The ride was, however, interesting, as the
mountain began to show its true form. When we reached the foot of
the main ridge, we had much difficulty in finding any water, and we
thought we should have been obliged to have passed the night
without any. At last we discovered some by looking close to the
mountain, for at the distance even of a few hundred yards, the
streamlets were buried and entirely lost in the friable calcareous
stone and loose detritus. I do not think Nature ever made a more
solitary, desolate pile of rock;--it well deserves its name of
Hurtado, or separated. The mountain is steep, extremely rugged, and
broken, and so entirely destitute of trees, and even bushes, that
we actually could not make a skewer to stretch out our meat over
the fire of thistle-stalks. (6/1. I call these thistle-stalks for
the want of a more correct name. I believe it is a species of
Eryngium.) The strange aspect of this mountain is contrasted by the
sea-like plain, which not only abuts against its steep sides, but
likewise separates the parallel ranges. The uniformity of the
colouring gives an extreme quietness to the view;--the whitish grey
of the quartz rock, and the light brown of the withered grass of
the plain, being unrelieved by any brighter tint.
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