t peak of
all. To reach it did not appear to be difficult. Rock-covered slopes
ran directly up to the snow. Snow fields, without many rock-falls,
appeared to culminate in a saddle at the base of the great snowy
dome. The eastern slope of the dome itself offered an unbroken,
if steep, path to the top. If we could once reach the snow line,
it looked as though, with the aid of ice-creepers or snowshoes,
we could climb the mountain without serious trouble.

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FIGURE

Mt. Coropuna from the South
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Between us and the first snow-covered slopes, however, lay more
than twenty miles of volcanic desert intersected by deep canyons,
steep quebradas, and very rough aa lava. Directed by our "guide,"
we left the Cotahuasi road and struck across country, dodging the
lava flows and slowly ascending the gentle slope of the plateau. As
it became steeper our mules showed signs of suffering. While waiting
for them to get their wind we went ahead on foot, climbed a short
rise, and to our surprise and chagrin found ourselves on the rim of a
steep-walled canyon, 1500 feet deep, which cut right across in front
of the mountain and lay between us and its higher slopes. After the
mules had rested, the guide now decided to turn to the left instead of
going straight toward the mountain. A dispute ensued as to how much he
knew, even about the foot of Coropuna. He denied that there were any
huts whatever in the canyon. "Abandonado; despoblado; desierto." "A
waste; a solitude; a wilderness." So he described it. Had he been
there? "No, Senor." Luckily we had been able to make out from the rim
of the canyon two or three huts near a little stream. As there was no
question that we ought to get to the snow line as soon as possible, we
decided to dispense with the services of so well-informed a "guide,"
and make such way as we could alone. The altitude of the rim of the
canyon was 16,000 feet; the mules showed signs of acute distress from
mountain sickness. The arrieros began to complain loudly, but did
what they could to relieve the mules by punching holes in their ears;
the theory being that bloodletting is a good thing for soroche. As
soon as the timid arrieros reached a point where they could see
down into the canyon, they spotted some patches of green pasture,
cheered up a bit, and even smiled over the dismal ignorance of the
"guide." Soon we found a trail which led to the huts.

Near the huts was a taciturn Indian woman, who refuse