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.
CHAPTER V
THE CHOCÓ COUNTRY ON THE WESTERN COAST OF COLOMBIA
Upon returning to Cartago from our expedition to the bleak paramo of Santa Isabel, we began preparations for a visit to the notorious Chocó, which lies along the western coast and within the San Juan River watershed. This section of the country presents the other extreme in climatic conditions. It has been rarely visited by naturalists on account of its inaccessibility; and the few who have succeeded in forcing their way within its inhospitable borders have found it impossible to remain any length of time. Malarial and yellow fevers are endemic among the natives, but quickly sap the vitality and life of newcomers into the region; rain falls daily—four hundred inches being the average precipitation for one year—and the heat is so intense that when the sun appears during the intervals between showers the whole jungle is converted into a steaming inferno. Small wonder, then, that the fabulous wealth in gold and platinum of the Chocó has been little more than touched.
Our plans called for an overland trip to Nóvita on the Tamaná River; after reaching that point local conditions would have to guide our subsequent movements. Trail there is none, but a footpath, often so faint that it loses itself among the vegetation or in the beds of streams, serves the purpose of partially guiding the stalwart negro who carries the mail to Nóvita at infrequent intervals, as well as others who undertake to cross the Western Range into the tropical lowland.
The townspeople of Cartago had heard a good deal, in a general way, about conditions existing in the Chocó, but they could give no information of practical value. We haunted the market and other places where peons congregate in numbers in our endeavor to secure porters for the trip. The few who reluctantly expressed a readiness to go did not seem physically fit for such strenuous work, so I rejected them. One day a caravan of oxen arrived from the settlement of Salencio, and I hastily engaged them for the return trip, as these animals, while slow, are sure-footed, and can pick their way through mud and jungle that horses could not penetrate.
Leaving Cartago, we crossed the arid Cauca Valley; the land west of the river is more rolling than on the opposite bank, but the character of the plant life is much the same. Within an hour Ansermanueva, a cluster of twenty or thirty adobe hovels, was sighted in the distance, but the trail divided just before reaching the village and we followed the southern branch. Beyond this fork the climb into the mountains began; there are two ridges, six thousand eight hundred feet and seven thousand five hundred feet high respectively, with a ravine of five thousand eight hundred feet between. The “cloud” forest does not begin below the top of the first ridge; then there is an abundance of mosses, ferns, bromelias and other epiphytes forming a growth that is both rank and beautiful, and equalling in density that found in any other region. The greater luxuriance of the flora on the western slope indicated a heavier rainfall on that side; this is accounted for by the fact that the summits of the various ridges stop the moisture-laden winds from the Pacific, to a large extent, and cause them to precipitate the water on the ocean side of the divide.
Within two days we arrived at Salencio, small, dilapidated, situated on a little plateau between the peaks, and inhabited mainly by half-breeds. We were advised to wait until the weekly market-day, when many people from the surroundings would come to town, and it would be possible to secure porters for the continuation of the journey. In the meantime we made short excursions into the neighboring forest; they yielded several novelties, among them a splendid example of the military macaw (Ara m. militaris). This gorgeously colored bird is rare, indeed, and we have never seen more than two at the same time. Spectacled bears were said to be common and to come to the clearings when corn is ripe; the number of pelts exhibited by the inhabitants amply verified their assertion.
When Sunday came, and with it the gathering of people always present when market is held, we had no trouble in engaging the required peons, each of whom agreed to carry a pack of seventy-five pounds. Early the next morning they appeared, eager and ready for their undertaking. They shouldered their loads and started away at a fast gait, while we brought up the rear of the column to prevent straggling.
The way lay across a low, forested ridge, and then adhered closely to the bamboo-covered banks of a small stream called locally Rio Cabeceros or Rio Vueltas, but which is really the headwaters of the Sipi River. At one time we waded in the knee-deep water a distance of over three miles, as it was easier than to force a way through the matted plant life on either side. I soon discovered that the porters did not possess the endurance of those we had previously employed on other expeditions, and I believe this was due to the fact that the use of coca leaves is unknown in this part of Colombia. Whenever our peons had an abundance of coca to chew they seemed tireless in the performance of their work; those not given to the habit required large and frequent meals, ate panela all day long as they marched, and were capable of covering a short distance only in the course of a day’s walk. We were compelled to halt early and chose the top of a knoll for a camping site.