground with one end of the loom fastened around
her waist, the other end tied to a eucalyptus tree. So she covered her
eyes and mouth with her hands, and almost wept with mortification at
our strange procedure. Peruvian Indian women are invariably extremely
shy, rarely like to be photographed, and are anxious only to escape
observation and notice. The ladies of the gobernador's own family,
however, of mixed Spanish and Indian ancestry, not only had no
objection to being photographed, but were moved to unseemly and
unsympathetic laughter at the predicament of their unfortunate sister.
After leaving Lampa we found ourselves on the best road that we
had seen in a long time. Its excellence was undoubtedly due to the
enterprise and energy of the people of this pleasant town. One might
expect that citizens who kept their town so clean and neat and were
engaged in the unusual act of constructing new irrigation works would
have a comfortable road in the direction toward which they usually
would wish to go, namely, toward the coast.
As we climbed out of the Huancahuanca Valley we noticed no evidences
of ancient agricultural terraces, either on the sides of the valley
or on the alluvial plain which has given rise to the town of Lampa
and whose products have made its people well fed and energetic. The
town itself seems to be of modern origin. One wonders why there are so
few, if any, evidences of the ancient régime when there are so many
a short distance away in Colta and the valley around it. One cannot
believe that the Incas would have overlooked such a fine agricultural
opportunity as an extensive alluvial terrace in a region where there
is so little arable land. Possibly the very excellence of the land
and its relative flatness rendered artificial terracing unnecessary
in the minds of the ancient people who lived here. On the other hand,
it may have been occupied until late Inca times by one of the coast
tribes. Whatever the cause, certainly the deep canyon of Huancahuanca
divides two very different regions. To come in a few hours, from
thickly terraced Colta to unterraced Lampa was so striking as to give
us cause for thought and speculation. It is well known that in the
early days before the Inca conquest of Peru, not so very long before
the Spanish Conquest, there were marked differences between the tribes
who inhabited the high plateau and those who lived along the shore
of the Pacific. Their pottery is as different as possible in design
and ornamentation; the architecture of their cities and temples is
absolutely distinct. Relative abundance of flat lands never led them
to develop terracing to the same extent that the mountain people had
done. Perhaps on this alluvial terrace there lived a remnant of the
coastal peoples. Excavation would show.
Scarcely had we climbed out of the valley of Huancahuanca and
surmounted the ridge when we came in sight of more artificial
terraces. Beyond a broad, deep valley rose the extinct volcanic cone of
Mt. Sarasara, now relatively close at hand, its lower slopes separated
from us by another canyon. Snow lay in the gulches and ravines near
the top of the mountain. Our road ran near the towns of Pararca
and Colcabamba, the latter much like Colta, a straggling village of
thatched huts surrounded by hundreds of terraces. The vegetation on
the valley slopes indicated occasional rains. Near Pararca we passed
fields of barley and wheat growing on old stone-faced terraces. On
every hand were signs of a fairly large population engaged in
agriculture, utilizing fields which had been carefully prepared
for them by their ancestors. They were not using all, however. We
noticed hundreds of terraces that did not appear to have been under
cultivation recently. They may have been lying fallow temporarily.
Our arrieros avoided the little towns, and selected a camp site on the
roadside near the Finca Rodadero. After all, when one has a comfortable
tent, good food, and skillful arrieros it is far pleasanter to spend
the night in the clean, open country, even at an elevation of 12,000
or 13,000 feet, than to be surrounded by the smells and noises of an
Indian town.
The next morning we went through some wheat fields, past the town
of Puyusca, another large Indian village of thatched adobe houses
placed high on the shoulder of a rocky hill so as to leave the
best arable land available for agriculture. It is in a shallow,
well-watered valley, full of springs. The appearance of the country
had changed entirely since we left Cotahuasi. The desert and its
steep-walled canyons seemed to be far behind us. Here was a region of
gently sloping hills, covered with terraces, where the cereals of the
temperate zone appeared to be easily grown. Finally, leaving the grain
fields, we climbed up to a shallow depression in the low range at the
head of the valley and found ourselves on the rim of a great upland
basin more than twenty miles across. In the center of the basin was
a large, oval lake. Its borders were pink. The water in most of the
lake was dark blue, but near the shore the water was pink, a light
salmon-pink. What could give it such a curious color? Nothing but
flamingoes, countless thousands of flamingoes--Parinacochas at last!