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National Geographic : 1950 Oct
Contents
Puya, the Pineapple's Andean Ancestor those high snow-blustered mountainsides and are similarly clothed to endure it.* In all my extensive exploration for bro meliads I have found no puya that lives at any elevation below 7,000 feet. As one of the bromeliads, the puya belongs to a large plant family, the Bromeliaceae, containing nearly 50 genera and more than 1,600 known species, most of them tropical. All but one are native to the New World; 19 live in the United States. Pineapple and Spanish Moss Cousins Inured to hardships, the bromeliads flourish in sun or shade; in deserts, on oceansides, in swamps or jungles; on rocks, bark, or palms. Airy clouds of bromeliads beard our southern forests and dangle from telephone wires with no visible means of sustenance. This great family usually goes unrecognized by the nonbotanist, who refers to its spiny leafed members as "cacti." But, whether he recognizes it or not, the layman sinks his teeth into a juicy bromeliad whenever he eats pineapple, the globe-trotting Ananas comosus. When he rests on a cushion, he may sink into another bromeliad, Tillandsia usneoides, Dixie's Spanish moss. These two represent the extremes-the ter restrial pineapple, rooted in earth; and the epiphytic Spanish moss, a rootless air plant. Most bromeliads have roots, but in many species these serve not as mouths but as props for the upright plant, which absorbs food through its leaves. Bromeliads developed their air-feeding habits, it is presumed, when, encountering dark, choking jungles, they took to treetops for survival, not as sap-sucking parasites but as self-providers. One tree-borne species, Acchmea conifera, weighs up to 125 pounds. A Puya Eaten Like Celery After returning from Huakaqui to Cocha bamba, we made a hurried trip to the near-by mountain Tunari to collect other puyas, and especially the horka, a bromeliad (Tillandsia rubella) the heart of which is eaten by the natives as we eat celery. After crossing the pass at the foot of the snowcaps, we reached 14,000 feet. Here the snows are frequent but light. The peaks above are continuously sheathed in white. Settlements are scarce. Except on a few scattered, privately owned huge ranches, there is no human habitation. Though domesti cated llamas often wander far from habita tion, they return to their shelters at night. A person from other lands shivers in this high, cool, thin air, while the llama and the Indian are well adjusted. The atmosphere is so clear that the visitor sunburns easily. The largest vegetation in most of these areas consists of the strictly Andean puyas or low growing cacti, which, strangely, are related to those found in Argentina and Mexico. Starting our descent, we reached a small, glittering lake formed by melting snow. We tested the temperature of the amazingly clear water where we saw swiftly darting trout. Within a few hours we had gone steadily down to Morochata, a town of over a thou sand people. All were housed in mud, stone, and grass-thatched houses. After a night here we dropped down into a valley 3,000 feet below where a moist and more fertile area greeted us. Here avocados thrived; flowers, vegetables, and grains were encouraged. This was a welcome change from the cold puna, the name for the higher, bleaker parts of the Bolivian plateau, where we slept under five coarse ruglike blankets. Descending Ladder of Vegetation To experience even greater changes in vege tation, we crossed over the Eastern Cordillera for a collecting trip down into the tropical rain forest area in the deep valleys far below Cochabamba to the east. Much of the way was slippery for a truck: it was dangerous to travel without chains on the tires. For a sightseer it would be a most uncomfortable trip, but for a botanist it is paradise. Every few hundred feet down from the cold, foggy, windy crest brought new plants. The trees were higher, the growth denser, the great est change in plant families being from the low-growing plants resembling the huckle berries, at the top, to tropical growth below. Here, on just one slope of the Eastern Cor dillera, could be seen the whole range of floral families covering the coastal area of North America. Starting with plants typical of the cold States of Maine and Vermont, one can get down into Pennsylvania, Maryland, North Carolina, and Florida-type plant life by vege tational changes within a few hours' travel. As we approached the Florida temperature zone and subtropical growth, we encountered small avalanches. Things began to look dis couraging; each avalanche was larger than the last one, and a mean drizzle was falling. Just ahead, a recent avalanche had piled a mass of rocks, soil, trees, and shrubbery 15 feet high, shutting off the only possible way of travel. The road was barely wide enough for a truck, and the sheer drop of 2,000 feet to our right was not inviting. * See "Camels of the Clouds," by W. H. Hodge, NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE, May, 1946. 467
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