Upon leaving Medellin we started northwestward, having in view an ascent of the Paramillo, a lofty spur of the Andes, jutting out of the Western Range slightly below latitude 7° south. This region, so far as I am able to discover, had never been explored. At first the trail is wide and very good, so that within four hours after starting we reached the summit of the first ridge, eight thousand seven hundred and fifty feet up. A great cleft in the bare, rocky peaks forms a natural pass and saves a climb of at least an additional thousand feet. The slope on the other (western) side is more gentle. We were immediately impressed with the barren nature of the country, for, with the exception of a few patches of low brush, and clumps of withered grass, there was no vegetation. An occasional glimpse of the Cauca River, far below, presented the picture of a broad yellow ribbon lying upon a brown, rocky plain. That night we reached San Geronimo, a small town well down in the valley. Limited plots of ground are irrigated in the vicinity of the settlement, where rice, corn, and pasturage are cultivated by the inhabitants. Yellow-rumped tanagers, anis, and finches (_Sycalis_) make this little oasis their home, and add greatly to its attractiveness. Next morning we were in the saddle before six o’clock. A few hours later, after crossing a low ridge, we came suddenly upon Sopetran, a beautiful little town completely hidden in groves of palms, mangoes, and other lovely trees. The cluster of some hundreds of snow-white houses with red roofs, wide, well-kept streets, and the abundance of multicolored birds fluttering and singing among the deep green foliage, render Sopetran one of the most attractive towns of its size I have seen in tropical America. At noon we reached the Cauca and crossed that sluggish, muddy stream on a suspension bridge about eight hundred feet long. The cables are anchored in picturesque brick piers built into the face of the steep banks, and hundreds of swallows utilize as nesting-sites the small openings where the wires enter the masonry. Gravel flats flank the sides of the river, and bare, sandy islands divide the water into several channels. The elevation is approximately two thousand feet. One league beyond the Cauca lies the town of Antioquia. If Sopetran is the last word in attractiveness, Antioquia must be placed at the extreme other end of the scale. The wide, arid valley supports no vegetation except occasional clumps of cacti and dwarfed mimosas, which rather add to its desert-like appearance. The heat is almost unbearable, as the Western and Central Andes, hemming in the valley between huge walls of pink clay and sandstone, shut off all ventilating winds.