About noon we began the tedious ascent of the Peuquenes ridge, and
then for the first time experienced some little difficulty in our
respiration. The mules would halt every fifty yards, and after
resting for a few seconds the poor willing animals started of their
own accord again. The short breathing from the rarefied atmosphere
is called by the Chilenos "puna;" and they have most ridiculous
notions concerning its origin. Some say "All the waters here have
puna;" others that "where there is snow there is puna;"--and this
no doubt is true. The only sensation I experienced was a slight
tightness across the head and chest, like that felt on leaving a
warm room and running quickly in frosty weather. There was some
imagination even in this; for upon finding fossil shells on the
highest ridge, I entirely forgot the puna in my delight. Certainly
the exertion of walking was extremely great, and the respiration
became deep and laborious: I am told that in Potosi (about 13,000
feet above the sea) strangers do not become thoroughly accustomed
to the atmosphere for an entire year. The inhabitants all recommend
onions for the puna; as this vegetable has sometimes been given in
Europe for pectoral complaints, it may possibly be of real
service:--for my part I found nothing so good as the fossil shells!
When about half-way up we met a large party with seventy loaded
mules.
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