In the cool of dawn we set off to climb the Turimiquiri. This is the name given to the Cocollar peak, which forms one large mountain range with the Brigantín, called before by the Indians Sierra de los Tageres. We traveled a part of the way on the horses that run free on the savannahs, but are used to being saddled. Even when they look heavily laden they climb the slipperiest slopes with ease. Wherever the sandstone appears above ground the land is even and forms small plateaux succeeding each other like steps. Up to 700 feet, and even further, the mountain is covered with grass. On the Cocollar the short turf begins to grow some 350 toises above sea-level, and you continue to walk on this grass up to 1, toises high; above those strips of grassy land you find, on virtually inaccessible peaks, a little forest of cedrela, javillo (Hura crepitans) and mahogany. Judging by local conditions, the mountainous savannahs of the Cocollar and Turimiquiri owe their existence to the destructive custom of Indians burning the woods to make pasture land. Today, after a thick tangle of grass and alpine plants have been covering the ground for over three centuries, seeds of trees cannot root themselves in the ground and germinate, despite the wind and the birds that continually bring them from the distant jungle.

The beautiful Guanaguana valley stretches towards the east, opening into the Punzera and Terecen plains. We would have liked to visit those plains to explore the petroleum springs that lie between the Guarapiche and Areo rivers, but the rainy season had started, and every day we had problems trying to dry and preserve our plant collections Near Punzera we saw little bags woven in silk hanging from the lower branches of the savannah trees. It is the seda silvestre, or wild silk of the country, which has a lovely sheen but is rough to the touch. The moth that weaves these cocoons is perhaps the same as the one in the Guanajuato and Antioquia provinces that also makes a wild silk. In the beautiful Punzera forests grow two trees that are called curucay and canela; the first because it yields a resin much sought after by the piaches, or Indian sorcerers; the second because its leaves smell like proper cinnamon from Ceylon.

It is well established in the missions that there is no cure for curare that is fresh and concentrated and that has remained long enough in the wound for it to enter the bloodstream. Indians who have been wounded in wars by arrows dipped in curare described to us symptoms that resembled those of snake bites. The individual feels a congestion in his head, and giddiness makes him sit down. He feels nausea, vomits several times, and is tortured by thirst as the area around his wound becomes numb.

We left finally on the 22nd of September, with four mules carrying our instruments and plants. Leaving the Caripe valley we first crossed a chain of hills running north-east from the convent. The road was uphill across a wide savannah towards the tableland of Guardia de San Agustín. We waited there for the Indian who carried our barometer. We stood at 533 toises above sea-level. The savannahs, or natural grasslands, excellent pasture for the monastery cows, were totally devoid of trees and shrubs. It is the kingdom of the monocotyledonous plants, with only a few maguey (Agave americana), whose flowers rise some 26 feet above the grass. On the high tableland of Guardia we felt we had been carried to an ancient lake flattened by the prolonged effect of the waters. You think you can recognize the curves of the ancient shore, the prominent tongues of land, the steep cliffs forming islands. Even the distribution of flora seems to refer to that primitive state. The bottom of the basin is a savannah, while its edges are covered with tall trees. It is sad that a place so favored by its climate, and fit for wheat, should be totally uninhabited.