142 Mr. 0. Salvin^s Quesal-shooting in Vera Paz. 



were only preparing: to breed. Besides this colony I see little 

 of interest — a few Toucans (Ramphastos carinatics) and other 

 common birds. 



March 12. — Off to the mountains at last, with a fine day and 

 a fair prospect of success. The road after crossing the river strikes 

 ofiP to the northward — a mountain track winding among the hills. 

 Soon after entering the forest a river crosses the path — a foaming 

 torrent — a fall into which gives no hope of escape. A felled tree, 

 one of the largest of the forest, forms the bridge, over M'hich, 

 slippery with moss and foam, we have to pass. For ourselves it 

 is nothing ; but I must say I tremble for the Indians, each of 

 whom carries his 75 lbs. of cargo. In the worst and most 

 slippery part the foot-hold is somewhat improved by the tree 

 being notched with a ' machete,' but still it is as dangerous a 

 pass as I ever crossed. After half an hour's delay we reach the 

 other bank. One ' mozo' only turned faint-hearted, and another 

 carried his pack across. From the river the path becomes very 

 precipitous, and we continue to climb till we reach the foot of a 

 ]-ock, where we find a deserted rancho and take possession. A 

 fire having been made to heat the pixtones,we dine, and afterwards 

 start for the forest close by to look for Quesals. On entering, 

 the path takes the unpleasant form of a succession of felled trees, 

 which are slippery from recent rains, and render progress slow. 

 My companions are ahead, and I am just balancing myself along 

 the last trunk, when Filipe comes running back to say that they 

 have heard a Quesal. Of course, being especially anxious to 

 watch, as well as to shoot one of these birds myself, I imme- 

 diately hurry to the spot. I sit down upon my wide-awake in 

 most approved style close to Cipriano, who is calling the bird, 

 and wait, all eyes and ears, for the result. I have not to wait 

 long. A distant clattering note indicates that the bird is on the 

 wing. He settles — a splendid male — on a bough of. a tree not 

 seventy yards from where we are hidden. Cipriano wants to 

 creep up to within shot, but I keep him back, wishing to risk 

 the chance of losing a specimen rather than miss such an oppor- 

 tunity of seeing the bird in its living state and of watching its 

 movements. It sits almost motionless on its perch, the body 

 remaining in the same position, the head only moving slowly 



