In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

Hour after hour we followed blindly in the wake of the bell-mule, winding back and forth along the mountainside, but mounting ever upward. The latter part of the way seemed to lie near the course of a small mountain torrent, for we were almost constantly within hearing distance of rushing water. Finally, we emerged from the forest, and, just as day was breaking, reached a brush-covered strip of country, the elevation of which is five thousand feet. This continued to the top of the ridge, two thousand feet above. Then there was a depression of considerable extent, filled with rank, low vegetation and infested with swarms of bloodthirsty flies which render it uninhabitable.

After ascending another ridge, the trail led gently downward into a level valley a dozen miles long and from one to two miles wide. Herds of cattle were grazing on the abundant grass; a few small areas had been enclosed within stone walls and planted in maize; and at the far end, half concealed by willows and fruit-trees, lay a village of whitewashed houses. At half past four in the afternoon we reached the settlement, called Tafí del Valle, and soon after were comfortably ensconced in a hut hospitably provided by one of the inhabitants. After the fifteen and a half hours’ uninterrupted ride over a difficult trail we were ready for a journey into a still more remote region, and the sun was shining brightly the following morning when we again returned to the stern realities of this world.

Tafí del Valle is a most delightful place. Even though the altitude is seven thousand feet, the surrounding peaks shut in the valley and protect it from the icy winds. There is no natural forest in this region, but groves of willows have been planted near the houses; to these, large numbers of birds came to spend the night. Hawks were especially abundant and of many kinds—we collected no fewer than seventeen species during our ten days’ stay; then there were also burrowing owls, larks, flycatchers, thrushes, and many other birds. Some species which ordinarily live in brush-covered country had become adapted to their barren surroundings and were nesting in holes excavated in banks of earth. When the birds had reared their broods, rats, mice, and pigmy opossums occupied the old nesting-sites.

A clear, cold stream, which flows through one side of the valley, spreads out at the lower end over a large area, forming lagoons and marshes. Geese, ducks, coots, night-herons, and sandpipers made these places a favorite resort. Pectoral sandpipers were not uncommon, and were so fat that they were unable to fly and could be taken with the hands. There were also flocks of stilts; they are beautiful creatures, either when flying in compact formation, with measured wing-beats and outstretched necks and legs, or when standing motionless in the shallow water, their snowy underparts reflected in quivering outlines. Lapwings screamed and cackled in resentment of our visit and frequently frightened away flocks of water-fowl which we were stalking.

Apparently our Scytalopus was not a bird of the open highlands. We even began to wonder if it existed at all, because, so far, the most thorough search had failed to reveal any trace of it. There remained, however, the high paramo above, and to this we next turned our attention.

Our sudden arrival at Tafí had caused much comment among the inhabitants. They found it impossible to believe that we had come to that remote region in search of a small, dull-colored bird, and after a few days it became an open secret that we were regarded as spies—though just what nature of information we sought, could not be determined. They even went so far as to refer to the matter occasionally in a good-natured manner; and when we were away on hunting excursions, it was their custom to put our cook, a Bolivian, through a sort of “third degree” in an effort to compel him to confess the real object of our visit. Therefore, when we planned to move to the high peaks bordering the little valley, the natives considered their evidence complete; we were going, they said, to prepare a diagram of the country from our new point of vantage. The only person who really understood the purpose of our mission was a man from Tucuman who had been sent up to vaccinate the Indians. He started out each morning accompanied by two or three soldiers, rounded up all the Indians of a given locality, and vaccinated them. The natives did not at the time realize the significance of this act; but when, a few weeks later, the inoculations had had time to become effective, they grew frantic, and grim-faced little parties began to scour the country in search of the person who had “poisoned” them. Fortunately, none of the scouting-parties came our way, for to them all strangers look very much alike, and there was the possibility that one of us might have been mistaken for the doctor.

The paramo above Tafí is a bleak region, almost perpetually enveloped in mist. Work in this type of country possesses its disadvantages, for in addition to the intense cold and the lack of fuel, there is always the possibility that one may be trapped far from camp by banks of clouds which roll in unexpectedly! The cold, penetrating mist is so dense that it is impossible to distinguish objects but a few yards away, and the most familiar landmarks assume strange and fantastic outlines. In the event that one is overtaken by this phenomenon, there is nothing to do but wait until the mist lifts, which may be in a few hours, or perhaps, not until the next day. Strange to say, the inhospitable paramo supports a varied fauna. Herds of wary guanacos feed on the tall, wiry grass growing in the more sheltered places; when alarmed, they flee to the inaccessible rocky slopes. The paja, or grass, harbors also a species of large tinamou, but the bird is loath to leave its safe cover, for no sooner does it take wing than hawks, which are always hovering about, swoop down and carry it away.

Numbers of deep ravines have been worn in the mountainsides by water coming from the melting snows on the higher peaks. These are filled with a rank growth of shrubbery. The sides are so abrupt that we could find no spot where a descent was possible without the aid of a thousand feet or more of rope. After a number of days, however, a narrow fissure was discovered leading to one of the ravines from which came faint bird-calls that we at once recognized with a fair degree of certainty. On account of the high altitude and tangled plant-life it was slow, tiring work to follow along the bottom of the jagged gash; there was also the unpleasant possibility of breaking through the matted brush and falling into deep crevices among the rocks.

As we struggled along slowly, high-pitched, whistling calls rang clear and loud from numerous places near by, but still it seemed as if our efforts might be of no avail; for among that chaos of vegetation it was impossible to move without causing great disturbance and frightening the birds away. Then there recurred to us the old saying about Mahomet and the mountain and we resorted to quiet concealment.

Presently there was a crisp little chirp and a rustle among the mosses a few yards away; one, two, five minutes passed; then a minute, shadowy form darted out of the darkness, perched on a moss-covered boulder, and turned a pair of bright, inquisitive eyes upon the strange monsters which had invaded its snug retreat. The white throat gleamed conspicuously among the deep-green surroundings as the bird paused a moment to complete its inspection; then up went the short, barred tail, straight into the air, and a succession of low, scolding notes emanated from the feathered mite as it hopped about in angry excitement.