HUNTING IN THE ANDES. 37 



the struggle for life is probably a harder one in Pata- 

 gonia than in almost any other region of the world. 

 Not once or twice, but again and again, when I killed 

 wild fowl, my prize was snatched from me by some 

 rapacious bird. In Scotland I have occasionally lost 

 dead and wounded duck owing to the attentions of 

 hoodie crows, but never have I had to hold with the 

 gun or rifle what I had secured by the gun or rifle to 

 the same extent as in Patagonia. The idea of a cache 

 in Patagonia, using the ordinary northern acceptance of 

 that term, is absurd. Except under a roof nothing is 

 safe, and even under a roof, if provisions be left for 

 long, the foxes will dig their way in and devour them. 

 Whatever you kill in an exposed or open position is 

 reduced to bare bones within a couple of hours. 



The condor is the largest of the New World vultures. 

 They stand well over three feet in height, and are said 

 to measure in some few cases fifteen feet across the 

 outspread wings. I only shot two or three as the 

 slaughter seemed useless and the largest of these, 

 an unusually fine specimen, measured well over ten 

 feet fully stretched from tip to tip of its wings, while 

 a young bird I shot off Hellgate Cliffs and measured 

 carefully spread nine feet three inches. 



Although the predatory greed of the birds was a 

 great nuisance when we wished to preserve game for 

 our own food, I nevertheless passed many interesting 

 hours in watching them. I had read a great deal 

 concerning the habits of vultures and the marvellous 

 speed with which they appear about a carcase, as well 

 as various speculations as to the particular sense which 

 enables them to discover it. I made one or two experi- 

 ments with a view to gaining light on this question as 



