CHAPTER IX

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.

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.

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.

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