We left Cartago as soon as possible and after a half-day’s ride over gently rolling, brush-covered country reached the Rio Viejo. A good-sized dwelling known as Piedra Moller stands near the river; there one may obtain men and dugout canoes with which to cross the stream. Beyond the river the trail passes through a little valley or depression about four leagues across. Tall brush, some first-growth forest, and extensive jungles of bamboo flank the narrow passageway. I counted no less than forty species of birds during the afternoon and heard the notes of several others that I did not recognize. Small green parrakeets (_Psittacula conspicillata_) were exceedingly plentiful. They always reminded me of English sparrows--not in appearance but by their actions. Flocks of them sat on telegraph wires or house-tops, chirping and chattering incessantly, or fed on fruits or seeds in the bushes. They are also abundant in towns and villages and nest under tile roofs, in hollow posts, and in holes in walls. The people are very fond of the little “love-birds” as they are called and keep them in their patios as pets. At Balsas, which served as the first night’s stopping-place, we discovered a whippoorwill’s (_Stenopsis ruficervix_) nest in a clump of bamboo. The single egg had been deposited on the leaves near a bamboo sprout that was rapidly pushing its way upward like a huge stalk of asparagus. The incubating bird fluttered away as we approached, but we returned the next morning and Allen secured a photograph of her on the nest. Noon of the next day found us at Finlandia, an inviting village with a population of about four hundred, and situated at an elevation of six thousand four hundred feet. All this country is the foot-hills of the Central Andean Range. Rounded hills follow one another in a succession of gentle billows, the sides of which are so gradual that one hardly realizes there is a steady ascent. The forest that covers the ridge on the other side of Finlandia is of a heavy, subtropical character--the first of its kind we had encountered on this trip. Red howling monkeys were roaring in the ravine below, but the birds of the forest belonged to a fauna different from the one we had just left. The palm-filled valley of the Boquilla had been reached by night. Salento, with its low, whitewashed houses, was clearly visible on top of the next ridge. It required just thirty minutes next morning to reach the town after a climb of nine hundred feet. We did not stop at the settlement, but continued up the time-honored trail leading to Quindio Pass; within a short time forest of the most promising kind had been reached and camp was being made in a sheltered spot about half a mile above a lone house called Laguneta. The pack-animals were sent back to Salento, where there was an abundance of pasturage, until they should be required again.