This is called the "tornillo" (screw),
and it is a real corkscrew path, cut out of the mountain side at an
angle of about 50 deg., and about 450 feet of a climb.
Riding was of course impossible, and we scrambled more than walked until
we safely got over the top, very tired and puffed out. The mules with
their cargo followed our example, and it was wonderful to see how they
kept their feet; as one false step might have sent them to the bottom,
carrying everything behind them too, and on more than one occasion this
has happened, the animals falling, generally being killed outright in
the fall. Pushing on as fast as possible, it was not till 4 o'clock p.m.
that our residence for the night loomed in view, and it did not inspire
one that it could supply much in the way of home comforts. Sure, the old
hovel had walls and a roof, but beyond that there were no windows, and
where the door ought to have been there was only a hole in the wall, but
nothing to close it with to keep out the intense cold.
We, of course, knew when we started that we would have to rough it, so
there was no use grumbling now, and therefore set about at once to get
something to make a fire with. With great good fortune we, after a great
deal of searching and gathering, obtained some old rubbish that burned.
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