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