Seven leagues is considered a good day’s travel in Colombia, on account of the mountainous nature of the country and poor trails. However, on our first day out from Barbosa we covered only five leagues, and spent the night at a hut called Sabanete, nine thousand feet up. Early the following morning we reached Santa Rosa, the centre of the Antioquian gold-fields. The town is of considerable size, but stands in the middle of a bleak, arid plain, and is about as cheerless a place as one could find. The surrounding country is exceedingly rich in gold, and numberless mines pierce the flat, stony surface, and penetrate into the hillsides. The only drawback to mining operations on a gigantic scale is the lack of water. During the rainy season the inhabitants of Santa Rosa gather water in barrels and every available sort of container, and then wash gold out in the street in front of their homes, or in the back yards. Despite its many natural disadvantages, Antioquia is one of the richest states in Colombia, and produces a great proportion of that country’s yearly output of gold, which in 1916 amounted to $5,400,000.
The country beyond Santa Rosa is practically uninhabited for a distance of ten or twelve miles; after that a growth of low woods gradually appears, and with it an abundance of bird life, such as California woodpeckers, green and yellow jays, black thrushes, warblers, and parrots. This was in great contrast to the arid country we had just left behind, where practically the only sign of life was an occasional hawk hovering in the air for many minutes at a time, in the hope of surprising an unsuspecting lizard or some small rodent among the rocks below.
It was in this forest that we again encountered a number of one of the most beautiful birds found in the entire region—the white-crowned tanager (Serricossypha albacristata). A flock of sixteen sat in the top of a bush and kept up a continuous shrill peeping.
The third night after leaving Medellin we reached Yarumal, a large town built on a steep, rocky slope. From a distance it seems as if the houses were standing one on top of another, and it is difficult to understand what prevents the whole town from sliding down the steep mountainside.
The “Hotel de la Madre” is one of the institutions of Yarumal. It is conducted by an old negress who looked us over suspiciously and found it hard to decide whether or not to admit us. While deliberating and fumbling about her shawl she scratched her finger severely on a pin; to this I immediately applied a few grains of permanganate taken from my snake-bite lancet. This won her favor, and we were given a room. Later she confided to us that two Englishmen had stopped there the week before. “We were frightened to death when we found out that they were Englishmen,” she said, “because England is at war, you know. But what do you think? They paid their bill next morning and left without hurting anybody. However, we made up our minds to be careful about admitting strangers in the future.”
One may ride from Yarumal to Valdivia in one day; but we broke the trip by stopping at a large wayside inn called La Frijolera. It was in the midst of a splendid forest growth, the elevation being five thousand feet. From a distance the forest looked most promising, but on account of the density of mosses, ferns, and creepers forming the undergrowth it was all but impenetrable.
We located a grove of guavas a short distance from the house, and this proved the most prolific hunting-ground. It was always possible to shoot squirrels there, as they came out at all hours of the day to feed on the ripening fruit. Many birds also flocked to the low trees for their daily sustenance, and even opossums lurked about the roots and brush to pick up the sweet morsels dropped by the furred and feathered flocks feasting in the branches.
At La Frijolera we engaged a native hunter who owned a famous hunting-dog named Golondrina (meaning swallow). Words can hardly be found to convey an accurate picture of the hunter, but the dog’s name at once suggests its chief accomplishment. Day after day our man took his dog afield in search of agoutis, but he always returned empty-handed, explaining that while he had started a number of the animals we wanted, Golondrina could never see them, and so she failed to catch them. However, one day he saved his reputation as a hunter by making a difficult trip of ten miles to a steep, heavily wooded ravine, and shooting a number of red howler monkeys. A few days later the dog accidentally came across a peccary, which some native hunters were pursuing, brought it to bay on a rock, and kept it there until it could be shot.
This place presented rare opportunities for hunting by night. A road had been cut through the forest, dividing it in two clean-cut sections. However, the tips of wide-spreading branches from each side of the clear swath met in several places, forming an aerial connection above the road. These are known as “monkey bridges” because night monkeys and other animals utilize them in crossing from one section of the forest to another. As there was a full moon it was only necessary to sit quietly on a stump near one of the bridges and wait. Before long a rustling sound would come from the tree-top, so slight as to be scarcely audible, and occasionally a deep, low grunt; then silent, shadowy forms emerged from the blackness of concealing foliage and slowly made their way across the springy passage. Kinkajous also used these bridges, and as the natives prized the skins of these animals highly for making chaparejos, they conducted a regular business of hunting them on moonlight nights. After shooting in one spot for several nights in succession, it was necessary to leave it undisturbed for some time, as the animals became wary and sought other bridges.
The town of Valdivia is located on a little ridge four thousand two hundred feet up, about ten miles from Puerto Valdivia, which is on the Cauca River. All the intervening country is wooded.