"It was during one of my solitary halts, during which I contemplated emotionally the grandiose spectacle of the peaks and precipices of the Cordillera. Condors were flying around above my head, with a real majesty which gave one the impression that they were the kings of the Andes.

I was sitting with my feet on the edge of a very narrow track, shaped like a snail, and the horses were a few yards away, being very careful of their balance. On such terrain, it is hard to forget the risk of falling off the cliff. Luchador had moved off a little in search of a few scraps of bitter grass which was growing between the stones. Suddenly, I saw a large condor flying down to peck my horse. He was followed by another, then three or four condors circled majestically in the air around Luchador, who was getting worried, especially when one of the birds, in passing, smacked him hard with its wing, then another attacked him, which terrified me almost as much as the horse. Then, the condors started hitting my poor mount from the right and the left with their huge wings. I immediately realized that their intention was to unbalance Luchidor so that he lost his footing and fell off the mountain into the abyss.

I rushed to Luchador to adjust his head protector and to prevent him from falling down the precipice. The condors rose a little in the air, then, without bothering about my presence, came back to the charge. I could sense they were furious at not being able to achieve their goal. It was a real fight, the horse was petrified and I yelled, all the while waving my arms frantically to scare them off. They flew a little way away, and I took the opportunity to tie the horse's headcollar to a large stone. I went back to my bags and fired my revolver three or four times. The noise kept the birds of prey a good way off, which allowed me to take the horses to a larger and safer shelter. This was one of the most terrifying episodes of my expedition. The vultures still hung around a while before leaving, once they were sure they had failed to get their prey.

I did not know this trick of the condors, but I learned later that they do this with donkeys, mules, or horses which the Indians have abandoned because they were too old. If they see any in those steep and sheer parts, they knock them off as I have described. Once they have fallen to their deaths, the birds rush down and tear them to pieces, until there is nothing left but their bones. Near Abancay, I myself saw an old raw-boned mule, which had probably got separated from the herd, being attacked by these condors. They hit it with their wings until it fell. I leant over the edge where it had fallen, and I saw the condors dismembering and tearing furiously at the corpse with their beaks. I don't know where they came from, but dozens of vultures appeared and flew over the quarry. When the condors left, the vultures took their place..."

The Courage to Ride, a cult book

The "Courage to Ride" inspired a whole generation of horseback travelers. When you think that it's the journey of a woman who, in 1950, got into the saddle in Buenos Aires and arrived in Ottawa four years later, that is hardly surprising. Hardly surprising, except for the fact that none of them had read the book, and for one very good reason: published in Argentina in 1957, there were fewer than 3000 copies printed, it was never translated from the Spanish, and was then permanently out of print.

This page was inspired and drawn from the press release issued by Belin publishers