Inca Land - Explorations in the Highlands of Peru | Page 7

with no places to rest, no water, no shade, the pack animals
suffer greatly. Consequently, most caravans travel, so far as possible,
by night. Our first desert, the pampa of Sihuas, was reported to be
narrow, so we preferred to cross it by day and see what was to be seen.
We got up about half-past four and were off before seven. Then our
troubles began. Either because he lived in Arequipa or because they
thought he looked like a good horseman, or for reasons best known to
themselves, the Tejadas had given Mr. Hinckley a very spirited
saddle-mule. The first thing I knew, her rider, carrying a heavy camera,
a package of plate-holders, and a large mercurial barometer, borrowed
from the Harvard Observatory, was pitched headlong into the sand.
Fortunately no damage was done, and after a lively chase the runaway
mule was brought back by Corporal Gamarra. After Mr. Hinckley was
remounted on his dangerous mule we rode on for a while in peace,
between cornfields and vineyards, over paths flanked by willows and
fig trees. The chief industry of Vitor is the making of wine from vines
which date back to colonial days. The wine is aged in huge jars, each
over six feet high, buried in the ground. We had a glimpse of seventeen
of them standing in a line, awaiting sale. It made one think of Ali Baba
and the Forty Thieves, who would have had no trouble at all hiding in
these Cyclopean crocks.
The edge of the oasis of Vitor is the contour line along which the
irrigating canal runs. There is no gradual petering out of foliage. The
desert begins with a stunning crash. On one side is the bright, luxurious
green of fig trees and vineyards; on the other side is the absolute stark
nakedness of the sandy desert. Within the oasis there is an abundance
of water. Much of it runs to waste. The wine growers receive more than
they can use; in fact, more land could easily be put under cultivation.
The chief difficulties are the scarcity of ports from which produce can
be shipped to the outer world, the expense of the transportation system

of pack trains over the deserts which intervene between the oases and
the railroad, and the lack of capital. Otherwise the irrigation system
might be extended over great stretches of rich, volcanic soil, now
unoccupied.
A steady climb of three quarters of an hour took us to the northern rim
of the valley. Here we again saw the snowy mass of Coropuna,
glistening in the sunlight, seventy-five miles away to the northwest.
Our view was a short one, for in less than three minutes we had to
descend another canyon. We crossed this and climbed out on the pampa
of Sihuas. There was little to interest us in our immediate surroundings,
but in the distance was Coropuna, and I had just begun to study the
problem of possible routes for climbing the highest peak when Mr.
Hinckley's mule trotted briskly across the trail directly in front of me,
kicked up her heels, and again sent him sprawling over the sand,
barometer, camera, plates, and all. Unluckily, this time his foot caught
in a stirrup and, still holding the bridle, he was dragged some distance
before he got it loose. He struggled to his feet and tried to keep the
mule from running away, when a violent kick released his hold and
knocked him out. We immediately set up our little "Mummery" tent on
the hot, sandy floor of the desert and rendered first-aid to the unlucky
astronomer. We found that the sharp point of one of the vicious mule's
new shoes had opened a large vein in Mr. Hinckley's leg. The cut was
not dangerous, but too deep for successful mountain climbing. With
Gamarra's aid, Mr. Hinckley was able to reach Arequipa that night, but
his enforced departure not only shattered his own hopes of climbing
Coropuna, but also made us wonder how we were going to have the
necessary three-men-on-the-rope when we reached the glaciers. To be
sure, there was the corporal--but would he go? Indians do not like snow
mountains. Packing up the tent again, we resumed our course over the
desert.
The oasis of Sihuas, another beautiful garden in the bottom of a huge
canyon, was reached about four o'clock in the afternoon. We should
have been compelled to camp in the open with the arrieros had not the
parish priest invited us to rest in the cool shade of his vine-covered
arbor. He graciously served us with cakes and sweet native wine, and

asked us to stay as long as we liked. The desert of Majes, which now
lay ahead of us, is perhaps the widest, hottest, and most barren in this