Tales of the Incredible Hoke Robertson

While reading about the capture of El Chapo I harkened back to 1962 when I took a few months off from my Rhodes Scholar studies at Cambridge. I decided to visit Peru and see the ancient and beautiful ruins of Machu Picchu. I worked for my passage across the Atlantic by shoveling coal into the boilers of an old steamer sailing under the Liberian flag. Many of you may recall our encounter with a Russian sub which was in the papers, though few know I intentionally caused the accident per instructions from MI-6.

Anyway, once in Peru, I made the trek up to Machu Picchu. My Incan guides were in incredible shape and I only had to stop twice for them to rest on the 14,000 foot climb. The ruins are one of the most awe-inspiring places on earth and truly evoke a deep spiritual connection with our past. As the day concluded and I was hurrying to finish my last charcoal drawing (some later appeared in Life magazine) we were set upon by bandits! It was an unruly mob armed with everything from knives to WWI Springfield rifles. While my guides kept their heads low, I snuck around and was able to “disarm” and incapacitate a number of the thugs. Luckily my fluent Quechua came in handy as I tricked the scoundrels time and time again.

Eventually we had to flee as there were simply too many of them. Our flight was long and hard, and sadly, each of my two guides eventually succumbed to the constant rifle fire. I learned later that we followed the ancient route taken by the conquistadors Pizarro and Orellana in their search for El Dorado. I ended up in a small village where my knowledge ancient Mayan was enough that I could communicate with them even though they only spoke Xavante. In exchange for their kindness I build the village a permanent water purification system. On the trek out I came upon the beautiful waterfalls of San Rafael on the Coca River. It was a magnificent sight. At the edge of the pool, where the water was quiet, a jaguar crouched and took a drink. My eyes met those of the jungle predator and I steeled myself for action, but he must have had a full belly that day. He silently folded back into the foliage, and I continued my journey.

I’ll never forget that sight, and the unbelievably beautiful color of the spotted jaguar reflected in the azure blue of the upper Amazon. A color I never saw again until I met my wife Arminta and gazed into her eyes.

At some later date the village turned the purification system into an elaborate cocaine distilling plant and my return trip to end that practice and convince the natives to abandon such efforts is another story. Hoke Robertson.