In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

There were ducks everywhere, feeding or playing among the sedges, and flocks coming from the surrounding sloughs whistled past constantly and plumped down with a splash. Black-headed gulls flew back and forth overhead, and cormorants stood on snags, drying their outstretched wings. To shoot birds under such circumstances would be mere slaughter, and the number one could kill is limited only by the amount of ammunition at hand. The natives kill four or five hundred ducks each day during this season, and have done so for years, but the number of birds does not seem to diminish.

There were also numbers of noisy stilt-sandpipers, storks, and screamers, and occasionally we ran across a pectoral sandpiper which, as at Tafí, was so fat that it did not attempt to fly and could be caught by throwing a hat over it. Lapwings, too, passed over in small bunches, screaming and quarrelling as they went.

Nearly all the ducks were feeding on the small seeds of the water-plants, and were rolling in fat; but on several occasions we ran into small flocks of shovellers and teals which were near the bank and refused to fly; an examination of several of them showed that they were very light and probably diseased.

As we neared the landing, dusk was just enveloping the landscape. Red-breasted meadow-larks sang in the desert, yellow-shouldered blackbirds babbled in the thick reeds, and black ibises in flocks of many thousands were returning from their feeding-grounds miles away, to spend the night in the marshes.

We desired our birds principally for scientific purposes; that is, to prepare the skins for museum specimens, and had shot only a limited number of the best-plumaged individuals of each species; but even then our bag amounted to over half a hundred ducks, a number of geese and swans, and a fairly good collection of coots, grebes, herons, and other birds typical of the vast Argentine lake region.

The preparation of all this material presented a stupendous task. First they were cleaned thoroughly of all spots, then hung up in a safe place, where they remained in good condition on account of the cold. The days that followed were so stormy that outdoor work was impossible, so we were glad to remain in the tent disposing of the work in hand.

When the weather cleared we took other boat-trips through the marshes and out into the lake, but our bag was always limited to things we did not possess or needed for food. The geese were leaving in small flocks to breed in the high Andes, the natives said. Swans also started to drift southward; but still the number of remaining water-fowl, mostly ducks and coots that did not migrate, was incalculable. The water was constantly ruffled by the myriad of moving forms and, at times, the roar of rapidly beating wings reminded us of distant thunder.

The few people living in widely separated hovels around the borders of the lake lead miserable lives. They cultivate small areas in grain, but live mostly on fish, water-birds, and goat’s milk. The winter season is most trying. Snow falls infrequently and in small quantities, but the cold is intense. The dust-storms, however, are the real tribulations which render life well-nigh unbearable. They frequently last many days at a time; the fine sand sifts through and into everything and is almost suffocating. One breathes it, eats it, wakes up in the morning covered with a layer, and lives in it continuously as in a thick, brown haze that is most exasperating and invites almost constant profanity, at least in thought. We were glad we visited Media Agua; but we were glad indeed when we found ourselves back in San Juan.

It requires but four hours to reach Mendoza from San Juan by train. This attractive city is really in the heart of the wine country, but the vineyards were almost depleted from the inroads of an insect called the bicho de cesto. The vegetation all about was covered with small, ragged cocoons from which the hungry hordes of destructive creatures would emerge in the spring. In places wide areas of weeds had been burned over to destroy the pest while still in the incipient stage; but enough always escaped to undo the work of the few careful growers who attempted to stamp out their enemy of the grape-vines. The slaughter of birds on a vast scale may account for the increase of the bicho de cesto. We saw vendors on the streets carrying baskets full of small birds of several species—mostly sparrows—which they sold by the dozen. The number killed weekly must run into the thousands. As a natural result of this wholesale killing, birds are not plentiful in the environs of Mendoza.

From the outskirts of the city one has a superb view of the Andean Range. The lofty mountains extend in an unbroken, snow-capped line as far as the eye can see. Aconcagua, the peer of the Argentine Andes, may be seen from a point several miles south of Mendoza, lording over his lesser satellites in a majestic, awe-inspiring way. The shifting mists, cloud-banks, and intermittent sunlight playing on the white peaks present an ever-varying series of pictures that are unexcelled for beauty and grandeur.