Condor Valley supports one of the most elusive and unique species of wildlife in all of Argentina.  The North Andean deer (Hippocamelus antisensis), better known as the “taruka,” is a rare and little-known deer species that occupies high-elevation mountain grasslands of the Andes in southern Peru, southwestern Bolivia, northeastern Chile, and northwestern Argentina.  The species is known to occupy the high-elevation grasslands of Condor Valley (CV) near Mount Creston, but details about its status remain a mystery, both at CV and throughout its range in Argentina.  Few biologists have seen the species, and only anecdotal information can be offered about population characteristics and habitat needs.  Despite this lack of knowledge, the taruka is considered vulnerable to extirpation, given its small numbers, isolated populations, and restricted distribution.  Populations are believed to be declining in response to habitat loss, competition with non-native ungulates, predation by feral dogs, and illegal hunting.  Only a few hundred individuals are thought to remain in Argentina.

The species’ rare status and vulnerable status led to its designation as a “national natural monument species” by Argentina in 1996, one of just four such species assigned this status (http://www.welcomeargentina.com/parques/taruca.html); (http://turismo.idoneos.com/index.php/Turismo_Argentina/Parques_Nacionales_Arg/Especies_monumento).  Designation as a natural monument is intended to draw national attention to species that are charismatic, unique, and vulnerable to extinction, and thus of keen conservation interest.  The status of taruka in Argentina certainly fits these criteria.  The prospect of the species’ potential disappearance from Argentina points to the urgent need for research on existing populations to document their status and trends, habitat requirements, and effects of human activities on population persistence.

In response to this need, two biologists, Gustavo Marás and Euell Macke, conducted preliminary field work at Condor Valley in October 2011 to evaluate the feasibility of studying tarukas in the area.  Marás recently finished his biology degree at the University of Salta, and will be applying in June 2012 for a scholarship from the government of Argentina to study tarukas as part of a doctoral program that would begin in 2013.  Macke is biologist from the United States who traveled to Condor Valley to work with Marás.  The two biologists were supported in their field work by Martin Pekarek, manager of Condor Valley, his son Bruno, and gaucho Jose Ontiveros.  Martin, Bruno, and Jose accompanied Marás and Macke to start the field work, providing a thorough orientation to the high-elevation grasslands, and helping haul needed supplies by horseback.

Gustavo Marás (right) and Euell Macke (left) discuss tarukas with gaucho Jose Ontiveros (center)

After a few days of orientation, Marás and Macke continued the field work on their own, with weekly reunions with the Condor Valley staff at base camps to obtain food supplies and to ensure that the logistics of the activities were safe and proceeding as planned.  For nearly a month, Marás and Macke mostly camped at the highest-elevation grasslands near Mount Creston at an elevation of approximately 3,000 meters.  They often lived in a cave just below Creston, from which views of a large area of taruka habitats were possible.  Their daily routines typically consisted of long hikes through areas of steep, rugged terrain composed of grasslands and adjacent rocky outcrops.  Grasslands are thought to be important feeding areas for tarukas, whereas the rocky outcrops are believed to be used as quick escape areas from predators.  The combination of grasslands and adjacent predator escape areas is considered ideal habitat for tarukas.  Preference by tarukas for grasslands in steep, boulder-strewn terrain has prompted biologists to characterize the species as the “wild sheep” member of the deer family, owing to the species’ strong affinity for the rugged, mountainous habitats that many species of wild sheep predictably use in other areas of the world.

Although Marás and Macke spent many days on foot in their search for tarukas, other days were spent on horseback, returning to lower-elevation base camps to obtain food supplies.  Whether on foot or on horseback, the work was difficult and strenuous, owing to the remote, rugged landscapes.  Travel on foot or horseback was necessarily slow, owing to the dangers of injury while traversing the steep, boulder-strewn terrain, which presented real hazards with every step by humans or horses.

Despite the challenges, Marás and Macke found ample evidence of tarukas in the form of tracks and feces.  Samples of feces and reference plants were collected for later analysis of taruka diets.  While signs of tarukas were present, Marás and Macke were not able to observe any individuals directly.  This has been the main challenge for conducting taruka research: the species is extremely wary of humans, presumably because of a long history of illegal hunting.  In the past, illegal hunting of tarukas at CV and surrounding ranches was probably common.  Current landowners, however, are making strong efforts to remove trespassers, many of whom are suspected of illegal hunting in the past.

Marás and Macke were further supported in their search for tarukas by biologists of Argentina’s National Park Service and Salta Provincial Ministry of Environment and Sustainable Development, who conducted an aerial survey in an attempt to efficiently locate tarukas within CV and surrounding land ownerships.  This aerial survey was funded by the owners of Condor Valley in partnership with the Park Service and Ministry.  Although three tarukas were located on an adjacent ownership during the aerial survey, the extremely steep, dissected terrain makes aerial surveys inefficient and inaccurate for locating tarukas, who can easily hide from view in such terrain.  Effective surveys are thus limited to flatter ridgetops, which compose only a portion of taruka habitat, and which could be avoided by tarukas in response to the disturbance posed by aerial flights.  Guidance and advice from the Park Service and Ministry biologists, as well as biologists from Argentina’s National Wildlife Service, will continue to be an important part of the support for Marás’ Ph.D. program of study.

Although Marás and Macke were not able to observe tarukas directly during the initial month of study, they set up five trail cameras in areas where fresh tracks and feces were found, or in other areas where habitat conditions appeared most suitable.  The trail cameras were loaned to the project from the University of Salta.  The cameras recorded photos of all animals in the field of view on a systematic basis, operating for over a month before batteries had to be recharged.  The use of trail cameras is a relatively new method in wildlife research.  The method has proven especially effective for the study of rare and elusive wildlife that typically cannot be observed directly.  Trail cameras are especially effective for studies of such elusive species in remote, rugged terrain where human travel is difficult and inefficient.  All of the above characteristics aptly describe the situation for tarukas and their habitats at Condor Valley.

After leaving the trail cameras to operate for over a month in the field, Marás returned in mid-December of 2011 with the staff of CV to retrieve the cameras and examine the photos.  Just four days after the cameras had been set up, one of the cameras captured photos of a group of at least 5 tarukas, 3 females and 2 males.  The camera had been located in the same area in which Marás and Macke had spent much of their time, verifying that use of trail cameras can provide an accurate means of research on animals that are difficult to observe directly.

Marás is now developing a formal proposal to study tarukas as part of his doctoral program.  The proposal will partially rely on new methods of using trail cameras to evaluate population characteristics of tarukas and to evaluate habitat use by the species at Condor Valley.  Up to 100 trail cameras may be needed to saturate study areas with cameras.  The high number of cameras is needed to obtain sufficient spatial coverage to accurately estimate population characteristics such as population size, sex and age ratios, and productivity.  Such sampling with the trail cameras would occur at CV and possibly one additional study area.

Systematic use of the trail cameras also is essential for characterizing areas of habitat use versus areas available to tarukas but not documented as used.  This type of habitat characterization can be accomplished by measuring a wide variety of habitat conditions across camera sites, and analyzing differences in conditions at the camera sites where tarukas are recorded, versus habitat conditions at camera sites were no taruka use is documented, as estimated for each season of year.  This type of habitat analysis with trail cameras is novel but evolving rapidly as a powerful tool for understanding habitat use and habitat needs of rare and elusive wildlife such as the taruka.

Other potential threats to taruka persistence, such as the presence of European boars (Sus scrofa) and pumas (Puma concolor), can also be evaluated with use of the trail cameras.  In particular, the combination of European boars, overhunting by humans, and predation may pose a synergistic challenge to persistence of tarukas.  European boars, native to Europe and introduced to Argentina for hunting, are now established and common across most taruka range.  Boars aggressively defend water sites from use by other wildlife, and have been known to displace native mammals from their habitats, even sometimes killing native mammals outright with their aggressive, pack-based behavior.  In addition, boars often compete directly with native ungulates for food, or indirectly change the availability of food through uprooting and removal of vegetation, an activity that typifies the species’ foraging behavior. These deleterious effects can reduce population numbers of native ungulates and substantially reduce the areas that otherwise would be used as habitat by other ungulates.

When such potential effects from boars are combined with overhunting, native ungulates can be reduced in number to a level where a population is vulnerable to extirpation by predators.  Although feral dogs have not been documented within taruka range at Condor Valley, the native population of pumas appears healthy and is thought to be increasing. Under these conditions, predation by a native predator such as puma may pose major problems for a small population of taruka such as what is believed to exist at Condor Valley and adjacent land ownerships.  Trail cameras could be used effectively to document the distribution, population characteristics, and habitat use by European boars and pumas in relation to these same types of estimates derived for tarukas to understand the potential inter-specific relations among the three species.

In addition to the use of trail cameras, the proposed research by Marás would focus on collection of samples of feces at the used camera sties to estimate the food habitats of tarukas by season of year.  Samples of hair from the tarukas, which also can be obtained at the camera sites used the by the species, would be analyzed to evaluate genetic diversity of the population.  Small, isolated populations of an animal species often have low genetic diversity, in contrast to the higher diversity typical of larger, well-connected populations.  This type of genetic analysis provides insights about the degree to which a smaller, isolated population may be vulnerable to extirpation from inbreeding and other negative effects of low genetic diversity.

Preliminary field work will continue in 2012, assuming that additional trail cameras can be obtained and placed in areas of potential taruka use.  A number of grant proposals will be submitted to international conservation organizations to support the work.  Success at obtaining these grants, in combination with Marás being awarded a research scholarship, will determine the pace at which future research occurs.

Effective collaboration with the Condor Valley staff also is essential to the future success of taruka research at CV.  Without the support from the Condor Valley staff and ownership, taruka research in the area would not be possible.  Another key to continued success is securing continued help from skilled field biologists such as Macke, who wants to return to Condor Valley to help with future work and to possibly pursue a graduate study for himself on the taruka.  Updates about research progress on the taruka project will be provided on the Condor Valley website as work continues on this exciting and novel research.

Michael Wisdom and Ricardo Ojeda are coordinating the development of taruka research at Condor Valley. The two scientists each have over 30 years of research experience in the study of mammals and other wildlife.  Wisdom can be contacted at mwisdom@fs.fed.us, and Ojeda at rojeda@mendoza-conicet.gov.ar.

The word traicionero translates to English as treacherous, which is an appropriate enough adjective for Creston; but when it is quietly intoned by a gaucho “traicionero, el Creston,” there rings something more profound in the term. Traicionero describes the animistic caprice of the mountain; the mystical power a dramatic landscape possesses. The features of Creston seem to be mutable, and when the mountain is wreathed in shifting mists, familiar landmarks become unrecognizable. Knowing full well where we were, we often found ourselves lost on Creston.

The south side of the peak is massive gendarme that stands entirely separate from the rest of the ridge and makes any approach from the south or east extremely difficult. So the best route from our cave on the north side of Creston to the south ridge is across the highly dissected west face. This route was peculiarly challenging and was never the same twice. We would descend into one of the many deep and nearly identical canyons and inevitably become disoriented. Upon climbing out of the canyon—which often required actual rock climbing, or at best vertical bunch-grass climbing—we would find ourselves on a different path. Unable or unwilling to back track, we would be once again be in the hands of Creston. Now the path gets more difficult; requires more risks; tempts us to try a dangerous leap; leads us up a cliff only to strand us on a ledge; at times we wondered with condors circling if Creston was trying to kill us. Creston, however, could just as well surprise us with beauty and generosity. Out of water, parched, hot, and tired we stopped to rest in the shade of a canyon. In the solemn silence we heard a faint trickle of water, and by following it we discovered a tranquil cool spring in the hollow under large boulders. Near the end of another day we were moving fast to get back to the cave before dark but we had lost the route we were on. Exhausted and frustrated we had reached a slot canyon that seemed impassable. Just when we thought we would have to back track a long steep route, we noticed a queñoa tree growing out of the vertical side of the canyon with its limbs spread in a bridge across the ravine.

We spent our days on Creston watching hummingbirds visit flowering agave; falcons mate by tumbling in free fall; green parrots chase the alpine-glow down to the darkening valley; and always the condors of Creston were watching us. At times Creston was all there was; the rest of the world below a sea of clouds. Some afternoons the mountain would be veiled in thick fog and we would spend hours in the cave waiting for the visibility to improve. During our weeks on Creston we not so much explored the mountain, as carefully observed while the mountain revealed itself to us.

Condors have incredible site and smell; they can detect carrion from miles away, and will fly hundreds of kilometers a day to find food. If a condor finds large carrion it will eat the stomach contents first to help it digest the meat it is about to gorge on. They can be up to 10ft in wingspan and live to 100 years old. Condors are typically monogamous for life.

With its multiplicity of cliffs and crevasses, Mt Creston provides the perfect aviary for condors. On Creston we would see many condors every day. They were so ubiquitous that something seemed missing when they weren’t around. We saw ragged old condors, uninterested and solitary; eager young juveniles banded together; swarms of condors near the summit at dusk.  Through our binoculars from less than 200 meters we watched a pair of condors perform courtship dances and mate on a high ledge. On warm clear days the condors would ride high on the thermals until they were tiny specks disappearing into the blue.

After getting back to town I spent the weekend in Chicoana arranging my travel plans for the next two weeks. I went to Salta city Friday night and did a little dancing at a club there. It’s a little shocking going from no electricity at all to loud music and lights galore. Saturday we had a big asado BBQ at the hosteria and I got to hang out with my friends there one last time. Monday morning I took a bus about three and a half hours west to Cafayate. It is a town of a few thousand and is known for it’s wine production. There are a dozen or so wineries around town and I toured one of them with a couple I met at the hostel. The Nanni is the only organic winery in Cafayate and they have some amazing wines. The best part of it is that because we were at the source, I was able to buy a bottle of delicious, handcrafted, organic Malbec for 32 pesos- about $7.25! I googled it and the same bottle sells for $47.00 in the US! I instantly realized that backpacking around for two more weeks has one serious downfall- I can’t haul around a whole case of wine! Dang, well I guess the one bottle will have to do for now.

I had a great but WAY too short stay in Cafayate but had to leave this morning. In Argentina they have a sort of Taxi service that specializes in long trips- you simply wait around the main plaza of town and find a car going to a city of your liking. When you gather enough people to fill the car, you leave. I was lucky in that I only had to wait for about ten minutes to gather enough people to fill the car. I was unlucky in that one of the 4 other passengers was a little girl who apparently has a little problem with getting car sick. Yep, this little screaming vomit rocket miraculously produced a near constant flow of projectile at Exorcist level mass and velocity for two solid hours. At one point I looked for the tube that would prove my suspicion that she was actually connected to an auxiliary barf reservoir.

Once in Salta I jumped directly on the bus for my 18 hour ride south to Mendoza. I know it sounds awful, and I’d love to be able to tell a rugged travel story about how I rode sitting on a wooden crate in a rickety steel boxcar while murderous, tattoo covered gypsies held cock fights for hand rolled cigarettes and daggers, but unfortunately it was much less adventuresome. The charter busses here are luxurious. The recliners look like something you’d sit in to watch the superbowl, not travel cross country. I am almost to Mendoza but have been served three meals, half a bottle of good wine, watched a couple movies in English and I am currently blogging via the on board Wi-Fi connection. Like I said, not very adventurous but then again the girl across the isle from me has a dolphin tat on her ankle so it’s pretty much the same I guess.

Sorry but no photos this post- I will have to interject them later once I find an Internet cafe to download pics from my camera. Also, just so you know, finding Internet connections here is actually fairly difficult, as is typing 1000 word posts on my iPhone (talk about thumb cramps), and waiting literally hours while my pics upload to the Internet. It’s completely worth it though knowing that people back home are reading the blog, so thanks for reading! And please write a comment back- I love hearing them and I guarantee it won’t take nearly as much effort as it did for me to bring you the post 

Monday:

Today I stuck around in Chicoana while most of the others went out to work.  I had to stay behind and retrieve my ATM card that the cash machine took from me while I was making a withdraw.  Getting to the bank at the next town was easy because there is a bus that goes straight there, however, once at the bank, things ceased to run smoothly.  When I showed up I thought I had mistakenly arrived at a ticket office that was giving out free Metallica tickets; there was literally a line out the door.  I took a number from the dispenser and it was over 40 numbers away!  I don’t know if it is standard to have only three people working at a bank which has 10 work stations, or if the typical Monday at the bank resembles free pinball night at Chuck-e-Cheese, but regardless, the place was seriously understaffed.  After a half an hour, a whopping 4 numbers had ticked by.  Thankfully a Saint disguised as a chicken farmer had waited long enough and walked out but gave me his number while doing so.  Eureka!  I just jumped up twenty numbers!  In the end I ended up waiting just shy of two hours- thank goodness for Saint Chicken Farmer and the number trade or I probably wouldn’t have gotten helped before they closed that day.  Luckily for me, they did in fact have my card, gave it back to me, and I was on my way.  That evening Tati, who had come back to town for some reason, picked me up and we headed out to the ranch.  We got in late and went straight to bed.

Tuesday:

We gathered up most of the cows that we had collected over the last several weeks and ran them through the only chute on the ranch to administer vaccinations.  My job was to prod the stubborn cows down the chute, which I can attest, works much more effectively back home with an electric cattle prod, rather than the dull stick here in which I was issued.  My detail also included cutting the hair off the end of each cow’s tail to signify that they had indeed received the vaccine.  Luckily for me cows don’t constantly crap down their own tail’s all day long.  Yeah.  My favorite was when they would feel me grabbing for their rear and then whip a freshly shat upon tail across my (usually open mouthed) face.  By mid afternoon we ran out of medicine so Tati and I had to run the 50 minutes into town to get more vaccines.  Oh darn.

It looks as easy as walking a dog but they just have to fight every single step of the way, which is sometimes miles

Wednesday:

While out riding today we ran across some of the many escaped ranch horses that we see nearly every day.  I swear, they can’t even know how many horses they even actually have with so many free ranging out there in the mountains.  Anyway, with this band there was a few week old colt that was down with a bad infection.  It couldn’t stand so we decided to go back for the tractor and trailer to get him and mama home.  Two hours later we got back with the tractor.  We managed to get the mare trailered up after 20 minutes of cursing and dodging flying hooves.  You could tell that she had never seen, let alone been in a trailer in her life.  We thought we were doing great getting the horse ambulance out to them but alas, our efforts were in vain- the colt was just too sick and died about half way back.  Poor little feller.  That evening I watched Tati and Luiz train a few older colts… Man, those guys sure have a way with horses.

Going out on an afternoon search

Thursday:

There were seven of us riding this morning and everything started out normal.  On the way out to the mountains a motorcycle passed us and everyone’s horse but mine stood completely still and contently watched as it went by.  My horse on the other hand blew up and plowed headlong into the thorniest bush in the valley.  Once I calmed the horse down and made sure I still had two non-punctured eyeballs, I noticed everyone was laughing at me.  One of the chuckling gauchos jutted his chin at my ride and said “nuevo!” (new horse).  I’m glad that they are still testing the gringo daily…

I guess there was one other green horse on the ride.  Tati, the most savvy of all gauchos, was on a three year old whom was on its first ride out of the pen as far as I could tell.  We weren’t ten minutes from the ranch house when it blew up and managed to kick Luiz directly in the knee.  Before long his knee was bigger around than the upper part of his thigh and was unable to bear any weight.  That didn’t stop him from riding all day on it though- he didn’t think it was necessary to go to the hospital until the next day.  Tough bastard.

Friday:

This morning I branched off on my own and took a six hour solo ride searching for overlooked cattle on the far reach of one side of the ranch.  I found a group of eight around mid-morning and then a lone bull about two hours later.  I also found a couple bands of aforementioned rogue horses.  It was great getting out alone in order to have some time with my thoughts, the mountains, and the blazing heat.  It’s spring going on summer here and temps have been pushing a hundred the last few days.  Not only is the temperature high, but there must be something about the southern hemisphere that makes the sun’s rays more intense.  Even with somewhat of a base tan, if any of my skin is exposed for even fifteen minutes I start looking like I tried to toast marshmallows over a plutonium rod in the core of a nuclear plant.  Bust out the SPF 5000 please!

Taking a little break at an oasis during a long ride

Since I don’t have access to a computer during the week I have started hand writing my posts on paper at night in my room in the light of a candle (which in addition to being the only form of light available, I think helps get the creative writing to flow).  Here is what I had written.

Wednesday:

I feel like I’ve had a fight with a weed eater.  I’ve got scratches on my face, back, neck, arms, my knuckles are all skinned and there are thorns embedded all over my body.  Spending a good portion of time digging thorns out with my knife has become part of my evening routine.

Yesterday was a long day of riding.  Unlike back home where gathering cows means driving tens if not hundreds of bovine at a time through the sage hills, here the cows are scattered so thin, over so much inhospitable land, that in a day of gathering we are lucky if each rider finds even one cow- and getting it back to the pastures is a whole other challenge.  The brush is so thick and nasty that cows usually can’t be driven through it.  Moving cattle through the bush often requires two gauchos (or in my case, one gaucho and a gringo) just to get it out.  One leads it with a lasso around its neck and the other harasses it with whistles, yells, and a whip if needed, to keep it moving through the brush.  It’s a long arduous process.  Yesterday we rode from 8 to 5 and the day was a success by bringing in 3 cows.  When they told me that roundup usually takes a month I wondered how the heck it could possibly take so long- now I know.

The day offered more excitement than simply bringing in cows though.  Out in the bush, whenever a wild boar is spotted, all but the most important tasks are put on hold for a hunt!  We managed to take two pigs yesterday.  One was nearly killed by the dogs anyway so we finished it off, and Louis lassoed the other one and “hog tied” him for the ride home to keep him alive and fresh for another day.  Two hogs and three cows- not bad for a days work I suppose.  Last night we had a feast of wild pig and beef meatballs- as much of a  vegetaran’s nightmare as most of the meals we have.  One big meal and a few glasses of red wine (a favorite of the gauchos) and I slept like a baby.

Saddling up for the day

Scouting for cattle

Louis and the pig he roped

Coming home with the catch of the day

Thursday:

This morning we had a special task: butcher a bitch of a cow that Tati had tied to a tree in the yard the night before.  That’s what you get for being too difficult around here I guess…  To keep the herd somewhat tame they take the really wild ones out of the genetic pool.  Anyway, it was a fine way to start the day.  I’ve never seen a full grown steer get dispatched with just a knife but it was surprisingly quicker than I was expecting.  When David (pronounced Daa-Veed) approached the animal with nothing but a large knife, I was expecting a horror show complete with bellowing, bucking, and showers of blood.  To my surprise, it took only one quick well placed stab to the back of the head and the thing hit the ground like a ton of bricks.  A rifle shot to the head wouldn’t have been any more effective or humane.  And man, these gauchos can butcher!  I’ve never seen an animal come apart so quickly.  From the time it hit the ground less than 45 minutes passed before it was skinned, gutted, and hanging in half a dozen pieces.  Tati, Euell, and I took the tractor and a large wagon trailer to gather firewood for another giant feast.

Now to say that the gauchos use or eat every part of the cow is an understatement.  We ate things that I didn’t even know existed in the anatomy of a cow.  Lunch was a meat supreme spread of more wild boar, and cow brisket, heart, liver, and kidneys.  I found all of it to be delicious, except the kidneys… I’m not a big fan of the urine filters.

After we were all stuffed we suited up for a long afternoon in the saddle, gathering more cows.  It was a great day in the bush that included riding in some true mountain goat country.  There were times that I was literally trusting the horse’s footing with my life.  When we did find some cows it was a jackpot- more than ten cows all together!  So far it was the most I’ve seen banded up.  It turned out to be more of a cattle drive like I’m used to except it was very brushy and at extreme speed.  These rangy cows know what we are there to do and they do NOT want to go down from the hills.  It’s more like trying to drive a group of wild deer than tranquil cows- they take off hauling ass as soon as we get close.  The feeling of blowing through the brush, galloping down reviens and through washes at near running speed is extremely exciting to say the least.  I felt like Buch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid running from a posse.  At the end of the day we had a dozen cattle, lots of scratches, and one horse with a gaping wound to it’s front shoulder.  Never fear though- Louis just grabbed an old hypodermic needle previously used to administer medicine or something and some fishing line and sewed it up like he was repairing a ripped pair of jeans.  No biggie, these things happen all the time.

Fresh as it gets

Tati cooking up some animal parts

Baking up some bread for supper

just gonna sew her on up real quick…

Friday:

Rode all day and in the most extreme country yet.  I’ve ridden horses in the mountains my whole life and I’ve never ridden anywhere this nasty before.  Following the gauchos, I went places that I honestly didn’t think a horse could even go, let alone with a rider.  We went up slopes so steep, had I been on foot, I would have had to use my hands to aid in climbing, and we went down chutes so steep that the horse would just squat its rear end and we’d slide down the whole hillside.  And the brush- I can’t get over the brush!  I didn’t mention but we have to wear what is basically a rawhide suit of armor that keeps our clothes and skin from being shredded off.  Also, at first I wondered why the gauchos wore such stiff, hard leather hats- well now I know- they are literally helmets.  I was glad I was wearing one yesterday… while doing the standard laying on the horse’s neck, holding on for dear life, blindly ripping through brush so thick and spiny that to even open an eye would be nearly a guarantee to loose it, all of a sudden I hit a larger than normal branch- one that didn’t budge.  It smashed me in the top of the head and in an instant I was on the ground.  Luckily the horse stopped- I think I would have perished in there without her.

We had baked cow head for lunch.  They skinned the head of the cow we butchered, wrapped it up in wet paper, covered it in mud, and baked it in a large wood fired oven for 24 hours.  I was surprised at how tender and delicious cow face can be.

Pachi

It’s springtime here in November, stuff is starting to bloom

Well that was my week for the most part.  Saturday Euell and I took a bus about 50 km to the city of Salta for some good times.  We went out and experienced some good nightlife, which in Argentine terms means dancing until the bars close at 6am.  Euell got on a flight from Salta to Buenos Aires, from which he will fly home to Oregon tomorrow.  ”Suerte” Euell, it was great seeing you!

Euell

This is where the cook, the gauchos, and I stay

The cook Daniella’s little boy

The edge of the Andes

On the weekends we come to town and I stay at Martin’s house which is actually an old hotel in the small town of Chicoana (pronounced chi-quana). Here we resupply for the upcoming week out on the finca which is about an hour drive. Well, I have a lot more to say but it’s almost 1am and I have to be up for work at 6:30 so I have to cut it short. I will make up for it next weekend. And I finally have photos to post! Take care everyone, thanks for reading!

View from the main house- pastures and crops below

Condor Valley ranch as far as the eye can see!

just a few of the herd

Almost everything we eat is from the ranch

Went to a doma (rodeo) which was awesome!

Tati- the head gaucho giving his son some advice before his bronc ride

Martin- the foreman

This is how you load a stock wagon, Argentina style.

chewing coca leaves

Cattle drive

letting ‘em buck in the corral

6 October: Ride four hours from La Bodega to El Peusto on horseback with Martin, Bruno, Jose, Gustavo, and two pack horses. Chicken and beef Asado over a campfire for lunch with boxed wine. Climb a nearby peak in the afternoon to take in the landscape. Condors watch us overhead. Drink mate with coca and local herbs before turning in for the night. Sleep on leather bound cots with our horse blankets for padding.

7 October: Wake early to watch Jose round up the horses. After coffee and some leather repairs we ride from El Peusto to El Ojo de Agua. The trail is steep and difficult, choked with thorny shrubs. We reach El Ojo de Agua by lunch time; salami, bread, cigarettes. My old gelding is already exhausted. After lunch we ride higher towards Mt Creston. We are now well within the zone of the taruka and spend some time glassing the hills and ridges. See many condors but little other wildlife. In the evening we set up a base camp at El Ojo de Agua. Find tracks near the spring that could be taruka or possibly peccary. At night we drink mate cooked on the campfire with herbs, coca, and burnt sugar, and mixed with tequila. Many rounds are passed in a tin cup until the gaucho stories become an incomprehensible feature of the dark landscape.

8 October: Of our five horses, only the two that were tethered are still in camp, the others having gone riderless back to El Peusto. We leave some food and equipment at the camp and pack the rest of the gear and our saddles onto the two remaining horses and head back down to El Peusto on foot. Jose, Martin, and Bruno leave us and ride back to La Bodega. Gustavo and I cook a stew over the fire and bake flatbread for the coming week, and cook what is left of the lamb and beef that is beginning to spoil.

9 October: The morning is overcast and shrouded in fog. I ride our horse Blanco out into the pastures to round up the other horses. After a good chase, the horses escape into the impenetrable brush and fog of the surrounding hills. We take a day hike up through the fog onto peak where we hope to get views of the high pastures through the shifting mists. In the afternoon we see the horses returning and head down to try again. We successfully corral the horses this time, and lasso a large horse called Sieno.  In the evening we ride back up to the base camp at El Ojo de Agua. On the way I am dismounted by a low branch that catches my backpack. We tether the horses and build a fire just as the sun is setting. Drinking mate by the fire, exhausted, we hear a strange gurgling sound by the stream. Blanco is up to his withers in the dark water, tangled in his tether, and struggling to get his head up. By the time we pull him out he is cold and frightened, eyes rolling wildly. We build up the fire and dry him off with a t-shirt.

10 October: Leave the horses at camp and head up to La Cueva Chocovar (2904m), glassing for taruka along the way. The hiking is steep and difficult with full packs. Eat lunch in the cave and then head higher up to search for taruka until dark. Collect an antler and fecal samples. Spend the night in the cave which is well protected from wind, but is open with great views to the north and west.

11 October: Wake in the dark, flatbread with marmalade and mate. Climb from cave to summit of Mt Creston (3225m) with the sun rising. After glassing all morning and making a difficult circumnavigation of Creston we arrive back at the cave, exhausted and thirsty. We fill water bottles at the spring below the cave and then hike back to El Ojo de Agua. Both horses have become tangled in their lines and are unable to reach food or water.

12 October: Ride back down to El Peusto to meet our resupply. Seino is very herd-sour and tries to run the entire way down. Luis arrives with supplies. Cigarettes and coca were not included, but we did get our requested bottle of tequila. Spend the day cooking and preparing to head back up the mountain tomorrow.

13 October: Construct a screened box to keep the raw meat in at El Peusto. Ride back up to the base camp at El Ojo de Agua. Clouds move in with the evening.

14 October: Cold and cloudy today. Head up to the cave, glassing along the way. Heard a sound like a large mammal grazing in a forest of birch, but it turned out to be little birds rustling in the leaves. Six condors watch us as we ascend to the cave. Spot for taruka near the cave until dark. Find tracks at a saddle below the cave. Sleep in the cave.

15 October: Very cold morning. Stake out the saddle with the tracks- see nothing. Explore the canyon north of the saddle- find water and a “bajada” or drinking hole with game trails leading down to it. See humming birds, grouse, eagles, finches, and condors. After lunch head back to El Ojo de Agua, spotting along the way. Looks like a storm is blowing in.

16 October: Very cold all night, frost on the ground this morning, but clear sky above. Hike the ridges around El Ojo de Agua, spotting. Explore the forests of Queñoa (Polylepis) and birch. Spot for taruka from ridges until dark.

17 October: Today the Salta Ministry of Environment is doing an aerial survey around Mt Creston to help us locate the taruka. We hike up towards Mt Creston and watch the plane make passes. Hike the knife-edge ridge north of Mt Creston. Well-traveled trail with lots of peccary sign, see cattle and condors. Collecting plant samples we lose track of the time and have to sprint back to the cave over difficult terrain to make it back before dark.

18 October: Leave the cave early, heading south from the saddle. Explore forested canyon with water. Find a peccary skull and see woodpeckers, turkeys, parrots, and hummingbirds in the forest.  Leave the canyon and cut across the steep southwest face of Mt Creston. Eat lunch and refill water from a spring south of Mt Creston. Arrive back at El Ojo de Agua after a long day.

19 October: Rain in the morning, stay in the tent until it lets up. Head down to El Peusto to meet our resupply. Luis and David are waiting with supplies, five trap-cameras, and a note from Martin with the location of three taruka spotted from the aerial survey. Unfortunately they were spotted on another ranch over 15 kilometers from Mt Creston. No taruka were spotted on Mt Creston.

20 October: Gustavo is feeling a little sick. We have a day of rest and preparation for heading back out. In the evening Gustavo is feeling better and we ride back up to the base camp at El Ojo de Agua.

21 October: Cloudy, cold, and damp this morning. Hike up to the cave and have lunch. Spend the afternoon on the summit of Mt Creston glassing the surrounding country. We see no taruka but we get to watch condors courting and mating from about 200m-quite a rare and incredible spectacle! Sleep in the cave.

22 October: Traverse west face of Mt Creston to the southwest ridge. Head down off the ridge to the south crossing a high, grassy mesa on cattle trails. Place a trap-camera in a gully near a well-used game trail. Head back across Mt Creston, stopping at a spring to fill water and place another camera. Back at the saddle we are exhausted but it looks like rain is coming so we hike fast back down to El Ojo de Agua. Arrive at camp just before the rain.

23 October: Rained all night and socked with fog this morning. Hike back to the cave through thick fog. Arrive at the cave- visibility has dropped to less than five meters. Stay all afternoon in the cave.

24 October: Head to the summit to spot for taruka. Place a camera in the upper part of the canyon with the cave. Hike back down to El Ojo de Agua to check on horses, spotting along the way.

25 October: Hike back up towards the cave. Place a camera at the watering hole on the way. In the afternoon the clouds descend on the cave. We wait in the cave but the weather doesn’t improve enough to go out and spot for taruka.

26 October: Mt Creston is still covered in clouds this morning. We break camp at the cave one last time and head down towards El Ojo de Agua to meet the gauchos, spotting along the way. The gauchos arrive late at night with a posse of dogs and a wild boar all dressed out and ready to cook. We eat the boar, drink some tequila and turn in.

27 October: It is a fine morning and after breaking camp we ride with the gauchos up onto the ridges looking for a few stray cattle and hoping that we get lucky with this one last chance to see the taruka. We see no cattle or taruka and by midday have to head down to the El Puesto. After packing our equipment and taking a short siesta we ride down the trail back to La Bodega, arriving just before dark.

The afternoon had settled in nicely at the Bodega. It was the edge of autumn and the weather was perfect. Tati took off work a little early so he could escort us on a horseback ride. Neither Carol nor I are what you’d call horsewomen. In fact we sparred over who would get the nagiest nag, particularly after hearing Faye’s adventure tale of being thrown by a spooked horse, unhinged by the sight of a flapping tarp. At the hitching post on the side of the Colonial House we met our mounts and Tati and Toti who helped us get aboard. Carol won. She got the mule.

We set off down the trail to the east from the Colonial House, followed by a gaggle of dogs, and crossed the Tunal River. As my horse slid over the wet stones I repeated the mantra that she lived here and I didn’t and she probably knew what she was doing. I kept telling her quietly what a fine, beautiful, noble and sure-footed animal she was. She snuffled in response. Up ahead, Faye and Tati shared a horse since we were one saddle short. The blanket she sat on slid off the horse and she hopped down to retrieve it. Tati, a gaucho known widely for his horseman’s skills, maneuvered the horse to a little rise on the bank and Faye artfully leaped, swung a leg over the horse and we were on our way again. I marveled then at how much she had changed these last few months in this rugged and beautiful country. My formerly mall-rat daughter now carried a gaucho knife in her belt, wore hand-made boots of buffalo hide, was tanned, strong and one of the boys in this macho man’s country.

Just as I was beginning to get the hang of riding and getting over the irrational terror this huge animal would somehow crumple under me, taking me down to life in a wheelchair, we stopped along the riverbank and dismounted. Tati had something to show us. The bank and, really, the whole valley is sandy silt studded with riverstones of every imaginable color. The torrential rains of summer roar down the canyons as flash floods pushing debris ahead of it, carving new channels in the soft earth and depositing new topsoil. The evidence of previous floods was laid down like a rocky layer cake in the exposed banks.

We followed Tati through the underbrush, careful to not get tangled in the spiky teatin bushes. A narrow arroyo had been formed when rushing water eddied into this spot and scooped out the bank. Tati carefully removed some rocks from the bank and we were face to face with a human skull. Where he had lain down to die was anyone’s guess. But in some long-ago season his bones had been lifted from their resting place and tumbled down the river along with the rest of the debris, and here he settled, grinning from the bank.

Struggling back onto my patient horse, we continued east, away from the river and up into the trees. It was late afternoon now and the light was shifting, slanting through the leaves in gold bars. The calls of unfamiliar birds echoed through the woods. I had no idea where I was, where we were going or for how long and it was a wonderful feeling. We came to a place where a seasonal creek had sliced a deep ravine in the red sandy soil. Trees, their roots exposed like unruly hair, clung to the edges. We climbed down into the arroyo and there, at eye-level, was an upright burial urn. It was broken in half down the middle and the interior was exposed. Inside, resting on the bottom was a small pile of tiny bones, the cranium of a baby under a little tangle of ribs. Babies, we would learn, were buried in these ceramic urns, covered with bowls, and sometimes decorated with images of the mother goddess, Pachamama and magical animals that facilitated reincarnation. I began to become aware of this seemingly solid land under my feet shifting continually, renewed annually by the fertile floods and heaving up the dead into the light of day as reminders of our mortality.

As we began our return to the farm, the sun was setting behind the mountains and firing the clouds with a prismatic spectrum of color. Parrots screeched overhead as we made our way down a gentle slope to the river. The ground was littered with bits of ancient pottery, fragments of designs still discernable. The old ones were very present, their reminders everywhere. The other night at the asado, Sr. Ontiverros and Antonio had been telling ghost stories, personal encounters with the dead. It is no wonder. The Bodega is a time warp. I felt we had stepped into the 19th century when we arrived and may as well be in the American Wild West without the gunfighters. As Faye said, they have guns, just no bullets. It is a small step through another veil into the Indian world of the Diaguita who lived in this lush valley for thousands of years and left their bones in the sand.

It was dark as we made our way back across the river. The parrots had gone to roost, replaced by bats out for an evening meal. An occasional firefly glittered in the dark trees and the stars, undimmed by city lights began their sparkling display in unfamiliar southern patterns. Again I patted my horse and told her what a magnificent animal she was and trusted she could find her way home in the dark without killing me. Horses in the corral nickered a greeting and Sr. Ontiverros met us with smiles to unsaddle the gringos’ horses. I thanked Tati for giving us an unforgettable evening and, simultaneously excited and peaceful, I looked forward to dinner. Then Faye told me the horse I’d been riding was the one that had thrown her. At least she waited till then.