ed as an unlucky spot, cursed by the gods.

The neighboring slopes showed faint evidences of having been roughly
terraced and cultivated. The tutu potato would grow here, a hardy
variety not edible in the fresh state, but considered highly desirable
for making potato flour after having been repeatedly frozen and its
bitter juices all extracted. So would other highland root crops of the
Peruvians, such as the oca, a relative of our sheep sorrel, the anu,
a kind of nasturtium, and the ullucu (ullucus tuberosus).

On the flats near the shore were large corrals still kept in good
repair. New walls were being built by the Indians at the time of our
visit. Near the southeast corner of the lake were a few modern huts
built of stone and adobe, with thatched roofs, inhabited by drovers
and shepherds. We saw more cattle at the east end of the lake than
elsewhere, but they seemed to prefer the sweet water grasses of the
lake to the tough bunch-grass on the slopes of Sarasara.

Viscachas were common amongst the gray lichen-covered rocks. They
are hunted for their beautiful pearly gray fur, the "chinchilla" of
commerce; they are also very good eating, so they have disappeared
from the more accessible parts of Peru. One rarely sees them, although
they may be found on bleak uplands in the mountains of Uilcapampa,
a region rarely visited by any one on account of treacherous bogs and
deep tams. Writers sometimes call viscachas "rabbit-squirrels." They
have large, rounded ears, long hind legs, a long, bushy tail, and do
look like a cross between a rabbit and a gray squirrel.

Surmounting one of the higher ridges one day, I came suddenly upon
an unusually large herd of wild vicunas. It included more than one
hundred individuals. Their relative fearlessness also testified to the
remoteness of Parinacochas and the small amount of hunting that is done
here. Vicunas have never been domesticated, but are often hunted for
their skins. Their silky fleece is even finer than alpaca. The more
fleecy portions of their skins are sewed together to make quilts,
as soft as eider down and of a golden brown color.

After Mr. Tucker finished his triangulation of the lake I told the
arrieros to find the shortest road home. They smiled, murmured
"Arequipa," and started south. We soon came to the rim of the
Maraicasa Valley where, peeping up over one of the hills far to the
south, we got a little glimpse of Coropuna. The Maraicasa Valley is
well inhabite