In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

Leaving Cochabamba on the afternoon of May 9, 1915, we rode the fifteen miles to the town of Sacaba, arriving there at dusk. The intervening country is thickly settled, and large areas are irrigated and planted in alfalfa, maize, wheat, grapes, and vegetables. Nearly all the inhabitants are Indians of the Quechua race.

Beyond Sacaba the trail adheres closely to the bed of a small stream, and ascends at a steep angle. Numerous little canals carry the water along the mountainside, and the country is dotted with small stone huts surrounded by carefully cultivated fields; this is made possible by the fact that the rivulet never dries, but, on the contrary, supplies a constant stream of water of sufficient volume to irrigate a large area. The canals have been dug with great precision; each family uses only as much as required, and at stated intervals, so there is enough for all.

The trail goes up steadily until an elevation of twelve thousand feet is reached. As we neared the top a strong wind sprang up, so that it was difficult to keep one’s place in the saddle. The mountainside is covered with small, round rocks of uniform size, such as one would usually expect to find in a dry river-bed.

Beyond the high summit of the first ridge lies the high mountain valley in which is located the Quechua village of Cuchicancha (meaning “pig-pen”). There are several score of huts scattered about in little groups, and built of rocks, with thatched roofs. The Indians speak practically no Spanish, and live in much the same way as they did in the days of Atahualpa. In order to cultivate the land they have gathered the rocks which everywhere carpet the ground into huge piles, and also built fences of them; large quantities of potatoes, ocas, and avas are grown.

Each family owns a flock of sheep, which apparently replace the llamas of olden days, although flocks of the latter animals are still to be seen frequently; also a few pigs and burros. They have likewise taken to cultivating wheat, oats, and rye.

We decided to spend a week at Cuchicancha and succeeded in persuading an old Quechua man to rent us his hut for that length of time. He spoke not a word of Spanish, or at least pretended that he knew nothing whatever of that language, so all conversation had to be carried on through an interpreter. As our coming was a complete surprise to him, he asked if he could occupy the habitation with us for a few nights until he had time to find sleeping-quarters elsewhere; to this we, of course, consented. One night I was awakened by loud talking, and much to my astonishment found that the aged Indian, who had evidently taken too much chicha during the day, was restlessly tossing on his pile of sheepskins and blankets, and talking in his sleep—in excellent Spanish. After that we conversed with him without the aid of an interpreter, and he understood every word of it, too.

The weather at Cuchicancha was splendid; it was autumn, and while the nights were cold, the days were always comfortably warm. The Indians were friendly and brought us eggs, goats’ milk, chickens, and bread. Each morning the children took the flocks to the narrow river-bed to feed on the sparse vegetation, and at night they brought them back to the stone corrals; they took a few boiled potatoes with them for lunch, and also their spinning for pastime. All spin except the men; and every one had an abundance of blankets and ponchos; even the bags for grain and potatoes are made of homespun wool.

The harvest had been gathered and every one seemed contented. One day a party of Indians collected to thresh wheat; from a distance I could hear the boom of a drum and the shrill wail of reed flutes; as I approached, a strange sight met my eyes. Bundles of grain had been piled in a high mound, on the top of which sat the musicians; a dozen mounted Indians were driving a herd of mules and burros around the base. Around and around they went at a frantic pace, keeping perfect time with the music; as the animals circled the stack a man on top cast armfuls of wheat down in their path, so that in running over it repeatedly they naturally trampled out the grain. About a hundred men, each holding to a long rope, formed a circular fence around the racing mob and prevented any of the animals from escaping.

We were surprised at the abundance of life in this naturally barren region. There were practically no indigenous trees, but a long line of willows had been planted near one of the houses, and to these thousands of cowbirds, doves, and finches came each night to sleep. A short walk across the stubble-fields always revealed something new. There were tinamou which rose with a loud whir, reminding one of partridges; many species of brownish birds belonging to the wood-hewer family, one of them with a long, curved bill, but they ran about on the ground or perched on the stone fences; large flickers lived among the rocks, and condors soared above; and there were even flocks of gulls and plovers. The most unusual birds were two species of very small parrakeets which clambered about over the rocks and slept in holes in the high banks. Vast numbers of cavies lived in the rock-piles, from which they sallied at all hours of the day in quest of food, and many small rodents inhabited the grain-fields.

A good trail leads eastward from Cochicancha; the summit of the range rises about two leagues from the settlement. At the time of our visit the black, rocky peaks were covered with a mantle of snow and an icy wind swept through the cleft which serves as a pass. The elevation of the trail is thirteen thousand four hundred feet. At the base of the towering masses which rise several hundred feet above the passage, lies a placid little lake, and ducks, and gulls were swimming on its peaceful surface. Condors swept down from above to inspect us, and then soared back to their dizzy perches among the unscalable crags.