Mis Pulmones y los Torros y la Búsqueda para la Cueva del Pájaro del Tarareo

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Monday October 1, 2007
Location, Parque Nacional de Cotopaxi

This is the story of my lungs and the bulls and the search for the hummingbird cave...(part 1)

Today I took my first real hike, and mis pulmones de Nueva York took a beating! I was heading for a cave of hummingbirds, tucked into the base of Volcán Rumiñahui. I had been told to head south, go left at the little abandoned shack on the other side of the small canyon, and to then look for a stand of pines--not hard to find here in this tree-less park--which would be at the end of a trail of tire tracks. This all seemed straightforward enough, but my host failed to mention that these tracks and these trees would be up and over on the other side of an enormous and steep hill.

Well, I saw some pines, though they were bent and drowning in a stream, but they were near this shack and so I went left. I knew I'd missed a vital clue somewhere along the way, for I never did see any tire tracks, but I also knew that if I went left and crossed up over the hill at some point I could walk along the ridge until I spied the cave at the base of the volcano on the other side. The only problem was getting to that ridge, the ridge, because standing inbetween me and the right ridge were many other ridges of many other hills, summited only by heaving steps up severely steep inclines. I would get to what I assumed to be the top, only to see a slight downward slope that led to where another hill began anew. The wind had picked up, sweeping in grey storm clouds that sprinkled some cold rain on my pack and further dampened my sweat soaked hairline.

I passed by creeks in the hills, alongside of which were a shocking amount of bleached-out, dried animal bones, including the huge, entirely intact head of one wild horse. As I looked at it lying there, mouth open, teeth bared, too white against the green grass, I had a melodramatic vision of never reaching the top of this hill and succumbing to the same fate. But what fate was it? What natural predators of horses lived in these hills? Pumas. Did I remember hearing something about Pumas? I moved with newfound speed and bountiful breath up those hillsides.

Finally, finally, after nearly 2 and a half hours of climbing and questioning, I reached the height of the last ridge. Down below to my left were a herd of bulls, black and brownish red, their horns visible even at this distance. I stopped for a moment to rest and to survey the scene ahead. I had certainly gone at least one hour out of my way, too far south. Now how far would I have to go to get to this cave...? I turned to my right and standing there, not 10 feet in front of me, was one lone bull, all by his huge and terrifying self. I gasped and immediately turned and walked the other way, down the hill and away from my hard won ridge. I listened for his movement, wondering if bulls were the type of fierce animal to search me out. I heard nothing. I kept walking, making my way back up the ridge but in the opposite and once again out of the way direction of el torro, and promptly removed my RED hooded sweatshirt. Yes, that's right, red. And though I've heard that red being the color of provocation for bulls is just a myth, I couldn't help but think that exchanging it for my more subdued blue tee shirt wouldn't hurt matters.

Fifteen minutes later, believing the bull was now far behind me, I crested the ridge only to turn around and find that damn bull directly behind me! Apparently he'd been moving in the same direction as I had, only above me. I dropped to my knees, hiding as much of myself as I could behind the tall grasses, and started talking to myself (unconsciously, really) most likely saying something like, "Oh, shit. What does a person do when confronting a lone bull on a mountainside?" Well, apparently what you do is you crouch down and start talking to yourself! Cause that bull gave a grunt and when I peered up over the grassy bush, he had turned and was off running in the other direction. I watched until I could see him no longer. (I would return to the lodge later and tell my host, Victoria, about seeing the bulls. She replied, "Well at least you didn't come upon just one. A herd won't bother you, but a lonely one? They'll usually charge. In that case, just throw yourself out of his way." I was grateful to whatever force kept me from throwing myself anywhere....)

Now that my heart-in-the-throat moment had passed, I proceeded up onto flatter terrain, heading for Rumiñahui and the elusive cave. I looked off into the distance and saw pine trees. I looked down at my feet and saw tire tracks. Pine trees?! Tire tracks?! Now?! But...? I then realized my mistake. From this point on it was a good 4 hours to the cave and back. I had gone hours out of my way! Followed the wrong pines, the wrong ridge, the wrong hills. I just started laughing. I decided to follow the tracks down the hill to their origin, figuring that if I could find out where they started I could come back and do the cave the next day. Rain clouds were heavier now, Cotopaxi completely hidden in the grey fog, it was time to head home...