The first rays of the dawn lean out in the horizon. We at great speed leave the capital riojana. We leave the Route behind Nac. Nº 38 and we connect the Route Pcial. Nº 26 until the town of Tama .

Of the shine of the Venus they are only some vestiges and already in the same dawn they enter before our look the flat riojanos, those that saw be born to Facundo Quiroga, with the result that to this commander become in myth met him to him with the nickname of "the tiger of the plains."

We take an on the way to consolidated rubble that it drives us until Pacatala. The anxiety to arrive until the cord of the Sierra of the Farmers, where is the Reservation Natural Gulch of the Condors, the place where our voyage begins, it is contained by Álvaro - our guide - that with its sympathy and knowledge on botany describes us with remarkable accuracy the copies that leave happening.

We pass in front of the "lagoon", a small mirror of water surrounded by rocks of black, rosy and gray granite used as drinking trough by many lambs, sheep and kids. The zigzagueante road ascends with a softness milimétrica until arriving to an extensive plateau.

Between gigantic rocks and jarillas they rise dense copies of locusts, quebrachos, chañares and molles, characteristic of the arid areas.

In the distance some villagers are sighted horse accompanied by their faithful dogs that help them in the work of spurring on the livestock caprino.

With the sun to half tomorrow arrive to the rural position Santa Cruz of the Sierra, base of the Natural Reservation where besides lodging, cavalcades, and a spectacular one salient mountainous toward the habitation of the condors, offers field people's almost silent and warm cordiality - our hosts - that inhabit in the calm place.

While the horses were saddled, we take advantage for degustar a brown riquísimo of filter accompanied with bread and homemade candies.

In spite of our arrival the daily works not left sonn of side. For all the corners of the position, the peons take charge of giving him of eating the hens, to pick up water of the springs, to take out to pasture to the kids or to join fruits for the surroundings. As we have time we prepare to help them with some work. Silent they smile, men of few words and extremely respectful, they teach us.

"Don Álvaro, the rags are clever. one of the laborious peons said, making reference to that it had finished saddling the horses and that our voyage should continue.

We leave for a mountain path. The cavalcade of 6 km is intense, we pass among enormous stony conformations and we cross slopes of water that they multiply everywhere.

It is important to take the horses with the slack reins, so that they can see the road. A moment arrives in the one that there is not flat land and we should descend of the equine ones to continue the march.

Soon we are to the edge of a great plateau. From a natural balcony we await the arrival of the condors.

One of the peons that accompanied us in the voyage put on a rock a country red color and almost automatically they began to appear behind the mountains the defiant figures of the condors.

Soon we were surrounded by a dozen of them that rotated around to our.

We take conscience of their size when one, in a flight rasante approached in slow camera to the place where we were us: three meters and half with the extended wings.

Álvaro counts us some of the most significant habits in these majestic birds that impose its presence from the high thing. "It is an animal that couple forms of for life, and when one of them dies, the other one overcomes flight and she commits suicide hurtling in having itched, until smashing against the floor or the rocks of the mountain. It develops a speed of 150 km/h and it is purely carroñero."

Staggered when knowing their suicidal habit, we contemplate next to the cliff the audacious glide of the condors that you/they are suspended in the air. After studying us, they incorporate in their flight and in flock they go away.

We are astonished for the lived show, inwardly we know that it is not very probable be so near them again, but it consoles us at least to close the eyes and to appeal to the memory to retain that image suspended in the diaphaneity of the sky, synonym of freedom.

Completely amazed we return to the position of Santa Cruz of the Sierra and it stops our surprise we are entertained at four in the afternoon with an exquisite kid roasted in the oven of mud. The flavorful aroma doesn't make us neither to doubt and while we count the anecdotes lived to the Vega's family, we prepare with certain decency to eat the smoky banquet.

After the after dinner we say goodbye to all. The kisses and the fraternal hugs take possession of the time.

We begin to retrace the road to return to La Rioja. We feel that an intense look accompanies us in the itinerary. We look toward the sky and in the distance we sight a black point suspended in the air. It is the figure of the condor that escorts us from the heights, making sure that we leave once again to the city.