The people of Chuquibamba were friendly.  We were kindly welcomed by Senor Benavides, the sub-prefect, who hospitably told us to set up our cots in the grand salon of his own house.  Here we received calls from the local officials, including the provincial physician, Dr. Pastor, and the director of the Colegio Nacional, Professor Alejandro Coello.  The last two were keen to go with us up Mt.  Coropuna.  They told us that there was a hill near by called the Calvario, whence the mountain could be seen, and offered to take us up there.  We accepted, thinking at the same time that this would show who was best fitted to join in the climb, for we needed another man on the rope.  Professor Coello easily distanced the rest of us and won the coveted place.

From the Calvario hill we had a splendid view of those white solitudes whither we were bound, now only twenty-five miles away.  It seemed clear that the western or truncated peak, which gives its name to the mass (koro = “cut off at the top”; puna = “a cold, snowy height"), was the highest point of the range, and higher than all the eastern peaks.  Yet behind the flat-topped dome we could just make out a northerly peak.  Tucker wondered whether or not that might prove to be higher than the western peak which we decided to climb.  No one knew anything about the mountain.  There were no native guides to be had.  The wildest opinions were expressed as to the best routes and methods of getting to the top.  We finally engaged a man who said he knew how to get to the foot of the mountain, so we called him “guide” for want of a more appropriate title.  The Peruvian spring was now well advanced and the days were fine and clear.  It appeared, however, that there had been a heavy snowstorm on the mountain a few days before.  If summer were coming unusually early it behooved us to waste no time, and we proceeded to arrange the mountain equipment as fast as possible.

Our instruments for determining altitude consisted of a special mountain-mercurial barometer made by Mr. Henry J. Green, of Brooklyn, capable of recording only such air pressures as one might expect to find above 12,000 feet; a hypsometer loaned us by the Department of Terrestrial Magnetism of the Carnegie Institution of Washington, with thermometers especially made for us by Green; a large mercurial barometer, borrowed from the Harvard Observatory, which, notwithstanding its rough treatment by Mr. Hinckley’s mule, was still doing good service; and one of Green’s sling psychrometers.  Our most serious want was an aneroid, in case the fragile mercurials should get broken.  Six months previously I had written to J. Hicks, the celebrated instrument maker of London, asking him to construct, with special care, two large “Watkins” aneroids capable of recording altitudes five thousand feet higher than Coropuna was supposed to be.  His reply had never reached me, nor did any one in Arequipa know anything about the barometers.  Apparently my letter had miscarried.