Montane Foragers

Montane Foragers
Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic

By Mark S. Aldenderfer

University of Iowa Press 'fJ Iowa City

University of Iowa Press, Iowa City 52242
Copyright 1998 by the University of Iowa Press
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means,
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Printed on acid-free paper

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Aldenderfer, Mark S.
Montane Foragers: Asana and the south-central Andean archaic/by Mark S.
Aldenderfer.
p. em.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-87745-621-6
1. Asana Site (Peru). 2. Indians of South America-Peru-Asana River
Valley-Antiquities. 3. Indians of South America-Peru-Asana River
Valley-Food. 4. Indians of South America-Peru-Asana River Valley-
Anthropometry. 5. Hunting and gathering societies-Peru-Asana River
Valley. 6. Mountain ecology-Peru-Asana River Valley. 7. Excavations
(Archaeology)-Peru-Asana River Valley. 8. Asana River Valley (Peru)-
Antiquities. I. Title.
F3429.1.A78A45 1998
985'.2-dc21 97-40225

98 99 00 01 02 C 5 4 3 2 1
To the Apus,
who are forever mindful-

In a gesture ofreciprocity, with gratitude for their inspiration,

their revealing themselves through the gift ofAsana,
and their teaching me to replace what I take from the earth.
Contents

Preface IX 6

The Discovery and Initial Permanent

Acknowledgments Xl11 Settlement of the Highlands 136

1 7

High-Mountain Environments Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline:

as a Human Habitat 1 Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P. 175

2 8
The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin Rapid Transformation:
as a Human Habitat 26 Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P. 228

3 9

The Archaic Period Archaeology of the Asana and Models of Montane Foraging 276
Western Flanks of the South-Central Andes 51
References Cited 309
4
Field and Analytical Methods 76 Index 325

5
The Geological Setting of Asana 116
Preface
Throughout the twentieth century, the archaeology of for-
aging peoples has undergone a profound transformation,
moving from an antiquarian fascination with "primitive"
peoples and their material culture to a broadly based, eco-
logically grounded science more concerned with processes
of cultural change, adaptation, and evolution. While the
wellsprings of this transformation are many and complex,
one of the principal means by which we in the discipline
have forged this new understanding has been through the
continuous geographical expansion of the scope of our
studies. Since the 195Os, archaeologists all over the world
have worked in a multitude of environments and habitats,
including the tundras and ice of Alaska and Siberia, the
humid, sodden tropical forests of South America and
Southeast Asia, the deserts ofMrica and Australia, and the
temperate regions of North America and Europe. From
these far-flung studies, and through the comparison of
empirical data recovered from a number of theoretical
perspectives, not only have we dramatically increased our
fundamental knowledge of the details of the evolution of
our species in these diverse environments but of greater
importance we have begun to define the salient features of
environment and ecology that structure how foragers make
a living as well as the range and diversity of human and
cultural responses to the structural features of environment.
During this expansion, however, one major habitat-
the high-elevation, mountainous region-has been gen-
erally neglected and therefore unfortunately has contrib-
uted relatively little to our broadened understanding of
the ecological foundations of a foraging lifeway. This is
not to say that there has not been high-quality archaeol-
ogy performed in the mountainous regions of the world,
for there have been a number of outstanding studies of
foraging peoples in these environments, especially in the
Andes. But it remains the case that for much of the disci-
pline, the archaeology of high-elevation foragers has been
seen more as a curiosity, the chronicle of an adaptation to
an extreme, even marginal environment thought to be of
little importance to the development of more complex
societies. Thus while potentially important from a strictly
historical perspective, the archaeology of high-elevation
foraging peoples has been of secondary importance when
viewed as a potential source of theoretical knowledge about
foraging peoples.
In some ways, it is true that high mountains are ex-
treme, even marginal environments. At elevations above
2,500 m, humans not acclimatized to the altitude begin to
experience a number ofphysiological defects, ranging from
shortness of breath, headache, and nausea to, in very ex-
treme instances, death due to pulmonary edema. Even
people native to the highlands can experience a chronic
disease loosely labeled as "mountain sickness," which can
seriously impair their health and can be cured only by de-
scent to the lowlands. The environment itselfpresents sig-
nificant extremes. Topography is rugged, and elevational
changes, which can be abrupt and dramatic, can place ef-
fective and serious constraints on the range of mobility of
human groups as well as add serious hazards to movement
in general. In some mountainous regions, seasonal changes
in temperature and weather are so severe as to prevent
humans from living in them year-round. These changes
may also significantly limit the availability and quantity of
x J>reyrace
plants and animals that can be used by humans. In short,
there are good reasons to consider mountains as extreme
habitats. But when compared to other extreme habitats,
such as deserts, mountainous regions somehow seem less
severe, and further, many deserts, especially those in south-
ern Mrica and western Australia, have provided some of
the best insights into foraging lifeways. Therefore, it does
not seem that extremeness is a satisfactory explanation for
the failure of mountainous regions to contribute to our
understanding of foraging life-styles in the past. It is also
belied by the massive interest developed during the 1970s
and 1980s in agricultural and pastorallifeways in the Andes,
Himalayas, and Alps, in part sponsored by the UNESCO
"Man and the Biosphere" program.
Another, more plausible, explanation is simply that at
times ofethnographic contact, truly high-elevation regions
of the world were not populated by foraging peoples.
Hunter-gatherers disappeared fronl the high Andes almost
3,000 years ago and probably earlier, and while data from
the Himalayas are scanty, there are no known historical
documents that describe foraging peoples. The situation
in Europe is similar, for foragers have been replaced by
pastoralists and agriculturalists for at least 3,000 years.
North America provides something of an exception, but
even here, there are relatively few important ethnogra-
phies of Native Americans who practiced a fully foraging
life-style in the highest mountainous regions of the conti-
nent. While it is well known that such groups as the Ute,
Cheyenne, and Arapaho used the highlands of the Colo-
rado Front Range, for example, Benedict (1992) has ar-
gued that the introduction of the horse and intensive con-
tact with white society, among other things, had dramati-
cally changed the use of high mountains by the beginning
of the nineteenth century.
This lack of ethnography has been both a curse and a
blessing. Although we have been saved from the so-called
tyranny of the ethnographic record, we have also been
prevented from obtaining useful insights into how the pe-
culiar dynamics of high-mountain environments could
have structured foraging lifeways. One reaction to this has
been to ignore the effects of high altitude when studying
these peoples and treating them essentially like lowlanders.
The mountain environment, however, has a number of
severe and difficult challenges that must be overcome for
successful adaptation to it. Another reaction to the prob-
lem has been to build models of high-elevation foraging
life-styles upon general ecological principles, in-depth
studies of human physiological response to high elevation,
and selected analogies taken from the study of modern
foraging peoples. While this is common practice in ar-
chaeological research, the lack of direct analogies is some-
times frustrating. For instance, if we are interested in how
high-elevation peoples adapt to cold stress, we can search
for analogies from high-latitude or temperate foraging
groups. We are not so fortunate if we wish to investigate
to what degree cultural adaptations to cold stress are also
related to practices designed to cope with chronic hypoxia
and what that does to work capacity, which in turn can be
tied to questions of the scale of mobility.
Yet another reason that high-elevation regions have
been neglected is the place they hold in Western thought.
Since classical antiquity, mountains have been places of
mystery and wonder, the seat of the gods and places of
power. The perception of their remoteness has persisted
even into the modern era of mountain-focused recreation
and transportation. Mountains are equated with wilder-
ness, and they possess a conceptual, if not physical, dis-
tance from modern society. So it is no surprise that to many
archaeologists, mountains have been frequently consid-
ered to be marginal habitats or, as Benedict (1992) has put
it, "culturally peripheral" to core areas of historical and
cultural development. In many ways, this has been a self-
fulfilling prophecy. The perception of mountain habitats
as peripheral has limited the amount of archaeological work
done within them, and the generally thin literature on
mountain foragers which results from this situation is fre-
quently cited as support for this position.
It should be no surprise, then, to learn that the goal of
this book is to make an effort to dispel these notions of
marginality and extremeness and to develop an argument
about the importance of understanding mountain forager
adaptations to further our general knowledge of the cul-
tural ecology of foraging peoples. Consequently, this book
has three parts. The first is concerned with the descrip-
tion of high-elevation environments as a human habitat,
especially from the perspective of mobile foraging peoples.
Modern studies of the human biology of high-elevation
peoples figure prominently in this part, as do general re-
views of the basic ecological features of high-mountain
environments. Selected archaeological and ethnographic
case studies are reviewed, and salient features of the adap-
tations of highlands peoples are summarized. A general
model of high-elevation land use is also developed, using
these sources in addition to models derived from modern
evolutionary ecology.
The second part of the book is devoted to the presen-
tation of a detailed archaeological case study of a high-
elevation foraging adaptation. The geographical setting is
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
the high-sierra and puna rim habitats of the south-central
Andes of southern Peru. This area is a part of the western
cordillera of the Andes and ranges in elevation from ap-
proximately 3,000 to over 4,800 m above mean sea level.
The time frame is the Archaic (or Preceramic) Period,
which in the south-central Andes ranges from 10,000 to
4000 B.P. The focus of the book is the archaeological re-
search conducted at the site ofAsana, the first major strati-
fied, open-air site discovered in the highlands of the south-
central Andes. Following a discussion of analytical and
excavation methods as well as the historical context for
research, the findings from Asana have been organized into
Xl
three major themes: the discovery, initial occupation, and
permanent habitation of the highlands (ca. 11,000-8700
B.P.); a period of growth, relative stability, and decline
(8700-5000 B.P.); and a period of very rapid transforma-
tion of social and subsistence practices (5000-4000 B.P.).
In the final part of the book, the data from Asana will
be compared against model predictions. While this is the
book's shortest section, I make a serious effort to examine
the strengths and weaknesses of the model and to offer
suggestions for future theoretical and empirical research
on montane foragers.
Acknowledgments
I shall say at the outset of these acknowledgments that I
am certain to have forgotten someone of importance to
the development of this project. Among other things, this
unhappy realization has taught me to be far more careful
in my notes and records of more current projects. I hope,
though, that the number of those not mentioned will be
small and that they will understand and forgive my in-
creasingly distracted mental state.
Foremost, I must thank Mike Moseley, now of the
University of Florida, for giving me my first opportunity
to work in Peru. Mike was at the Field Museum when I
arrived at Northwestern in 1983, and he was actively seek-
ing archaeologists to work under the research umbrella of
Programa Contisuyo. I was actively seeking a new field
area, having had enough of the Eastern Woodlands. We
talked, the research opportunities sounded very promis-
ing, and I made my first trip to Peru in the summer of
1984. That summer was my formal introduction to Andean
archaeology, and I am grateful to Bob Feldman, then of
the Field Museum, for showing me the local ropes, intro-
ducing me to the important people in Moquegua, and giv-
ing me a good overview of what I was getting myself into.
Much of what we have accomplished at Asana would
not have been possible, or would have been far more ex-
pensive and much more difficult, had it not been for the
active support of the Southern Peru Copper Corporation
(SPCC). The company operates two mines-Cuajone and
Toquepala-and a smelter at 110. In no small part, the suc-
cess of my research, as well as that of a surprisingly large
number ofboth Peruvian and North American professional
archaeologists, has been due to the untiring efforts of the
late Victor Barua, who in 1983 was the general manager at
Cuajone. In the early 1980s, Victor was able to convince
SPCC management that their support of archaeology
would benefit not only SPCC but also Peru's cultural pat-
rimony. At his urging, Chuck Preble, president of SPCC,
developed a wide-ranging program of support for archaeo-
logical research in the Osmore drainage. This support,
which continues today, has led not only to major advances
in our understanding of the prehistory of the region but
also more tangibly, with the enthusiasm and persistence
of Maria Antonieta Olazaval de Preble, to the establish-
ment of Museo Contisuyo, a first-rate museum located in
Moquegua. The infrastructural and financial support of
SPCC has been of enormous importance to our work, and
I am sincerely grateful for it.
Funding for this project has come from a number of
sources, including the University Research Grants Pro-
gram at Northwestern University (1985-1988), the H.
John Heinz III Charitable Trust (1987), the National Sci-
ence Foundation (BNS-8822261 and DBS-9245913), and
the University of California through the award of a Re-
gents Junior Faculty Fellowship (1991).
Over the years, many people at Cuajone have helped us
in one way or another. Phil Dunstan, Don Podobnik,
Eberhard Rother, and Carlos Ruiz Huidobro all served as
general managers, and their aid was crucial at different
phases ofthe project. Tom Martinez may have been among
the most important. Tom authorized the repairs of our
vehicles, rescued us when stranded in the middle of no-
where, and kept our motley crew of trucks running as best
he could given their age and our abuse of them. On a more
xiv Acknowledgments
informal basis, Roberto Olazabal helped with our vehicles
as well and beyond that has been our good friend over the
years. Jorge Tovar of the Geology Department of SPCC
gave us access to maps, aerial photos, and climate data col-
lected by SPCC, and his geological expertise proved deci-
sive in our initial attempts to interpret the complex strati-
graphic and depositional history of Asana. Jorge Lozano
also helped with geological consulting. The late Stuart
Jones and the late Dan Torpy helped us with equipment
requests (front-end loaders, D-9 Caterpillars, and the
trucks to move them); their expertise in moving large vol-
umes of dirt helped us to carefully and quickly remove the
overburden that had buried-and thus preserved-Asana.
Without them, we would still be digging today. Hernan
Boloarte helped us with computers, software, and data
processing problems, and Alan Cook repeatedly repaired
our electronic balances. German Moron and Guillermo
Manrique, as heads of Public Relations, helped us deal with
the corporate bureaucracy and guided us through often
sensitive local political issues. Manuel Balmaceda, as di-
rector of the Cuajone Hospital, authorized the use of the
hospital facilities for all our medical needs, large and small.
One of our most prized resources was the American
School at Cuajone. The principals, teachers, and staff have
been unfailingly helpful through the years. The principal,
Ron Bromert, authorized the use of various rooms in the
school for our artifact processing lab and made the school
equipment available to us. The teachers, including Kay
Bromert, Dick Hale, Alfredo Laguna, Mike Todd, among
others, gave us useful advice and timely help. Perhaps more
important, they educated our children at different stages
of their academic lives and made them feel at home while
far from their homes, and for this we will be long grateful.
School staff, especially Maria Gamez de Dance, helped us
process forms, field phone calls, and locate scarce resources.
We are also grateful to the many friends we made while
living and working in Cuajone. Betty de Olazabal is per-
haps the dearest of these. Almost from the start, Betty
adopted us as friends. We used her house as a base, ate
many meals there, and found it to be a refuge when we
needed advice on how to negotiate new and surprising
problems. Betty joined us in the lab and became a very
competent lithic analyst. Without her important help, I
would have spent many more (many more!) late nights
and long weekends sorting stone myself. Betty became the
madrina of my youngest son through this friendship and
has continued to work in the lab with us. Other volunteers
who helped in both the field and lab include our friends
Esther Myrvold, Laurie Cook, and Mike Bromert. Vivian
Martinez became "mamacita" to all of our children at one
time or other, and we'll all remember the warmth of the
Thanksgiving dinners we had in her home.
A number of people, most notably the late Father
Francis Falhman and Alfredo Olazaval, graciously shared
with us their knowledge of the prehistory of Moquegua.
Padre Pancho, as he was known to all, showed us his col-
lections of archaeological materials and led us to local in-
formants who had information about sites in the region.
He became a good friend and baptized two of our chil-
dren at the church in Moquegua. His counsel and good
humor are missed by all who knew him. Alfredo Olazaval
was among the first to welcome us to the archaeology of
the Moqueguan highlands. Alfredo knew the archaeology
of Toquepala Cave well and discussed it with us. He also
showed us collections of points he had made from other
highland sites, and these proved immensely useful to us as
we began our initial surveys.
Many students worked with us over the years in both
the field and lab. While each of them was important to us
at one time or another, I want to emphasize my debt of
gratitude to Larry Kuznar, who came to Asana in 1987 as
a graduate student and excavated the original test unit,
TV 1. Although we discussed the placement of the unit, it
was really Larry's choice, and as it turned out, it was a
great one. The unit reflected the entire sequence of occu-
pation of the site and thus provided us with a set of expec-
tations against which further excavations could be com-
pared. It is serendipitous that in a book about "optimality"
that the first excavation was so optimally located! From
this early excavation at Asana, Larry moved on to his dis-
sertation, which was focused on the origins of herding
economies as reflected at Asana. Larry compiled much of
the environmental data pertinent to the analysis of this
problem, and I have benefited from long conversations
with Larry on these and other matters about archaeology,
anthropology, and science. I am very grateful to have had
the chance to work with him, and lowe him much. His
wife, Christine, very patiently worked with us and con-
tributed to the project as well. Jane Sliva, Val Davis, the
late Luke Ellison (who has his own shrine atop Cerro Baul),
Liz Dinsmore, Emily Snodgrass, Kelly Miller, Mary and
Gladys Barreto, Jackson Lounsberry, and Sharon Spanogle
worked at Asana in the early years. Jane has drawn the
excellent artifact illustrations used in chapters 4, 6, 7, and
8. Beth Kolb, Phyllisa Eisentraut, Alice Berrgreen, Karen
Rasmussen, Rosa Arestegui de Gamez, and Gloria Salinas
worked for us in the final years of the project.
There are two people who will likely never read this
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
book but who both made much of it possible. Albino Pilco
Quispe began working for me at Asana in 1987 as a field
assistant. He was born in the highlands of the Titicaca
basin and received the limited education available to the
children of campesino families during the 1970s. Through
the years, Albino learned the craft of field archaeology and
has risen to be my right hand in my subsequent field
projects as well as my good friend. Because of his range of
skills, some of my students have taken to calling him the
"MacGyver of the Andes." He once realigned the front
end of a truck using nothing more than a pair of vice grips
and a rock. I am deeply grateful to Albino for all he has
given me. His wife, Virginia Incacona, has also become
one of our best friends. She has cooked for many crews,
helped raise our children, and has been a constant source
of help and support.
I am also very grateful for the assistance and guidance
ofvarious colleagues at different stages of the project. Luis
Watanabe served as codirector of Programa Contisuyo for
many years. He was instrumental in helping us obtain per-
mits and more than once guided us through the pitfalls of
Peruvian archaeological politics. April Sievert did much
of the microwear analysis for the project, especially that
concerned with the scrapers and the diagnosis of their use.
She also did a number of important experiments on alpaca
and llama hides in various states of treatment, and these
were instrumental in helping me think out the process of
how lowlanders become highlanders. Any errors of inter-
pretation, however, are mine alone. Deborah Pearsall ex-
amined our flotation samples, which were disappointing
to us. This is no fault of hers, however, and I thank her for
her perseverance. Colleagues who read parts of this book
and provided me with valuable insights include Mike
xv
Jochim, Mike Moseley, Jim Brown, John Rick, Chip
Stanish, Jean Hudson, and Lautaro Nunez. As before, the
mistakes are mine, and I'm sure I should have heeded some
of the advice I have received from these friends.
Holly Carver of the University of Iowa Press deserves
credit for her willingness to take this book on, as well as
her patience for its very long gestation period. I hope she
will feel that she has been rewarded when it finally ap-
pears. John Kantner and Dirk Brandts have also made sig-
nal contributions to the production of the book, assisting
in the computer scanning of the graphics.
Finally, I must now acknowledge the person who has
really made all of this possible-my wife, Karen Doehner
Aldenderfer. It's hard to know where to begin. She has
been my constant field and lab companion from the be-
ginning of my Andean research. She has organized evelY
one of the labs and has been responsible for processing
every scrap of material from Asana. Not only that, she has
done the faunal identifications that form much of the sub-
stance of the book. She has even pitched in to do lithic
analysis when I flagged. She has drawn all of the line art in
this book and is responsible for wrestling with the text
corrections and the design and layout of the text in this
camera-ready form. She has been by my side through all
of the triumphs and disappointments life has brought us
during the life of the Asana project, and we have shared it
all-good and bad. This book is as much hers as it is mine,
and I am grateful from the bottom of my heart for her
advice, hard work, and love.
Santa Barbara
May 1997
 1
High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
Defining High-Altitude, High-Mountain,
and Montane Environments
It is important to define carefully what is meant by a "high-
altitude" environment. Terms such as "high altitude," "high
mountain," "alpine," "highland," and "upland" are fre-
quently used interchangeably. For the human biologist,
high-altitude environments are defined as those featuring
human habitation at elevations above 2,500 m, since it is
above this level that most humans begin to experience the
effects of hypoxia (Baker 1978: 317). Permanent inhabit-
ants above this altitude exhibit a number of physiological
adaptations and acclimatizations that distinguish them
from newcomers. The effects ofhigh elevation on humans
are considerable and affect all aspects of human biology,
from reproduction to work capacity. From a landscape
perspective, however, this definition includes environments
with two quite different landforms: mountainous terrain
and plateaus, such as the high puna of the Andes or the
Tibetan Plateau in the Himalayas.
Geographers and geologists have quite naturally focused
their interest in high-altitude environments primarily upon
the physical features of the landscape. Price (1981: 2-5)
identifies four criteria commonly used to define moun-
tainous terrain: local relief, steepness of slope, amount of
land in slope, and elevation. Using these, he offers a work-
ing definition ofmountainous terrain based upon the pres-
ence of an elevated landform with more than 300 m of
local relief with much of its surface in steep slopes and
with elevation-related changes in plant communities and
climate. Messerli (1983: 84) goes further, proposing a defi-
nition of mountains, "regardless of absolute altitude, [as]
all areas of sufficient local relief to reflect significant eco-
logical differences." Other geographers, however, argue
that 300 m or less of local relief is too little. According to
some authorities, a figure of 700 m of local relief, com-
bined with the other criteria noted previously, especially
those based on ecological differences, appears to be emerg-
ing as a consensus (Gerrard 1990: 4).
Many authors distinguish "high" mountains from "low"
or "middle" (intermediate) mountains. The usage appar-
ently stems from the German Hochgebirge, a term applied
originally to the Alps and used more generally to describe
mountains with elevations greater than 1,500 m and local
relief greater than 1,000 m, and Mittelgebirge, used to de-
scribe lower, less dissected mountains such as the Hartz
and Carpathian Mountains (Gerrard 1990: 4; Troll 1972).
The term Mittelgebirge also seems to be used to describe
hilly terrain below high-mountain peaks but above valley
floors (Allen 1986). High-mountain landscapes are often
called "alpine" as well, which refers to "the cold and windy
zone above continuous forest with rocky ridges and scat-
tered tundra" (Love 1970; Price 1981: 4). More specifi-
cally, "alpine" environments are defined as those that lie
above the Pleistocene snow line, are beyond the timber-
line, and exhibit cryonival processes, such as extensive frost
heaving and solifluction (Gerrard 1990: 5). Because many
of these alpine environments are above the limits of per-
manent human habitation in many parts ofthe world, some,
such as Ives (1985: 425), have argued that it is better to
drop the term "high" from a description of mountainous
terrain and instead move toward a looser definition that
2 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
includes "regions characterized by steep slopes regardless
of altitude or high absolute elevation (above 2,000 m) re-
gardless of slope angle." The definition of an alpine envi-
ronment is furthermore strongly dependent on latitude:
in northern latitudes, alpine environments are found at
lower absolute elevations, such as at 700 m in Alaska,
whereas near the equator, they are found at elevations well
above 4,000 m. To the physical geographer, the Alaskan
mountains qualify as alpine but do not qualify as a high-
altitude environment as defined by human biologists. The
terms are not interchangeable; thus "high-altitude" and
"alpine" environments may describe radically different
physiographic, climatological, and ecological settings.
Yet another term used by students ofmountains is "mon-
tane," which focuses upon the ways in which high moun-
tains, middle mountains, and importantly, the valley sys-
tems that lie below them are articulated within a system of
land use (Allen 1986: 191). Montane environments are
usually contrasted with "highland/plateaus/uplands" such
as the high puna. Here, the primary criteria used to define
a montane environment appear to be relief and verticality,
with highland environments said to be characterized by
very little local relief, although they may well have high
absolute elevations. Billings (1979: 97), from a perspec-
tive rooted in ecology, also emphasizes the necessity to
consider adjacent lower (and higher) elevations in any defi-
nition of montane environments. This use of the term
"highland" contrasts with the folk definition of the term,
which generally denotes any mountainous or high area
above adjacent valleys or plains. As I will show, while an-
thropologists have not used the term they have been the
most faithful to the concept ofmontane environments with
their consistent emphasis on systems ofhigh-elevation land
use that integrate lowlands and highlands-although see
Orlove and Guillet's (1985) definition of a "montane pro-
duction strategy."
Despite Ives's concerns, it is valuable to continue the
use of the term "high" mountains whenever it is appropri-
ate and especially when human use of the environment is
to be considered. To remain consistent with Price and
Messerli, I propose that montane, high-mountain envi-
ronments are those that exhibit sufficient local relief to
show elevation-related changes in ecological structure over
relatively short distances, have an absolute elevation greater
than 2,500 m, and are part of a human adaptive system for
a significant portion of the year.
High-Mountain Ecology
With a workable definition of high-mountain environ-
ments, the structure of high-mountain ecology can now
be explored. Historically, the study ofhigh-mountain ecol-
ogy has been dominated by the definition of vertically
stratified life zones (see, for example, Troll 1968). That is,
community ecological structure is often characterized by
"vegetation zones" or "types" that change along an eleva-
tion gradient (Smith and Young 1987: 150). While the
concept of life zones has greatly facilitated global-scale
comparisons of high-mountain ecologies, it has been of
relatively little value when used at finer scales, such as
within major valley systems or even regions. Brush (1977:
6), for example, has shown that Tosi's (1960) classification
of life zones in the Peruvian Andes, developed at a scale of
1: 1,000,000, simply does not adequately capture the true
environmental heterogeneity in areas of steep topography,
where change in community structure can be extremely
abrupt. This is especially the case when attempting to un-
derstand how humans use high-mountain landscapes (see
also Aldenderfer 1989b: 103). Thus while high mountains
do exhibit a vertical banding of community structure, it is
often more valuable to modify the general approach of the
concept of life zones with more detailed analyses of patch
structure and degree of environmental heterogeneity.
Latitude also influences community ecological struc-
ture in mountain systems by causing variation in the
amount of precipitation, length of day, mean annual tem-
perature, and amount ofsolar radiation received. This vari-
ability has led many authors to distinguish temperate high-
mountain systems, which occur in mid-to-high latitudes
(e.g., the Alps), from tropical high mountains, which oc-
cur in and near the equatorial belt (e.g., the Andes).
High-mountain ecology is determined by a complex in-
teraction of climate, elevation, and topography, and from
a human perspective, it can be characterized primarily by
five major features (Billings 1979: 119-120; Mani 1990:
4-7; Thomas 1979: 146-149; Winterhalder and Thomas
1978: 79-81): environmental heterogeneity, extremeness,
low predictability, low primary productivity, and high in-
stability and fragility.
Environmental Heterogeneity
Despite the gross pattern ofvertical banding of ecological
communities, most high-mountain regions are character-
ized by significant spatial and temporal variability in the
size, distribution, longevity, and productivity of resource
patches. Spatial variability is determined by a host of fac-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
tors, including aspect (i.e., a shaded or sunlit location);
degree of slope, which affects soil genesis and buildup and
water runoff or retention; wind direction and exposure;
and, of course, elevation, which directly affects tempera-
ture. Although Billings (1979: 105) suggests that there is
some orderliness in the spatial distribution of patches in a
high-mountain landscape, it nevertheless remains the case
that within major ecological communities, local proper-
ties very strongly influence the size and composition of an
individual patch.
Although temporal variability in patches is affected by
an equally diverse set of stresses, perhaps of more impor-
tance is not so much the range of stresses but their period-
icity of occurrence. Temperature in tropical high-moun-
tain environments shows relatively little seasonal variation
but considerable diurnal variation. In the Andes, for ex-
ample, this means that killing frosts are possible in any
season of the year. Precipitation, however, tends to be sea-
sonal in nature, and in many tropical high-mountain sys-
tems, there are extensive periods of drought (Winterhalder
and Thomas 1978). Precipitation is also irregular, and while
it is strongly influenced by prevailing climatic factors, lo-
cal variability is such that precipitation can fall in a variety
of forms, including snow, hail, and rain. Ip. combination,
these factors can promote the development of a heteroge-
neous, patchy, or mosaic environment with high species
and habitat diversity.
Extremeness
High-mountain systems tend to exhibit significant and
extreme variability in environmental or climatic param-
eters. Extremeness, when combined with other factors, has
a significant influence on the way in which organisms, in-
cluding humans, adapt. Temperature and hypoxia are the
most influential environmental extremes in high moun-
tains. Not only are temperatures in high mountains low,
but constant winds of high velocity can very significantly
lower the ambient air temperature (Ward, Milledge, and
West 1989: 329). Although most high-mountain plant and
animal species have made a number of successful physi-
ological adaptations to extreme cold, these adaptations have
led to a generally low primary productivity. Humans, of
course, have little natural biological protection from ex-
treme cold and have consequently developed a wide range
of cultural responses to these extremes. Despite the suc-
cess of these responses, they have significant energy and
material costs that must be taken into account when con-
sidering the place of humans in high-mountain systems.
Extremely cold temperatures, combined with precipi-
3
tation, create significant hazards in high-mountain systems,
and heavy seasonal snows are characteristic of mountains
in temperate and high-latitude regions. Such snows im-
pede or even prevent mobility and make many mountain
regions uninhabitable during the winter months. The ef-
fects of extreme snowfall are somewhat less significant in
tropical mountains, but in the Andes, for instance, heavy
snowfalls in the austral winter (nominally the dry season)
can reach up to a meter in depth. Although the snowfalls
can melt relatively quickly, they can cover the forage re-
quired by the wild and domestic camelids of the region
and can dramatically increase mortality rates for both adult
and juvenile animals.
Hypoxia, the diminished availability of oxygen due to
reduced barometric pressure at high altitude, is a charac-
teristic extreme ofhigh-mountain systems. Hypoxia, again
in combination with other structural features of high-
mountain systems, has a clear effect on plants, particularly
as it affects their morphology and metabolic processes (Bill-
ings 1979: 106-114), which in turn affects primary pro-
ductivity. Humans are profoundly affected by hypoxia.
Although our species has apparently developed a number
of physiological responses to hypoxia, it nevertheless re-
mains the ecological extreme least amenable to cultural
intervention. The implications of hypoxia and tempera-
ture extremes will be explored at length later.
Low Predictability
Predictability is concerned with the degree to which the
periodicity of some phenomenon can be measured. Pre-
dictability has three components-predictability, con-
stancy, and contingency-that must be considered in any
analysis because they create distinct behavioral responses
in the organisms that must adapt to their effects. Predict-
ability per se is "the measure of variation among succes-
sive periods in the pattern of a periodic phenomenon"
(Colwell 1974: 1152). When variation in this pattern is
high, predictability is low. Constancy is the ability to pre-
dict a phenomenon based on its tendency to exist in a
particular state all of the time (extremely arid environ-
ments tend to have high constancy and thus high predict-
ability), while contingency is the ability to predict a phe-
nomenon based on its existence in a particular state at a
particular time, such as in a highly seasonal environment
(Kuznar 1989: 171). Mathematically, predictability is the
sum of constancy and contingency and varies from 0 (no
predictability) to 1 (perfect predictability) (Colwell 1974).
While an environment as a whole is not properly described
as predictable or unpredictable, it is nevertheless possible
4 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
to measure some of the most important determinative pe-
riodic phenomena in that environment, such as the peri-
odicity of rainfall.
High-nlountain systems, especially those in the trop-
ics, tend to have low predictability in rainfall periodicity,
the onset of the wet season, the form precipitation may
take, and the occurrence of severe frosts (Thomas 1979:
147-148). In general, the low value of predictability is
based upon both low constancy and contingency. For ex-
ample, in the high sierra of the Osmore basin in far south-
ern Peru at an elevation of 3,650 m, rainfall amount pre-
dictability over a 25-year span in this century is calcu-
lated to be 0.434, with constancy at 0.174 and contin-
gency at 0.260 (Aldenderfer 1989b: 112). While the south-
central Andes is often described as a seasonal environ-
ment, with the rainy season beginning in the austral win-
ter (December-April), both constancy and contingency
suggest that the season's timing and intensity are highly
uncertain on a year-to-year basis.
Low predictability tends to exacerbate the adaptive
problems organisms face in patchy environments, espe-
cially if there is significant spatial and temporal variability
in their productivity. While low rainfall amount predict-
ability is not a direct measure of patch productivity, it can
be used as a proxy measure of potential annual variation in
resource availability.
Low Primary Productivity
Although there have been very few controlled quantita-
tive studies of primary productivity in high-mountain eco-
logical systems, the research suggests that most such sys-
tems are characterized by low to very low primary pro-
ductivity. As Billings (1979: 112-114) notes, only extreme
deserts (including those at the poles) have lower levels of
productivity. The causes of this low productivity are var-
ied and include low annual temperature and temperature
extremes (frosts), consequently limited growing seasons,
and periodic, often unpredictable, episodes of drought.
Furthermore, the productivity that does exist is spatially
dispersed, and much of it is below ground level, thus un-
available to grazing herbivores (Thomas 1979: 148).
High Instability and Fragility
Geographers and geologists, as well as anthropologists,
have become increasingly concerned with what is perceived
as the fragility of high-mountain ecosystems. Although the
degree to which high-mountain systems are said to be natu-
rally unstable or fragile continues to be debated, a con-
sensus is beginning to emerge that many such systems are
indeed susceptible to significant instability. Steep slopes
and rugged topography are perhaps the most important
causal forces that promote instability, and they do this by
inhibiting soil buildup. Wind erosion and low primary
productivity exacerbate soil erosion. Steep topography is
also prone to catastrophic landslides and similar natural
hazards that are often triggered by seismic events or ex-
ceptionally heavy rainfall. These forces can destroy exist-
ing patches as well as create new patches in distinct topo-
graphic settings, thus contributing to the spatial hetero-
geneity of high-mountain systems.
Human Biology at High Altitude
As Little (1981: 149) puts it, "Human habitation and ex-
ploitation of the Andes [have] had [their] costs." While
this can be said of any environment humans have occu-
pied, high mountains are characterized by a combination
of severe stressors, the two most significant being hypoxia
and cold stress. Moreover, there is a strong covariant ef-
fect between them, making their mutual interaction on
human physiological responses more severe than either
alone (Little 1981: 150). These stressors affect virtually all
facets of human biology, the most important being repro-
duction, growth, health status, morbidity, mortality, nu-
tritional status, and work effort.
Humans have developed both physiological and cul-
tural responses to counteract the effects of these stressors.
The degree to which physiological responses are based on
natural selection-the creation of a genetically adapted
high-elevation population-or on acclimatization-the
gradual adjustment of a physiological response to the ef-
fects of the stressor-remains poorly documented despite
years of work (Little 1981: 160). Nevertheless, it remains
the case that permanent habitation of high-elevation en-
vironments has led to a number of significant physiologi-
cal responses in humans, including changes in the oxygen
transport system, its maintenance, and its ability to dis-
tribute blood adequately to the tissues (Little 1981: 154;
Moore and Regensteiner 1983: 286-287; Williams 1994:
. S9-S 10); changes in both the quality and quantity of pe-
ripheral blood flow while at the same time a high core
temperature is maintained (Little and Hanna 1978); pos-
sibly reduced fertility (Baker 1978: 339-342; Clegg 1978;
but see Goldstein, Tsarong, and Beall 1983 for a contrary
view); higher postnatal mortality due primarily to the ef-
fects of hypoxia and cold on the incidence and prognosis
of respiratory disease (McCullough, Reeves, and Liljergren
1977); possibly some change in metabolism and digestion
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
(Picon-Reategui 1978: 237-238); and persistently elevated
basal metabolic rates due to the combined effects of hy-
poxia and cold (Little and Hanna 1978: 279-281; Hanna,
Little, and Austin 1989: 144).
In thinking of how foragers use a landscape, a consid-
eration of these stressors and their influence on human
biology is necessary because they have had a significant
effect on the range of human cultural adaptations and his-
torical features of cultural evolution and change at high
altitude. Constraints on fertility or exceptionally high neo-
natal mortality rates, for example, may well have led to
lower growth rates of highland populations, especially in
the generations immediately following their establishment
by lowlanders. With higher basal metabolic rates, it ap-
pears that high-elevation peoples need, on average, more
calories than comparable low-elevation peoples. This may
in turn have had important effects on cultural strategies
when dealing with problems relating to environmental
packing, diet choice under restricted mobility, and both
short- and long-term changes in resource availability.
Mobility strategies themselves may have been substantially
affected due to demands imposed by basic caloric require-
ments as well as the greater work effort required to traverse
rugged mountain topography (Picon-Reategui 1978: 232-
233). While it is important not to be overly deterministic
in attributing these changes in human biology as responses
to high altitude, it nevertheless remains clear that a failure
to understand how humans are affected by high altitude
limits our understanding ofhow humans eventually moved
into and permanently resided at high altitude.
Hypoxia
Hypoxia is the most severe environmental stressor that
affects humans at elevations over 2,500 m and is not modi-
fied or ameliorated by cultural intervention. While the
quantity and proportion of oxygen in the earth's atmo-
sphere remain constant at all elevations, the availability of
oxygen depends on barometric pressure (Frisancho 1979:
102-104). Barometric pressure decreases with increasing
altitude, with the result that there are fewer molecules,
including oxygen, per unit volume of air. This stresses the
body's oxygen transport system. At sea level, for example,
arterial blood is 97% saturated with oxygen; at just over
3,000 m, arterial blood is only 90% saturated, and from
4,000 to 5,000 m, oxygen saturation decreases almost by
30% when compared to sea level (Frisancho 1979: 103).
The amount of oxygen actually delivered to the tissues
declines even more precipitously. At sea level, with 97%
oxygen saturation, each 100 ml of blood can carry 19.5 ml
5
of oxygen, of which 5 ml are actually delivered to the tis-
sues. At 2,500 m, the oxygen content decreases to 17.5
mlll00 ml, a drop of approximately 10%, but the amount
of oxygen delivered is only 4 mlll00 ml, a decrease of20%
(Little 1981: 150).
Hypoxia has both direct and indirect effects on the fol-
lowing aspects of human biology: health status, reproduc-
tion and growth, nutritional status, and work capacity.
Health Status The effects of hypoxia on health status
can be divided into two categories: short-term and long-
term responses, also referred to as acute hypoxia and
chronic hypoxia, respectively (Frisancho 1979: 104). Short-
term responses are those that temporary residents or so-
journers experience after arrival at high altitude and which
may last for hours, days, or weeks, while long-term re-
sponses are those that affect permanent, indigenous high-
altitude dwellers or lowlanders who resided at high alti-
tudes for much of their lives.
Almost all lowlanders who arrive at altitudes greater
than 2,500 m suffer to varying degrees what is known in
the Andean world as soroche (Houston 1992). Among the
symptoms are headache, nausea, fatigue, hyperventilation,
mental disorientation, and dizziness. While these symp-
toms generally fade within 24 to 48 hours, they may be
prolonged, sometimes lasting months, during physical ex-
ertion. In more severe cases, only descent to lower eleva-
tions alleviates the symptoms. Other temporary effects
include changes in visual acuity and light sensitivity
(Frisancho 1979: 107). Field studies have demonstrated
that responses to light stimuli are slow and inconsistent
when compared to responses at sea level. Vision usually
returns to normal levels of function after two days of ex-
posure to high altitude. Memory and learning are likewise
affected by hypoxia. Short-term memory and the ability
to learn new procedures are diminished at elevations be-
yond 3,600 m (Kramer, Coyne, and Strayer 1993). Motor
function is affected, especially at altitudes above 4,500 m
(Frisancho 1979: 109). This includes muscle weakness,
rapid fatiguing of muscles, and the impairment of neuro-
muscular control.
There are also age, sex, and fitness differences in these
short-term responses. The very young, especially neonates,
and the very old are more impaired by hypoxia than are
adolescents and adults. Also, less-fit individuals suffer the
effects of high altitude more intensely, and they acclimate
to high altitude more slowly than do individuals physi-
cally fit (Frisancho 1979: 173). Finally, females tend to re-
sist the effects of acute hypoxia better than males do. While
6 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
most of these physiological responses to hypoxia are over-
come through an acclimatization process that lasts for
months, it is important to remember that lowlanders never
achieve the same physiological capacity as native highland-
ers. Further, with descent and residence at low elevations,
most of the high-elevation acclimatization is lost and must
be regained upon a return to high altitude.
The long-term effects of chronic hypoxia can be placed
into two categories: altitude-induced diseases and altitude-
aggravated diseases (Baker 1978: 328-330). The latter cat-
egory also includes complications induced by high alti-
tude. Chronic mountain sickness is perhaps the best known
of the altitude-induced diseases. First described in Andean
highlanders by the Peruvian physician Carlos Monge (and
thus named Monge's disease), chronic mountain sickness
is a disease that affects long-time residents of the high-
lands (WInslow and Monge 1987). The disease has an adult
onset and can be characterized by severe headaches,
chronic dizziness, memory loss, fatigue, insomnia, exces-
sive polycythemia (excessive red blood cell production),
and dramatically increased work load on the heart (Moore
and Regensteiner 1983: 298-299; Winslow and Monge
1987). These symptoms do not ameliorate or fade through
time and instead frequently worsen. The later stages of
the disease are characterized by cardiovascular involve-
ment, including peripheral edema, and greater risk of fa-
tal stroke or heart attack due to the long-term effects of
increased work load on the heart. Descent to low altitude
is the only successful cure. Although the causes of chronic
mountain sickness remain obscure and the disease is rela-
tively rare, it appears to represent the collapse of altitude
acclimatization (Baker 1978: 329).
The second principal altitude-induced disease is high-
altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). It is rare and affects
both highlanders and lowlanders. Its symptoms, which
develop after 36 to 72 hours at high altitude, include hy-
perventilation, rapid heart rate, cyanosis, and accumula-
tion of fluid in the lungs (Moore and Regensteiner 1983:
297; Houston 1992: 62). The disease can be fatal and can
only be treated by descent to low elevation or administra-
tion of oxygen. To provoke its onset, however, a rapid as-
cent to high elevation must take place. As Moore and
Regensteiner (1983: 297) put it, it "was rare before the
advent of automobiles or aircraft, but not necessarily non-
existent." In fact, Houston (1992: 58) relates an early Chi-
nese description (fifth century A.D.) ofa death due to HAPE
of a traveler on the Silk Road. A similar disease, high-alti-
tude cerebral edema, is considered even more serious and
is characterized by mental confusion, drunken walking, and
hallucinations. If untreated by descent to low elevation, it
too can lead to death. Fortunately, it is extremely rare.
In terms of altitude-aggravated disease, hypoxia has the
tendency to increase the gravity and severity of any pul-
monary and most respiratory diseases (Baker 1978: 329).
Mortality due to respiratory illness is very high, ranging
from 28% to 47% of all childhood deaths and up to 60%
of deaths caused at all ages (Little 1981: 159).
Reproduction and Growth There is controversy over the
degree to which high altitude affects reproduction and
growth, and there is considerable debate whether it af-
fects fecundity (ability to conceive), fertility (ability to pro-
duce live offspring), or mortality (survival after birth), es-
pecially in the first year of life. The study of this problem
is complicated by modern social and cultural practices,
including improved health care, population structure (all
indigenous highland groups studied to date can be char-
acterized as peasants), and kinship rules, making it ex-
tremely difficult to parse the effects of hypoxia from these
other factors (Haas 1980; Goldstein, Tsarong, and Beall
1983; Leonard et al. 1990). While I cannot hope to re-
solve these issues (since in fact relatively few new data
have been accumulated since the mid-1980s), there is suf-
ficient empirical warrant to develop a case that hypoxia
has a negative, although as yet poorly measured, effect on
human reproduction.
There is no convincing evidence that suggests that hy-
poxia seriously inhibits gametogenesis in either males or
females (Clegg 1978: 70-73). While sperm counts and tes-
tosterone levels decrease in recent arrivals to high alti-
tude, they return to normal within two weeks. The effects
of high altitude on fertility are equally unclear. Hypoxia is
known to be a teratogenic agent (Clegg 1978: 103; Moore
and Regensteiner 1983: 291). Rates of congenital malfor-
mations, especially of the cardiovascular system, at eleva-
tions above 4,000 m in the Andes are extremely high-in
one reported case, the rate was 15 times higher than in
lowland populations (Clegg 1978: 103). This has led to
speculation that rates for spontaneous abortion, especially
in the very early weeks (initial two to four weeks) of preg-
nancy should be relatively high in hypoxic environments,
but to date, no convincing empirical data have been accu-
mulated to support this. While recall data obtained from
highland Andean women who migrated to lower eleva-
tions show a tendency for a larger birth interval as well as
lower completed fertility at high altitude, both of which
are consistent with lower overall fertility (Ableson, Baker,
and Baker 1974; Baker 1978: 326), the causal role of hy-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
poxia in these findings has yet to be established with any
certainty, as Goldstein, Tsarong, and Beall (1983: 39-47)
have rightly argued.
It does appear, however, that high elevation complicates
pregnancy, possibly by exposing inefficiencies in the ma-
ternal oxygen transfer system (Moore and Regensteiner
1983: 292), which leads in turn to retarded intrauterine
growth rates, high frequencies of eclampsia, and low in-
fant birth weight (McCullough, Reeves, and Liljergen
1977; Haas 1980; Moore 1990). Since it is well known that
growth-retarded infants generally have a decreased chance
of survival at any altitude (Haas, Balcazar, and Caulfield
1987; Unger et al. 1988; but see Beall 1981 ), it is clear that
hypoxia contributes to higher rates of infant mortality, es-
pecially since it aggravates respiratory disease. Anecdotal
evidence of the Spanish occupation of the Andean high-
lands speaks clearly to this: Cobo writes that during the
early years of colonization, children born to Spanish par-
ents died either at birth or shortly thereafter, and further,
there was a common saying that "children who have In-
dian blood have a better chance of survival in cold lands
than those who do not have this mixture" (Cobo 1653
[1979]: 18). Here, "high" can probably be substituted for
"cold." Clearly, permanent residents at high elevation have
sufficient reproductive capacity to maintain existing levels
of population. In this sense, then, hypoxia has only a mi-
nor effect on reproduction. However, where it is likely to
have been a far more critical factor is in the initial coloni-
zation of the Andean highlands, a topic I will return to
discuss in chapter 6.
Nutritional Status On average, high-elevation peoples
need more calories than do their low-elevation counter-
parts (Picon-Reategui 1978: 234). The causal factors for
this requirement are illustrated in figure 1.1. Hypoxia leads
to hyperventilation, which leads to greater respiratory heat
loss. Persistent cold stress also contributes to heat loss
because more blood is sent to the extremities and the skin
in general. Greater heat loss demands an increase in basal
metabolic rate so as to maintain both deep core tempera-
ture and other bodily functions. Taken together, these fac-
tors demand that individuals increase caloric intake to avoid
caloric imbalance (Little 1981: 159). Picon-Reategui (1978:
234) estimates that highlanders required 11.5% more calo-
ries than lowlanders did in order to maintain caloric bal-
ance. The situation is exacerbated by the generally higher
caloric costs ofactivity performance at high altitude (Pic6n-
Reategui 1978: 232-233).
There is some controversy over the degree to which
7
hypoxia affects digestion, the availability of micronutri-
ents, and diet composition, and the literature is confusing
(Butterfield 1990). Although specifics continue to be de-
bated, it seems probable that due to the combined effects
of hypoxia and cold stress, permanent residents at high
elevation do not receive the full caloric benefits of the food
they consume. From a strictly dietary perspective, an op-
timal high-elevation diet is one high (70-85%) in carbo-
hydrates and low in both fats and proteins (10-15 % each).
There are very good physiological reasons for such a diet.
Consolazio et al. (1968) have shown that the consumption
of a high-carbohydrate diet at an elevation of 4,300 m sig-
nificantly enhanced endurance for heavy work, although
there was no corresponding improvement in maximal oxy-
gen uptake (V02 max), and Hansen, Hartley, and Hogan
(1972) demonstrate that a diet high in carbohydrates sig-
nificantly increased the quantity of arterial oxygen. Fur-
ther, diets high in carbohydrates would appear to be adap-
tive at high altitude since carbohydrates use less oxygen
than either proteins or fats during metabolization, and
further, high-carbohydrate consumption helps to avoid
blood alkalosis, a common bodily response to hyperventi-
lation. In sum, it appears that at high altitude, carbohy-
drates are used more efficiently by the body than are fats
and possibly proteins. Hypoxia, at least up to 5,000 m, has
been shown to have no effect on the absorption of protein
(Kayser et al. 1992).
The situation regarding fats is far more problematic.
Anecdotal evidence suggests that taste for fat, especially
for newcomers to high elevation, is blunted. The moun-
taineering literature is filled with stories of low tolerance
for the taste of fat, difficulty consuming fatty food, and an
overall dislike of fat from any source (Frisancho 1979: 109;
Ward, Milledge, and West 1989: 290). Since weight loss is
a common occurrence on these expeditions, research has
been directed at determining if fat malabsorption contrib-
utes to it. In contrast, there is no evidence that indigenous
highland peoples suffer these complaints, and fat, while
comprising a relatively small percentage of the Andean
highlander's diet, is nevertheless perceived as desirable.
From a physiological perspective, there are good reasons
to keep fat to a minimum in the high-elevation diet. The
use of fat as an energy source at high elevation depresses
the quantity of arterial oxygen, unlike the effects of carbo-
hydrates. Further, it appears that fat malabsorption inter-
feres with the absorption of sugars and amino acids (Ward,
Milledge, and West 1989: 290). Fat-balance studies con-
ducted on indigenous Andean peoples living above 4,000
m show that the average absorption of fat is only 56% of
8 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
INCREASED
VENTILATION
--- --- ---
---
--- ---
(Respiratory)
HEAT LOSS INCREASED BMR
8
(Surface)
""
"" INCREASED
" BLOOD FLOW
TO SKIN
Fig. 1.1. The postulated interaction of stressors in high-elevation environments (after Little 1981: fig 7).
that available in the diet, whereas at sea level, fat absorp-
tion approaches 95% (Pic6n-Reategui 1978: 235, 238).
Although Little (1981: 158) suggests that these figures in-
dicate that dietary fat may actually be deleterious to the
highlander, it is unclear whether this inability to metabo-
lize fat is adaptive at high altitude or best considered a
problem (Pic6n-Reategui 1978: 238). However, more re-
cent studies have not confirmed the fat malabsorption hy-
pothesis. Butterfield (1990: 90-91), in a review of the lit-
erature, concludes that while the data are contradictory
regarding fat malabsorption, it does seem that as altitude
increases, the body appears to have greater difficulty in
absorbing and utilizing ingested fats. The key factor is al-
titude: at relatively low elevations (ca. 3,000 m), there is
little or no fat malabsorption, but at very high elevations
(ca. 6,000 m), the body's ability to absorb fats can be re-
duced by as much as 48%. Like the situation surrounding
fertility, then, while high altitudes seem to have some nega-
tive effect on the absorption of fat, the severity of this prob-
lem is currently unknown.
If the body does have problems in utilizing dietary fats,
this may lead to a series of significant health issues, in-
cluding possible essential fatty acid deficiencies, especially
in infants. If in fact fat absorption is impaired at high alti-
tude, then there is a significant probability that Andean
LOW FAT
-- ABSORPTION
INCREASED
CALORIC
NEEDS
highlanders are afflicted by essential fatty acid deficien-
cies. Essential fatty acids (EFAs) are long-chain polyun-
saturated fats that contribute to adequate health (Crawford
1985; Bourre et al. 1992). The two most important EFAs
are linoleic and a-linolenic acids, which are actually pre-
cursors of true EFAs (arachidonic and docosahexaenoic
acids, respectively). The precursors are provided by plant
foods and are concentrated in animal tissues, especially
the brain, liver, and to some extent, in other fatty tissues
(Crawford 1985: 63-64). Through the consumption of
either plants or animal parts that concentrate these pre-
cursors, humans convert them into EFAs; true EFAs can-
not be synthesized by the human body. EFA precursors
are present in human milk, and nursing is the only man-
ner in which the infant receives these necessary micronu-
trients (Institute of Medicine Subcommittee on Lactation
1991: 123-124). The quantity of EFAs in human milk is
directly influenced by the quality and caloric sufficiency
of the mother's diet.
EFAs are essential to a number of aspects of human
health. They have been shown to be critical to nonnal brain
development in humans, and animal studies have deter-
mined that EFA deficiencies are implicated in long-tenn
learning difficulties (Bourre et al. 1992: 225-227). EFA
requirements are very high in human neonates. Severe
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
deficiencies can lead to EFA syndrome, which is charac-
terized by reduced growth rates, impaired reproduction,
kidney and liver pathologies, and heightened susceptibil-
ity to disease. EFA syndrome is most severe in children,
but adults can also be affected. It is especially severe if a
high-protein diet is used to offset caloric shortfalls (Speth
and Spielmann 1983: 15).
I am aware ofno studies that have definitively concluded
that high-elevation peoples in general or Andean high-
landers in particular suffer from EFA deficiencies in the
modern era. However, if the argument that the ability to
utilize dietary fat is affected by increasing elevation, then
it is reasonable to postulate that EFA deficiencies may in
fact be present. It is probable that these deficiencies were
more severe in the distant past since modern Andean
peoples show a desire for fatty foods typical of their low-
land counterparts, and therefore, while they may be able
to use a smaller proportion of fats present in their diet,
they make no effort to avoid these foods, thus leading to
an even greater fat deficit in the diet. I will explore the
implications of this argument further in chapter 6.
Work Capacity Hypoxia will limit work capacity due to
a reduced availability of oxygen in inspired air, especially
for lowlanders attempting to perform strenuous physical
activity at elevations beyond 2,500 m. With increasing al-
titude, the ability of unacclimated newcomers to perform
work diminishes rapidly. Indigenous Andean peoples, how-
ever, show substantially greater work capacity at high alti-
tude than do lowlanders, and it appears that a number of
developmental, acclimatizational, and genetic factors have
combined to improve their aerobic capacity (Frisancho and
Greksa 1989; Hochachka et al. 1991).
The most consistent measure of work capacity and ef-
ficiency is VOz max, which is the absolute amount of oxy-
gen that can be utilized by working muscle (Little 1981:
156). A multitude of studies have demonstrated that unac-
climatized sea level dwellers, regardless of their ethnicity,
exhibit a 9% to 24% reduction in their aerobic capacity
(Frisancho and Greksa 1989: table 10.1). In fact, as ex-
pressed in the proportion of sea level capacity, lowlanders
loose 11 % of their aerobic capacity for every 1,000 m of
ascent at elevations beyond 1,500 m. Physical condition
apparently has little effect on this, and in fact, well-condi-
tioned lowlanders tend to lose more aerobic capacity than
do more sedentary people, although they tolerate this loss
more effectively. In contrast, tests of VOz max of indig-
enous Andean peoples have demonstrated that they main-
tain the same level of work capacity at high altitude as do
9
native lowlanders in their own environments, and in fact
their aerobic capacity is generally within 90% to 95% of
the aerobic capacity expected of lowlanders at sea level.
Whether the difference between lowland migrants and
high-elevation natives is permanent is the subject of in-
tense debate and research. Frisancho and Greksa (1989)
have demonstrated that for lowland migrants to high el-
evation, aerobic capacity to perform useful work is deter-
mined primarily by age. Adults who migrate to high el-
evation, despite becoming acclimatized to high altitude,
never approach aerobic capacities of high-elevation na-
tives. Their acclimatization is best described as partial, and
it is based upon increased heart rate and cardiac output,
resulting in increased blood flow, the production of more
hemoglobin (a high polycythemic response), which per-
mits the blood to carry more oxygen, and increased pul-
monary ventilation, which results in limited pulmonary
diffusing capacity. In contrast, lowland children who mi-
grate to high elevation demonstrate a different acclimati-
zation: their lungs have more capillaries and more alveo-
lar area, resulting in a high pulmonary diffusing capacity
and a moderate polycythemic response. These children
have complete functional adaptation to high elevation and
have aerobic capacities that are essentially equal to those
of lowlanders (Frisancho and Greksa 1989: 213-217).
These data demonstrate that functional adaptation to high
elevation, at least as regards work capacity, is a develop-
mental response and is likely to be only partially mediated
by genetic factors (but see Hochachka et al. 1991: 1729).
While the developmental hypothesis continues to have
significant empirical support (Greksa 1991: 135), it is still
unclear exactly at what age lowland migrants to the high-
lands must arrive so that they achieve a high level of aero-
bic capacity. Greksa, Spielvolgel, and Paredes-Fernandez
(1985) have shown that it is possible to attain nearly full
functional adaptation even if migration takes place in the
early teen years. If these findings are correct, children born
of sea level migrants could achieve full functional adapta-
tion as long as they spend most of their developmental
years at high altitude. However, in the age range fom 9 to
13 years, VOz max is lower in both lowland migrants to
the highlands and highland natives than in lowlanders. An
adolescence spent at high elevation, then, appears to be
necessary for this aspect offull aerobic capacity to be made
manifest in any lowland migrant. Obviously, children born
at high elevation, as long as they do not leave it for signifi-
cant periods of time or during the adolescent years, will
meet these requirements. However, these studies also de-
termined that while young lowland migrants to high alti-
10 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
tude can reach nearly full functional adaptation, there is
considerably more variability in the level of functional
adaptation achieved when compared to native highland-
ers (Greksa 1991: 132). Further, while it was demonstrated
that this variability is in part related to length of exposure
to hypoxia, this variable explained only 18-41 % of the
variance in work performance. Greksa concludes that this
means that factors other than length of residence at high
altitude affect this process. While not directly assessed by
Greksa, his data also suggest that residence at high alti-
tude should ideally be continuous to reduce variability and
to achieve a high level of functional adaptation. Other as-
pects of the development of aerobic capacity, however,
appear to have different onsets. Lung volume and pulmo-
nary diffusing capacity are apparently enhanced at a very
early age. Children born at high altitude obviously have
some advantage over migrant children in terms of their
long-term ability to achieve full functional adaptation. One
thing seems clear, and Greksa (1991: 136) states it well:
"The period of life from conception through early child-
hood may be a highly stressful one for highlanders."
Another issue to be considered is the degree to which
native highlanders have greater aerobic capacity at sea
level, and if so, how long this enhanced capacity lasts.
Existent data suggest th~t any enhancement is short-lived
and is likely to be counterbalanced by problems faced by
highland migrants to the lowlands, which include high
frequencies of respiratory disease and possible anemia.
According to Little (1981: 157), "These variations in bio-
logical adaptability to sea level and high altitude may con-
strain movement of adults from place to place." This tends
to suggest that movement between highlands and low-
lands, while feasible and certainly practiced in the past,
had its biological costs which may have made such mobil-
ity less than desirable.
Cold Stress
Cold is a seasonal and diurnal feature of high mountains,
whether they be tropical or temperate in latitude. Its ef-
fects can be exacerbated by strong and persistent winds
(the so-called wind chill factor). In order for humans to
maintain cognitive function, they must be able to main-
tain core (or deep body) temperature at 37.5 0.5 C
0 0
(Little and Hochner 1973). During exposure to persistent
cold, the body is faced with a dilemma: extremities are
exposed to significantly more cold stress due to their
greater surface area relative to the trunk, their lack of or-
gan mass, and their location far away from the warm core.
They therefore lose heat rapidly. Furthermore, they are
usually in constant use and thus hard to protect from frost-
bite. In response to rapid cooling, the body pumps more
blood into them to increase or maintain their tempera-
ture. This is done at increasing expense to the mainte-
nance of core temperature. If sufficiently threatened, core
temperature is maintained at the expense of the extremi-
ties, leading to tissue damage, such as wind burn and frost-
bite. Chronic, long-term exposure to cold is also a serious
problem, especially for the young, who have a greater sur-
face area relative to body size when compared to adults
and thus lose heat more rapidly, and the less active (Little
and Hochner 1973; Little 1981: 157). Chronic exposure
to cold demands that the body be adequately protected by
clothing, be supplied with more useful energy, or more
effectively utilize energy stored in body fat to maintain
core temperature.
Although cultural responses, such as adequate clothing
and shelter, the use of fire, early retiring, and sleeping many
individuals in a single bed, are probably most effective
against cold stress (Little and Hanna 1978: 290; Picon-
Reategui 1978: 232), there are a number of important bio-
logical responses as well. Persistently high resting basal
metabolic rates (BMR) of permanent residents of high el-
evations are closely related to cold stress, although it re-
mains unclear whether they are a response to hypoxia
(Little and Hanna 1978: 280), low barometric pressure
(Picon-Reategui 1978: 230), or more likely, a combina-
tion of these two factors. A higher BMR also pennits high-
land dwellers to maintain higher core temperatures as well
(Little 1981: 157). Permanent residents of high elevations
also show greater heat flow to the extremities while simul-
taneously maintaining adequate deep-body temperatures
(Little and Hanna 1978: 266-279).
Mobility in High Mountains
If any environment was designed to be a naturallabora-
tory in which the oft-cited principle of least effort as the
fundamental criterion of human adaptation could be
tested, it is high mountains. With their rugged, uneven
topography and steep slopes, combined with the energy
costs and constraints of hypoxia, they present a very seri-
0us challenge to humans moving through them on foot.
Despite this, however, there has been surprisingly little
formal attention directed to this problem by geographers
or anthropologists.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Estimating Mobility Costs
Geographers and others interested in the movement of
individuals or goods across space have developed a num-
ber of important models of movement and methods to es-
timate the costs of movement. The best-known models
include the Von Thunen model of agricultural land use,
Christaller's central place model, and Hagerstrand's model
of the spread of innovations. While they have provided
significant insight into real-world processes, each of them
is based upon a necessary but unrealistic assumption: that
movement costs are equivalent in all directions, or isotropy.
Movement on grades or slopes, either up or down, in-
creases the friction of movement and thus its cost. For
humans, the costs of movement can be measured either
by estimating the effort (or energy costs) or the time it
takes to get from one location to another. It should be
obvious that these are not necessarily the same. Although
there may be some population differences that have yet to
be fully understood, from a strictly biological perspective
the energy costs of the average unencumbered person
walking on a flat, smooth surface are estimated at 30% to
40% of maximal oxygen uptake, a moderate level of exer-
tion that can be maintained for hours. However, if the
normal mechanics ofsuch walking, such as the typical arm
swing, shortening of the stride, or increase in the distance
the foot must be raised, are disrupted, energy costs as
measured by maximal oxygen uptake can increase signifi-
cantly, with attendant decreases in performance and dis-
tance traveled. Surfaces that typically increase energy ex-
penditure are loose rock or gravel, stony terrain, and sand.
Other factors, such as walking into strong headwinds, car-
rying heavy loads, and hypothermia, can also increase en-
ergy expenditure. Energy costs may also be increased an
additional 30% when wearing heavy protective clothing
or carrying loads of 20 to 25 kgs. Thus under normal cir-
cumstances (that is, doing useful work) in many high-
mountain settings, individuals can easily find themselves
in situations in which they are forced to perform at up to
70% of their maximal oxygen uptake, an extremely stress-
fullevel of work that leads quickly to exhaustion (Ward,
Milledge, and West 1989: 357-359).
Hypoxia, of course, exacerbates this situation. Fatigue
levels are obviously reached more rapidly by unacclima-
tized individuals than by lifelong or indigenous residents
of high altitude. For example, it has been estimated that
acclimatized individuals can perform strenuous levels of
activity performance at approximately 40% of their maxi-
mum capacity, whereas unacclimatized individuals must
11
work at a 60% level to perform the same tasks. The latter
persons will require more frequent intervals of rest and
will not be able to work for extended periods until they
become acclimatized on a long-term basis (Baker 1976:
308; Ward, Milledge, and West 1989: 357). Indigenous or
lifelong residents at high altitude have work capacities simi-
lar to lowland residents in their own environments, so there
is no additional energy cost due solely to hypoxia for the
acclimatized individual.
Because it has proved difficult to measure energy ex-
penditure and work effort empirically in the field or in
"realistic" work settings (see Hanna, Little, and Austin
1989: 136), time is a more useful, and certainly more ac-
cessible, measure of the costs of moving through high-
mountain terrain. Various estimates of distance per time
unit have been developed or estimated. Cole and King
(1968: 394) suggest that for flat terrain without obstacles,
humans can walk horizontally at a pace of 4-5 feet/sec-
ond, or 2.7-3.4 miles/hour (4.4-5.5 kmIhour). Haggett
(1972: 253) states that "walking speeds on city sidewalks
indicate the average adult pedestrian walks at 5.5 kmlhour."
He further notes that there are age and sex-related varia-
tions. He also estimates that 10% slopes decrease speeds
by just over 20% (thus ca. 4.3 kmIhour), while 20% slopes
halve speed (2.75 Ian/hour). While these estimates are
useful, none of them have measures of variance.
Ethnographic accounts of travel times in non-Western
societies are in general agreement with these estimates.
!Kung San women carrying approximately 10-15 kgs of
mongongo nuts reach travel speeds of 4-5 kmIhour mov-
ing from the nut groves back to the base camp on a trail in
relatively flat terrain (Lee 1979: 193). Men carrying 20-
30 kgs of meat walking in similar terrain reach somewhat
lower speeds, ranging 3-4 kmlhour with frequent rests (Lee
1979: 223,226). While he does not provide a quantitative
estimate of travel speed, Silberbauer (1981: 200) reports
that by day's end, heavily laden women tired from a day's
foraging generally returned to camp at a very slow pace,
probably no more than 3 Ian/hour, which is very close to
Haggett's (1972: 253) estimation of a child-carrying woman
(2.6 Ian/hour).
Imhof (1968: 220-223) presents a graphical model of
movement in sloping or otherwise difficult terrain. The
conditions of the model are individuals walking alone or
in small groups on smooth paths, without stops, and un-
burdened. On level terrain, the model predicts a 5 Ian/
hour rate of travel. Travel time increases with increasing
slope and decreases with decreasing slope. It is possible
to exceed the 5 km/hour rate of travel while going
 12 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat

downslope. Off-path velocities on good terrain are said
to diminish to approximately 3 lan/hour (Imhof 1968:
222). The model in this form, while it has heuristic value,
has little practical application.
Fortunately, geographer Waldo Tobler (n.d.) has taken
this graphical representation and created an empirical
mathematical model called the "hiking function." As Tobler
describes it, for walking on footpaths in mountainous or
hilly terrain, the hiking function is defined as WV = 6 exp
[-3.5 * abs (s + 0.05)] where sis dh/dx. This is equal to the
slope measured in like units. WV (the velocity) is expressed
in kmlhour. Figure 1.2 is Tobler's (n.d.) graphical presen-
tation of the shape range of the function expressed in de-
grees of slope. The function reaches a maximum of 6 kmI
hour on terrain with negative slopes between 5 and 7 de-
grees. Beyond that, the model predicts that the walking
velocity will decrease quickly, an observation in accord with
the mechanics of downhill movement in steep terrain
where major muscle groups in the legs are being used as
brakes (Ward, Milledge, and West 1989: 358). Off-path
travel times can be estimated by multiplying any walking
velocity by 0.6 (Tobler n.d.).
The function can be applied to any walking situation in
which the slope can be defined as a change in elevation
(dh) over a change in distance traveled (dx) and is used
appropriately when it is possible to break the different seg-
ments of the trip into positive or negative slopes. Imhof
(1968: 220-221) gives a few examples of how this is done.
Taking the "average" slope of some distance traveled will
in most cases underestimate the true travel time of a trip,
and it should be clear that in many cases, especially when
there is very steep terrain being negotiated, "average" slope
has no meaning. Into how many segments the distance
must be divided depends on the difficulty of the terrain
and the quality ofthe data that describe elevational changes.
How well does the hiking function predict actual travel
times in mountainous terrain? In general, it compares rea-
sonably well to Haggett's estimates of moving upslope
(table 1.1). The main difference appears to be in the esti-
mate of flat terrain walking. A more comprehensive test of
the model is based upon a number of walking trips made
in 1990 and 1991 in the high-sierra and puna rim region
of the Rio Osmore drainage by members of Proyecto
Table 1.1. Comparison of Haggett's and Tobler's
Estimates of Walking Velocity on Sloping Terrain
Level Terrain 10 % Slope 20% Slope
Haggett 5.5 kmlhr 4.30 km/hr 2.75 kmJhr
Tobler 5.0 kmlhr 3.55 kmlhr 2.50 kmlhr

7.0
.........
"-
.t=
6.0

'"E 5.0
~

-0" 4.0
Q)
CD
Q.
(J) 3.0
C\
c: 2.0
.x
c 1.0
3:
0.0
-70 -50 -30 -10 10 30 50 70
Slope in Degrees
Fig. 1.2. Tobler's (n.d.) graphical portrayal of the walking function.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 13

Arcaico. For each of these trips, travel times were mea-
sured, including the length of stops, and elevations for dif-
ferent trip segments were determined with an altimeter.
Although a few trips were made with unacclimatized indi-
viduals, most were made with indigenous Aymara speak-
ers and North Americans who were well acclimatized to
working at high altitude. Although every trip was made
on a well-used trail, each was also made with cargo and
involved frequent stops. The duration of the breaks was
usually measured, however.
The results ofapplying the model to two different routes
involving several separate trips in each are presented in
tables 1.2 and 1.3. The first route is relatively short and
involves travel between two houses in the modern puna
rim community of Azana above the archaeological site of
Asana. Elevation ranges from 4,340 to 4,650 m. Informants

Table 1.2. Travel Times Estimates Computed by the Walking Function

RM to JM house

Horizontal Distance3 Vertical Distance Walking Velocity Estimated Travel Time

1. RM house to cliff base 0.57 -10 5.36 .11

2. Cliff base to 1.40 -18 5.27 .27

vertical path

3. Path base to 0.64 +348 0.75 .85

crest of ridge

4. Crest to JM house 2.60 -120 5.92 .44

Estimated travel time 1.67 hours

True travel times 1.75,1.80, 1.82 hours (each with stops of 0.25 hour)

Estimated travel time 1.92 hours

with one stop

JM to RM house

1. JM house to crest 2.60 +120 4.29 .61

2. Crest of ridge 0.64 -348 1.07 .60

to path base

3. Vertical path 1.40 +18 4.82 .29

to cliff base

4. Cliff base 0.57 +10 4.74 .12

to RM house

Estimated travel time 1.62 hours (1.19)b

True travel times 1.33, 1.35,1.39,1.50 (each with stops of 0.25 hour)

Estimated travel time 1.87 hours (1.44)

with one stop

aHorizontal distance measured in kilometers; vertical distance in meters; walking velocity in kmlhr; estimated travel
times in hours with no stops.
bFigures in parentheses represent true travel times when informants "skied" downslope.
14 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat

had estimated their typical lightly burdened or unburdened
travel times at 1.5 to 2.0 hours and claimed that travel
times in either direction were essentially the same, although
one informant suggested the return trip would be shorter,
around 1.3 hours. The path between the two houses is
clear and compacted, although one part of the ascent from
the south to the north involves some steep walking in loose
sand. The model predicts a 1.67-hour travel time, with no
stops; if one stop is added, travel time is increased to 1.92
hours. These predictions appear to be very consistent with
actual travel times.
In contrast, the model predicts a 1.62 hour return trip,
or 1.87 hours if a single stop is added. Actual travel times,
however, are somewhat less. The model predicts that the
steep descent from the ridge crest to the valley floor will
take 0.60 hour. However, once the rocks from the escarp-
ment are cleared, the remainder of the slope is loose sand
that could be literally "skied" down with little danger. I
saw individuals carrying 10-15 kgs ski this slope on foot
(or sitting down) in less than ten minutes, or approximately
0.17 hour. If this factor is taken into consideration, the
estimated travel time with and without stops is very con-
sistent with informant estimates. Not surprisingly, the in-
formant who offered the 1.3-hour estimate makes the trip
five or six times a week.
The second example involves a much longer trip from
the Quellaveco mining camp to a house in' the puna rim
community ofAzana (table 1.3). While there are some parts
of the ascent that mount steep slopes, they are short and
are difficult to integrate into the model. Therefore, the
change in vertical distance in this example has been aver-
aged at 690 m. In this case, the model underestimates the
amount of time required to make the ascent even when a
number of stops are added to the final predicted travel
time. What appears to have slowed the ascent, however, is
that each individual was carrying loads of 10-25 kgs. In
this circumstance, the model appears to underestimate the
true travel time by approximately 20%. If the walking ve-
locity is thus modified by multiplying it by 0.80, the esti-
mated travel time is computed at 4.84 hours, and with two

Table 1.3. Travel Time Calculation, Quellaveco Camp to Azana

Horizontal Distance a Vertical Distance Walking Velocity Estimated Travel Time

Quellaveco camp 16.95 +690 4.37 3.88

to RM house

Estimated travel time 3.88 hours

Estimated travel time 4.38 hours (0.50 hour total stops)

with two stops

True travel times

Informant estimates 5 hours (with unspecified number of stops)
Actual travel times 5.5,5.25,5.36 hours (includes stops of 0.50-0.75 hour)

RM house to 16.95 -690 5.81 2.92

Quellaveco camp

Estimated travel time 2.92 hours

Estimated travel time 3.41 hours (.50 hour total stops)

with two stops

True travel times

Informant estimates 4-4.5 hours
Actual travel times 4.05,4.15,4.19 hours (includes stops of 0.50-0.75 hour)

aHorizontal distance measured in kilometers; vertical distance in meters; walking velocity in kmIhr; estimated
travel times in hours.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
0.25 -hour stops, it is 5.34 hours, right in the middle of the
range of empirically observed travel times. The estimated
walking velocity when modified is 3.5 km/hr, close to Lee's
estimates of the heavily burdened !Kung San walking on
near-level terrain. The model also underestimates the de-
scent, but if the 0.80 correction for weight is applied, pre-
dicted travel times become consistent with observed times.
The walking function, then, appears to be a reasonably
good estimator of travel times in mountainous terrain and
can be made even more accurate by the modification for
carrying heavy weights. Although the model cannot be
applied in an uncritical fashion, it does appear to offer a
more empirically based estimate of travel costs than po-
tential competitors. For example, Limp (1990) presents a
series of cost surfaces for a hilly region in Arkansas. Using
Geographical Information Systems (GIS) approaches, he
computed the cost surface based upon an arbitrary for-
mula which states that the cost of traversing such terrain
increases as the square of the slope (Limp 1990: 240). In
this manner, a cost surface can be draped over the regional
topography. While the model is potentially useful, it has
no clear empirical justification for why the square of the
slope is a reasonable estimate of cost. Further, while areas
Fig. 1.3. Isochron map of the Rio Asana valley from Asana.
15
of increasingly steep slope are obviously more costly to
traverse than others, the model is potentially misleading
by suggesting these areas are equally desirable.
The walking function can be used to create a cost sur-
face similar in intent to Limp's but based instead on travel
times. Contours in this model do not represent costs per
se but isochrons, or distances traveled in a given time (fig.
1.3). Paths penetrate areas, thus reducing the costs of travel
and transport to some extent. Travel times can also be
modified by estimates ofcarrying burdens under the modi-
fications to the model described previously. In summary,
the walking function, with reasonable changes based on
empirical observations, is a good estimator of travel times
in high-mountain environments.
Adaptive Strategies in High Mountains
Given a general overview of high-mountain ecology, hu-
man biology, and mobility, it is now possible to discuss
how this set of constraints and opportunities may have
conditioned the ways in which foraging peoples may have
used high-mountain environments in the past. To that end,
I shall develop a general model of high-mountain land use
\
/
Bofedal
Escarpment
N
Travel Time I
o 6 12
1 I 1
KM
16 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
specifically for foraging peoples. As noted, the ethno-
graphic record is oflittle assistance in this effort since foot-
mobile foragers had long been replaced in most high-
mountain systems well before anthropologists arrived, al-
though some insights into middle-mountain land use can
be gleaned from ethnographic accounts of the Shoshone
and other Great Basin groups (Steward 1938), the Nez
Perce (Marshall 1977), the Flathead (Turney-High 1937),
the Arapaho and Ute (Benedict 1992), and a number of
foraging groups from northern California such as the
Achumawi (Olmstead and Stewart 1978), Maidu (Ridell
1978), and the Monache (Spier 1978).
Another potential source of information for modeling
adaptive strategies in high-mountain environments is the
substantial amount of research by anthropologists inter-
ested in the Wtlys in which agro-pastoral peoples use such
environments in the modern era. Historically, this research
has focused upon the European Alps (Cole 1972; Cole and
Wolf 1974, as well as a whole host of European studies
about Alpine agriculture and pastoralism throughout the
twentieth century), but over the past two decades the scope
of these studies has expanded dramatically, resulting in the
publication of the ethnographies of a variety of ethnic
groups in the Alps, Andes, Himalayas, and other major
mountain systems of the world (see, for example, Netting
1981; Brush 1977; Goldstein 1981). Responding to charges
of "ecological particularism," that is, a tendency to focus
on the presumed "unique" features of the group investi-
gated at the expense of broader organizing principles
(Rhoades and Thompson 1975: 536), many of these schol-
ars have developed theoretical or broadly comparative
approaches to the adaptive strategies of mountain peoples
that have focused upon the similarities, rather than differ-
ences, in the land-use systems of these peoples. Rhoades
and Thompson (1975: 547-549), for example, have pro-
posed a model of generalized versus specialized mountain
procurement systems. The former system is characterized
by a single group that exploits a series of vertically strati-
fied ecozones through agro-pastoral transhumance, while
the latter system combines specialized agriculture and
elaborate trade relationships with surrounding populations
in both highlands and lowlands as an adaptive strategy.
Guillet (1983) and Orlove and Guillet (1985) have devel-
oped a general model focused upon their definition of a
series of montane subsistence types: AlpwirtschaJt, which
is similar to Rhoades and Thompson's generalized strat-
egy; verticality, developed first by scholars working in the
Andes such as John Murra and although composed of a
number of different types and dimensions (see Salomon
1985 for a review of the concept as applied in the Andean
world), is characterized as the attempt by highland peoples
either to control or gain access to land or resources pro-
duced by lowlanders through colonies, trade, marriage,
and direct utilization; and the montane production strat-
egy, a new concept, which attempts to look carefully at
factors ofproduction and distribution and the way in which
they articulate with basic features of mountain ecology.
While these models are of great interest, they are of
limited value for understanding foraging peoples. Obvi-
ously, they are specific to groups already possessing do-
mesticated plants or animals or both, and while the mod-
els are directed at demonstrating how these groups cope
with environmental risk and fragility and low primary pro-
ductivity, problems common .to foragers as well, agricul-
ture and pastoralism are based upon a different set of con-
straints than is foraging. One important insight obtained
from these models is that specialized economies-those
focused upon resource exploitation within a single envi-
ronmental zone-tend to be highly vulnerable to the va-
garies ofhigh-mountain ecology and are likely to be prone
to higher levels of risk, insufficient caloric levels for people
residing at high altitudes, and lower per capita returns with
sustained population growth (Guillet 1983: 210-212).
A more profitable source of models and concepts
broadly applicable to foraging peoples is that generally
labeled as optimization theory. Derived from a variety of
sources, including microeconomics and evolutionary ecol-
ogy, optimization models have found a broad, if contro-
versial, applicability to anthropological and archaeologi-
cal problems (Bettinger 1991: 83-130). Fundamentally,
these models are based upon the assumption that humans
make decisions about subsistence practice in a rational
manner under a variety of constraints. In their most basic
form, these models assume that humans are rate maximiz-
ers and therefore rank resources in terms of costs per unit
return. More sophisticated models have shown, at least in
principle, that rate-maximizing decisions are often simul-
taneously risk minimizing or avoiding (Winterhalder 1986,
1990), and Kuznar (1992: 5-6) has shown that rate maxi-
mization, risk minimization, and various types ofsatisficing
strategies can be subsumed under general utility theory, a
merhod commonly used in economics to get consumers
to rank often subjective preferences.
In archaeology, optimization models are used prima-
rily as heuristics since subjective preferences about subsis-
tence choices under constraint as well as precise calcula-
tions of caloric inputs and outputs are essentially impos-
sible to obtain. The models can be used as baselines to
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
understanding behavior and despite their limitations in
terms of specific quantitative predictions, nevertheless of-
fer considerable insight into the kinds of choices foraging
peoples made in the past. The following sections explore
the ways in which the fundamental features of high-moun-
tain ecology can be integrated with optimization models
to produce testable models of foraging land use.
Adaptationist Versus Behaviorist Perspectives
Over the past twenty years, there has been a distinct change
in the way in which anthropologists and archaeologists have
defined and attempted to explain variability in settlement
and subsistence systems. While the emphasis on cultural
ecology has remained strong, there has been a shift away
from so-called adaptationist arguments toward what can
be labeled behavioralist perspectives on the use of the en-
vironment. Adaptationist arguments emphasize the follow-
ing themes. The locus of adaptation is the group, or as
Bettinger (1991: 53) puts it, these arguments are based
upon a "methodological collectivism." While it is acknowl-
edged that individuals make decisions, the operational unit
in which "adaptation" is observed is the group. Further,
this perspective assumes that decisions are made to main-
tain or return to an equilibrium between the structural
features of the subsistence system and the environment in
which it operates. Finally, adaptationist arguments, espe-
cially in archaeology, tend to focus on the long term.
Although the adaptationist perspective has been of great
value to archaeological research, it has a number of seri-
0us flaws. In an adaptationist argument, almost anything
can be made to be adaptive; in effect, adaptive systems have
no history, and typically, post-hoc accommodative argu-
ments can be made for virtually any set of human behav-
iors (Gould and Lewontin 1979). Because of the method-
ological collectivism of the approach, there are problems
with identifying which group is the actual locus of selec-
tion and adaptation. While a variant ofoptimization mod-
eling can be used to discuss optimal group size of foraging
peoples given a particular resource configuration, the same
approach cannot address the degree to which each of these
groups is more "adaptive" in any meaningful sense. In ad-
dition, there is a consistent theme of neofunctionalism in
every adaptationist argument (Bettinger 1991: 57-59).
Bettinger (1991: 223) has argued that much of evolu-
tionary ecology, the source of many of the optimization
models in archaeology, assumes that the concept of opti-
mization and Darwinian fitness are essentially equivalent,
and therefore optimization models are fundamentally
adaptationist in tone. While this may be the case, this is
17
more of a problem with the use and theoretical assump-
tions that lie behind the models and not with the models
themselves. In fact, if optimization models are combined
with the concept of utility, the adaptationist trap can be
avoided altogether. The behaviorist approach to under-
standing subsistence behavior is based upon the method-
ological individual, who is presumed to be the locus of
decision making and ultimately selection. It further pre-
sumes that individuals will make optimal decisions in terms
of some subsistence choice. If combined with neo-Dar-
winian cultural transmission theory, such as that devel-
oped by Boyd and Richerson (1985) and described at length
by Bettinger (1991), it is possible to create models in which
individuals can in fact make "bad" or maladaptive choices
(Aldenderfer 1993b). Finally, behaviorist approaches fo-
cus upon the short term and assume that while there is a
necessary element of anticipation to human action, most
decisions about subsistence choices are made to satisfy rela-
tively immediate goals (Mithen 1990).
Definitions and Basic Concepts
Terms and concepts to be defined include risk, uncertainty,
maximization, minimization, optimization, and utility. Risk
has a multiplicity of meanings depending on the source of
borrowing for the concept, but generally two slightly dif-
fering variants can be found in the anthropological litera-
ture: risk as unpredictable variation, implying that poten-
tial outcomes of a decision characterized by high variance
are riskier than others, and risk as the probability of loss
or a failure to achieve a specific outcome, such as returns
from foraging or hunting. Used in this fashion, risk is rela-
tively simple to define, although Kuznar (1992) argues that
since risk has two subjective components, which include
the identification of hazards or loss and the estimation of
the probability that these hazards will affect an outcome
by a decision maker, a simple correspondence of an "envi-
ronmental" risk and a human response cannot be isomor-
phically mapped. While this may be true, it is neverthe-
less reasonable to assume that given an identified risk, an
optimal response to that risk under constraint can be iden-
tified. However, his main point-that there are a variety
of possible risks and that we must be very careful about
what kind of risk is assumed in a model-is valid. Uncer-
tainty, while plagued with a plethora of meanings, is prob-
ably best considered as decision making with incomplete
information. Of course, uncertainty is a matter of degree,
although different optimization models assume perfect
knowledge on the part of the forager, an obviously faulty
assumption in most empirical settings (Jochim 1983: 159).
18 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
Maximization generally refers to maximizing energy
returns in terms of energy expenditure. The currency here
is energy, usually operationalized by estimates of energy
costs, requirements, and expenditures in kilocalories. Thus
a forager is a rate maximizer if subsistence decisions are
consistently made to maximize the amount of energy ob-
tained by those decisions. Minimization refers to either
minimization of effort and cost, time, or risk. Least-effort
principles have been used to construct a number of im-
portant foraging models, but recently the issue ofrisk mini-
mization-that is, decisions made to avoid or ameliorate
some risky situation-has become more important as a
focus of research. Optimization usually refers to decisions
that optimize the value of some objective function, for in-
stance, the amount of energy returned (Kuznar 1990: 66).
In this sense, one can optimize a rate of return (maximiza-
tion) or the amount of time spent in a task (minimization).
In some cases it is also useful to discuss an optimal diet
froln a nutrient, not caloric, perspective.
Utility is defined by economists as that which gives sat-
isfaction in the sense that individuals are able to state their
preferences about their needs and desires and are in effect
able to rank their preferences. In fact, general utility theory
offers the anthropologist a solution to the claim that opti-
mal foraging theory and its variants are flawed because
they ignore so-called cultural values (see Bettinger 1991:
105-106 for a discussion of this problem). Utility theory
allows individuals to compare apples and oranges or any
other set of preferences (Kuznar 1990: 59-65). While of
limited value in archaeology since it is impossible to de-
termine directly the preferences of the dead, the concept
of utility nevertheless remains important because if used
as analogy, it can be used to create a baseline of expecta-
tions against which actual behavior can be compared.
Risk and utility are combined to develop these baseline
models when the concepts of outcomes and payoffs are
considered (Smith and Boyd 1990: 168-173; Stephens and
Krebs 1986: 128-150). Outcomes are "the measurable re-
sults of a given action or decision," while payoffs "refer to
the value of outcomes as determined by an actor's prefer-
ence ranking" (Smith and Boyd 1990: 169). The prefer-
ence ranking, ofcourse, is the utility ofthat decision. Given
a situation involving risk (variation in the outcome of a
decision), the relationship between payoff and outcome
can be described in three ways: risk neutral, risk adverse,
and risk seeking. Risk neutrality means simply that risk
does not affect a decision regarding payoffs and outcomes.
Nonlinear relationships between outcomes and payoffs are
said to be either risk adverse or risk seeking. Risk aversion
is often found when foragers attempt to cope with signifi-
cant unpredictability in environmental parameters and
high-risk loads (i.e., when confronted with a large num-
ber of hazards or many decisions about resource procure-
ment and mobility that have high potential variance in
outcomes). Risk aversion is generally equated with risk
minimization. Risk seeking may occur in situations of ex-
treme food shortages or in situations in which individuals
are either extremely poor or at the edge of a border of a
social status (Kuznar 1992: 11).
Finally, thresholds must be considered. As Smith and
Boyd (1990: 172) describe it, a threshold in terms of food
is a certain minimum that is required, such as a survival
minimum or a desired regularity of caloric intake on a daily
basis. In some cases, an actor may in fact be risk seeking
until the threshold value is achieved and depending on
utility preferences, may then become either risk neutral
or risk sensitive. Obviously, thresholds are likely to be com-
mon in situations of low predictability or productivity.
Behavioral Responses to High-Mountain Ecology
High-mountain environments are generally characterized
by heterogeneity, extremeness, low productivity, low pre-
dictability, and relatively high instability and fragility.
These ecological features are best seen as a set of con-
straints within which human populations must operate. In
one sense, they are a set of "problems" that foraging
peoples must "solve," and a considerable body of cultural
ecological research over the past 30 years shows the vari-
ety of ways in which such problems have been solved by
ethnographically known foragers. I am here concerned
with broad predictions about the nature and structure of
settlement and subsistence systems, the relative degree of
residential mobility, the cyclical pattern or seasonality of
residential moves, the dispersal and aggregation of the
coresidential group, and the structure of trade, exchange,
or avoidance relationships with nearby groups of foraging
peoples occupying other habitats. More detailed predic-
tions about diet choice and resource ranking depend upon
specific resource constellations and will be considered later.
The degree and seasonality of residential mobility are
directly affected by extremeness, particularly that associ-
ated with dramatic seasonality. In temperate mountains,
high-elevation regions are not habitable due to extremely
cold temperatures and the hazards ofheavy snowfall, which
can prevent any degree of mobility for much of the win-
ter. Typically, foraging peoples use high mountains exten-
sively during a relatively short period of time, roughly from
late spring until early fall, either on a residential or logis-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
tical basis. For example, the Nez Perce of the Bitterroot
Mountains of Idaho used these middle mountains (eleva-
tions ca. 300-2,500 m) with a combination of logistical
and residential mobility, occupying a low-elevation base
camp during the winter months and moving residential
bases further up into the mountains during the early spring
through late summer. The highest elevations (ca. 2,000-
2,500 m) were exploited logistically during the late sum-
mer months, when berries and other plants ripened and
game animals were the most desirable in terms of their fat
content and hide quality (Marshall 1977). A similar pat-
tern of combined residential and logistical mobility can
be seen in many northern California foraging peoples and
in the prehorse Ute and Arapaho, who moved into the
Colorado Front Range during the short summer season
from low-elevation winter base camps situated in the foot-
hills further to the east (Benedict 1992).
Counteracting this general trend toward logistical mo-
bility are low productivity, low predictability, instability,
and fragility. In general, low productivity tends to pro-
mote relatively frequent residential mobility, since re-
sources in any single location may not be ofsufficient quan-
tity to permit a group to utilize them for a significant length
of time. This problem is exacerbated by low predictability
and instability, which would make it difficult to determine
whether any set of known resource patches were in fact
capable of being utilized at a given time. In effect, low
predictability and instability increase the probability of
failing to achieve a sufficient level of caloric returns. For-
agers tend to decrease the amount of mobility through
information sharing, which helps to identify patches that
are producing, and through group dispersal, which keeps
the size of the group likely to exploit them to a minimum.
It should also be clear that high-mountain environments
are risky in terms of hazards as well as failures to reach
threshold values of caloric needs. There are a number of
behavioral responses to risk. Storage and intergroup shar-
ing are among the most important of these. Storage is a
technological innovation designed to avoid caloric short-
falls or even out variance in caloric returns, thereby ame-
liorating subsistence risk. Storage is particularly impor-
tant in highly seasonal environments in which resources
are essentially unavailable during certain seasons or are
difficult to obtain due to hazard or environmental con-
straint, but it is clear that storage has considerable value as
a risk-avoidance or risk-reduction device. Likewise, the
development ofintergroup exchange relationships has been
viewed as a means of risk sharing or buffering, in which
the effects of high variance in outcomes or shortfalls in
19
caloric returns are spread across a larger social entity.
Risk and hazard in high-mountain environments are
vertically stratified, meaning that while there may be a se-
rious shortfall of calories or some other resource problem
experienced by populations in one environmental zone,
the same situation is unlikely to be faced simultaneously
by groups in other zones. In effect, this is a situation of
both between-environment and within-environment het-
erogeneity. The stratification of risk is one of the major
constraints on the subsistence systems of modern high-
elevation agro-pastoralists, and it is obvious that the ways
in which groups attempt to control or gain access to pro-
duction in other environmental zones are attempts to mini-
mize the effects of risk. Smith and Boyd (1990) have de-
veloped a model of the conditions under which foraging
peoples will develop intergroup exchange systems, become
territorial, rely upon storage, or permit entry into territo-
ries that is particularly relevant to montane foragers.
Smith and Boyd assume that sharing is primarily a risk-
reduction adaptation and that it is unlikely to have origi-
nated as a group-level adaptive response. To bolster these
assumptions, they use the classic prisoner's dilemma model
to demonstrate that it is never in the best interests of an
individual to share, thus placing the model firmly in the
behaviorist camp (Smith and Boyd 1990: 179). They pos-
tulate that conditions conducive to the development of
sharing between local groups include the degree of risk
experience and risk preferences of each actor and the tem-
poral correlation in resource income between actors. Given
increasing asynchronicity in these two features between
two local groups, sharing would be desirable as long as the
transportation costs of moving the shared or traded re-
sources are not excessive (Smith and Boyd 1990). In high-
mountain systems and their adjacent lowlands, it is obvi-
ous that this kind of asynchronicity is a major structural
feature of the environment.
There are alternatives to exchange for risk reduction,
including local storage and the movement of people
through either dispersion or residential mobility into dif-
ferent areas. The degree to which either of these basic
strategies is employed as an alternative to exchange de-
pends on the availability of storable products, the costs of
their production, the availability of other areas in which
to move, and the costs of these residential moves as com-
pared to the other alternatives. However, it is clear that
one of the costs of movement is whether surrounding
groups will deny or permit access to their territories. As
Smith and Boyd (1990) note, reciprocal access to territory
seems to run contrary to the predictions of the prisoner's
20 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
dilemma model, and they spend some effort developing a
set of conditions under which either mutual territoriality
or mutual access to territory will develop.
They argue that mutual territoriality between local
groups is beneficial to both groups when payoffs are al-
ways monotonic (i.e., having more of a resource is always
better than having less, which is an essentially risk-neutral
strategy), the costs of territorial defense are less than those
associated with mutual access, and the probability that one's
neighbor's area experiences a resource failure is not too
high. In contrast, mutual access is beneficial under a dif-
ferent set of conditions, including a risk-adverse strategy
with no territorial defense costs, a risk-neutral strategy with
some territorial defense costs, and reduced competition,
thus lowered costs, when mutual access is permitted (Smith
and Boyd 1990: 187).
Each of these strategies-exchange, mutual access, and
storage-is potentially stable, and which (or which com-
bination) emerges or is employed as a risk-reduction strat-
egy depends primarily upon the costs and benefits of each
as well as an individual's (or group's) preferences as to risk.
Again, while detailed predictions about actual strategies
employed are dependent upon the kinds of resources
present in an environment, it is nevertheless possible to
assess the degree to which high-mountain environments
are likely to witness any particular strategy. Conditions
which increase territorial defense costs are those typically
observed in high-mountain environments and include high
uncertainty or low predictability in both spatial and tem-
poral terms, in addition to environmental heterogeneity
(Dyson-Huson and Smith 1978). In general, territorial
exclusion is unlikely to appear frequently in high-moun-
tain systems. Conditions that work against either mutual
access or exchange are high transportation or mobility
costs. That is, the greater the distance an exchanged com-
modity must be moved or that a group must move across
increases the costs ofexchange or mutual access, and move-
ment and transport costs in high-mountain environments
are typically high. Another factor to be considered regard-
ing mutual access is the costs of obtaining information
about resource availability and location in a different ter-
ritory. Given any significant degree of asynchronicity or
heterogeneity between adjacent environmental zones, it
appears that the costs of obtaining information would be
relatively high, since it is possible that the "owners" of the
adjacent territory may not be spatially proximate. This
aspect of high mountains would also tend to increase the
costs of group dispersion. Finally, local storage would ap-
pear to be difficult to achieve in many high-mountain en-
vironments due to the generally low productivity of the
environments and the relative paucity ofstorable resources,
aside from meat, in many areas. Movement costs associ-
ated with either the transport of storable resources to a
base camp or the movement of the coresidential group to
the locus of the storable resource must also be factored
into the overall costs of storage.
Spielmann (1986) has developed a similar model de-
signed to explain different forms of exchange and recipro-
cal territorial access between egalitarian societies. She de-
fines two distinct strategies-buffering and mutualism.
Buffering is a subsistence strategy that seeks to ameliorate
subsistence risk through either food exchange or recipro-
cal access to territory and generally occurs in environmen-
tal settings in which resource availability, predictability,
and abundance are stochastic. Whether exchange or dis-
persal as a means to counteract subsistence risk is employed
depends upon the abundance of the resources and the
amount of prior investment made by the donor popula-
tion. Under conditions of abundance and no investment,
reciprocal access is more probable, whereas in conditions
of scarcity and some prior investment, exchange and shar-
ing are more probable. In contrast, mutualism tends to
occur under conditions of reliable and abundant resource
availability, but dispersal and exchange continue to be sub-
sistence strategy options. Dispersal occurs when resources
are predictable and abundant and when no prior invest-
ment in their harvest has been made, whereas exchange
occurs when resources are reliable and abundant and when
some prior investment has been made in terms of harvest-
ing or processing.
Spielmann's model predicts that in high-mountain en-
vironments, buffering strategies would be the most likely
to appear since these environments are characterized by
low productivity (therefore low surplus production) and
high unpredictability. Whether dispersal, mutual access,
or exchange is employed, however, will depend upon the
relative costs of mobility and transport. In general, the
expectations of this model are congruent with those pre-
dicted in the Smith and Boyd model.
Constraints on Mobility and Behavioral Responses
High-mountain environments have very significant costs
for foot-mobile peoples. Using least-cost principles as a
guide, humans should respond to these constraints in a
number of ways.
1. Levels of residential mobility should be relatively low,
but just how low, of course, depends on the abundance
and predictability of major resources as well as their spa-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
tial distribution. Since transportation costs in high-moun-
tain regions are substantial, foragers will remain at their
residential bases as long as the costs of daily foraging do
not exceed their returns, all other factors remaining equal
(Kelly 1992: 47). A low frequency of residential mobility
would be of greatest significance to older individuals as
well as to women responsible for carrying children. Low
residential mobility would help to decrease daily caloric
requirements, which are already substantial at high alti-
tude given the combination ofhypoxia and cold stress, and
this decrease would help to minimize energy expended in
subsistence-related activities.
2. Distances involved in residential moves when they
are made will be relatively short, and again, actual dis-
tances covered will be dictated by resource combinations
at the destination and the availability of suitable locations
for short-term camping en route. This tendency for short
residential moves could create more archaeological sites
on the landscape but would be counteracted by the rela-
tive paucity of suitable camp sites in high-mountain envi-
ronments. If repeatedly reoccupied, short-term residen-
tial camps could come to resemble residential camps oc-
cupied for longer periods of time.
3. There should be increased emphasis on logistical mo-
bility, especially hunting parties composed of males. The
scale of logistical mobility will be determined not so much
by travel costs per se but instead in terms of resource den-
sities and the costs of transport of acquired resources back
to residential camps.
4. Like the situation for residential camps, the distances
between logistical moves should be relatively short. This
is again contingent on the availability of suitable camping
locations. Given that logistical parties are composed of
presumably fit males, distances between logistical camps
may not be as constrained by energy expenditure as are
the distances of residential moves.
5. Both long-term residential bases and logistical camps
will be sited "optimally" on the landscape, meaning that
they will be placed in locations at which travel times to the
most important resource patches are minimized. While
this principle is often characterized in terms of ecotones,
it is clear instead that patch size and associated resource
density should be discussed. The approach taken here is
similar to that suggested by Jochim (1976) and to his use
of a simple gravity model to predict site location and re-
source utilization. The difference betweenJochim's model
and that proposed here is my explicit consideration oftravel
times in irregular terrain. The degree to which sites can
be placed optimally on the landscape is constrained by ter-
21
rain difficulties and shifting constellations of resource avail-
ability and density.
6. The optimal siting of long-term residential bases
should correlate with a reduced foraging radius. The for-
aging radius is the area surrounding the site which is ex-
ploited on a daily basis for subsistence requirements,
firewood, and other resources, and the distance covered is
assumed to be equivalent to a day's round-trip from the
residential base to the location of the resources. A 10-Ian
foraging radius is frequently assumed (Thomas 1983a), but
this radius will vary depending on camp placement, re-
source requirements, and, especially in high mountains,
travel costs. The individuals benefiting from this minimi-
zation of the foraging radius are females, who are typi-
cally burdened by children and who frequently have higher
energy requirements due to pregnancy and lactation. Keep-
ing travel costs as low as possible under these circumstances
increases the size of the load that each person can return
to the residential base and again decreases the total amount
ofcalories required by these individuals, thus keeping both
individual and group energy requirements and associated
costs as low as possible.
7. Caching should be important because it can help to
minimize transport costs by allowing hunting parties to
temporarily store animal kills and bulk resources. The
degree to which this can be realized depends on the type
of resource and the seasonality of the kill.
8. Resource procurement should be "embedded" in the
subsistence round, meaning that relatively few special, lo-
gistical trips for lithics or other resources should be made.
9. There should be a high degree of field processing of
animal kills and lithic resources. This means that faunal
assemblages at kill and butchery sites will be dominated
by discarded low-utility parts, whereas at residential bases,
faunal assemblages should typically contain a majority of
high- or moderate-utility parts. The initial shaping of
bifaces should take place at quarries or outcrops. There
should be relatively few cores or larger roughouts at resi-
dential bases, and the reduction by-products present at
these locations should be dominated by the final stages of
lithic reduction.
10. From an adaptationist perspective, the desire to re-
duce high mobility costs may lead to the development of a
transport capacity if the costs of building and maintaining
residential bases at a number of alternative locations are
also prohibitive. Binford (1991a) has argued that in many
high-latitude environments in which substantial and pro-
tective housing is necessary for survival during the extreme
winter months, the development of technologies such as
22 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
sled and dog transport may have appeared relatively early
in prehistoric times.
11. Again from an adaptationist perspective, the devel-
opment of balanced reciprocity in which food resources
are exchanged between different groups living in distinct
ecological zones can also be expected as a means of reduc-
ing the frequency of residential moves. This implies that
exchange under a buffering strategy is a likely response to
both subsistence risk and high mobility costs.
Behavioral Responses to Constraints on Human Biology
From a behaviorist, short-term perspective, the most sig-
nificant constraint on human biology offered by high-
mountain environments is cold, which is exacerbated by
chronic hypoxia. Humans resident at high altitude must
therefore possess effective cultural adaptations to reduce
the effects of cold stress. These include at a minimum the
use of fire, the construction of effective clothing and shel-
ter, and other cultural responses to cold stress, such as the
pattern of retiring at dusk commonly observed in modern
Andean populations, the placement of activity areas and
habitations in sheltered areas that also receive sufficient
sunlight, and a general minimization of exposure to cold
and wind whenever possible. These responses are of even
greater importance in temperate mountains, in which tem-
perature and exposure extremes are greater than those in
tropical mountains.
Fire, clothing, and shelter reduce the shivering response
in humans, which is a normal response to incipient hypo-
thermia (Ward, Milledge, and West 1989: 358-359). Hy-
pothermia is a major problem at high altitude and in ex-
treme cases can lead to frostbite and death. In a milder
form it increases heat loss, which in turn places greater
demands on the body to produce more heat. While the
body can respond for a short time to these demands, the
shivering response is an ineffective heat engine, and in the
long run hypothermia places greater caloric demands on
the individual. Obviously, cultural adaptations significantly
ameliorate problems associated with hypothermia.
The maintenance of a steady intake of calories is also
important. High-mountain environments place greater
caloric demands on individuals, and any significant varia-
tion in intake can lead to a new set of problems, the most
important being increased levels of fatigue and potential
exhaustion. Fatigue results from attempting to do either
too much work for a given level of fitness in an individual
or attempting to perform strenuous activities without suf-
ficient energy reserves, and it is extremely dangerous at
high elevations (Ward, Milledge, and West 1989: 359-360).
Chronic caloric shortfalls necessarily lead to increased cold
stress and hypothermia even with suitable clothing, and
these problems are exacerbated when individuals attempt
to perform work under these circumstances, which can
quickly degenerate into a classic negative feedback state.
The maintenance of a sufficient daily intake of calories,
then, permits individuals to accomplish their daily activity
round with a minimal threat of fatigue or exhaustion.
Within the constraint of meeting minimum daily ca-
loric requirements and maintaining an adequate flow of
calories, high-mountain peoples will seek to minimize their
work effort. While this is consistent with the desire to
minimize mobility costs, it also extends into patterns of
work effort and techniques. For instance, Kuznar (1995)
has shown that modern goat pastoralists in the Rio Asana
valley attempt to limit the range of their daily moves in
terms of both vertical and horizontal distances. During
the austral winter of 1991, the daily distance of moves by
pastoralists up and down the valley ranged from 2 to 4 Ian,
while the daily distance traveled up and down mountain
slopes ranged from 200 to 400 m. Furthermore, these
pastoralists moved their seasonal residential camps when
these daily distances were exceeded, resulting in a series
of small residential camps scattered up and down the val-
ley and spaced from 2 to 4 Ian apart.
Models ofMontane Foraging
Three assumptions form the basis of the general model of
montane foraging. First, given the constraints of the high-
mountain environment, montane foragers will tend to be
risk adverse in most of their subsistence decisions. This
assumption is based upon a corollary assumption: forag-
ers will seek to minimize their risks of energetic shortfalls.
Using the terminology developed in this book, montane
foragers will seek to maximize utility with respect to risk.
They will make decisions to select resource payoffs that
will supply them with sufficient calories to meet their daily
subsistence requirements and to keep them sufficiently
stocked to maintain regular caloric intake. Second, since
sufficient caloric intake is perhaps the greatest subsistence
problem, it can also be assumed that montane foragers will
demonstrate a threshold function with regard to obtain-
ing resources and may actually be risk seeking until this
threshold value is obtained. This may then lead to some
"nonrational" behaviors that may violate aspects of the
model. They may also be risk seeking under circumstances
of extreme caloric shortfalls due to persistent environmen-
tal failures. Finally, we can expect a minimization of effort
in terms of work loads but substantially constrained by
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
the first two assumptions. That is, montane foragers will
seek to minimize mobility cost strategies as long as they
are able to meet their caloric requirements under these
strategies. If they cannot, they will incur higher mobility
costs than would be expected.
The model utilized in this analysis is a variant of the
classic central place foraging model developed by Orians
and Pearson (1979) and described at length by Stephens
and Krebs (1986: 53-60) and Bettinger (1991: 93-97). A
central place foraging based model of montane foraging
appears particularly well suited to high-mountain environ-
ments given its emphasis on travel costs and constraints
on foraging efficiency. While the data available from the
archaeological record do not permit the development of a
quantitative model, using the model in a qualitative sense,
predictions can be made about three issues: diet breadth
and selectivity, mobility, and exchange.
Diet Breadth and Selectivity Unlike many of the better
known models of optimal foraging, central place foraging
models contain a spatial dimension that makes them very
useful in the analysis of diet breadth and selectivity, since
they place an emphasis upon travel times and costs. The
central place foraging model, based upon rate-maximiz-
ing principles, assumes that the forager in question leaves
from a fixed location, travels to a distant resource patch,
obtains prey, and then returns it to the fixed location (the
central place). The basic model also assumes the forager
will obtain a single prey item and is thus called the single-
prey loader model.
Fundamentally, the central place foraging model pre-
dicts diet selectivity and resource ranking as a function of
travel time, handling costs, and package (energy) size. As
Bettinger (1991: 96) points out, in the simple diet breadth
model, resource ranking is based upon the ratio of energy
obtained and handling (processing) costs, whereas in the
central place foraging model, ranking is based upon the
ratio of energy and travel and handling times. The funda-
mental observation of the central place foraging model is
that size selectivity increases with distance-i.e., given
roughly equivalent handling times, it is always more profit-
able for the forager further from the central place to choose
larger prey sizes. Further, a rate-maximizing forager should
be unselective with respect to prey selected below a criti-
cal travel time, again with the proviso that handling times
between possible prey types are essentially equivalent
(Stephens and Krebs 1986: 59).
An implication of this model is that resource rankings
and selectivity are variable and obviously distance related.
23
For example, given two different species with similar han-
dling times, the forager will be unselective (i.e., will choose
either of the two species close to the central place when
encountered). However, given different energy ratios (i.e.,
different handling times, assuming Species 1 has a smaller
handling time), a forager will select Species 1 close to the
central place, will be unselective (i.e., will choose either
when encountered) at intermediate distances, and will se-
lect Species 2 when patches are far away. Figure 1.4 shows
this graphically. Another way to state this is that for very
long travel times, handling time is essentially insignificant,
and the forager should always seek the largest prey avail-
able given sufficient transport capacity (or caching abil-
ity). It is important to emphasize that when discussing size,
what is really important is not necessarily actual physical
size but the energy return expected for the package en-
countered, processed, and transported back to the central
place. Thought of in this way, it is clear that packages so
described could include plant as well as animal species.
Finally, the model provides some basis for predicting
which species in which patches should be exploited (fig.
1.5; see also Bettinger 1991: 97). Given three patches with
different travel times to each, figure 1.5 shows the condi-
tions under which a species of a given size should be taken.
Species 1 should be taken only from patch II. Further-
more, if a prey species is encountered before reaching the
patch, whether it is taken at that exact moment depends
TRAVEL FORAG I NG --+
TIME
Fig. 1.4. The relationship between travel time and prey
size under a central place foraging model (after Bettinger
1991: fig. 4.6).
24 High-Mountain Environments as a Human Habitat
III
Fig. 1.5. The effects of travel time on patch choice (after
Bettinger 1991: fig. 4.7).
on whether the encountered prey species exceeds the ra-
tio of its size to the travel time from the central place rela-
tive to rates of energetic intake expected for traveling and
foraging within patch II.
Transportation costs of the encountered and processed
prey also figure importantly in central place foraging mod-
els. Here, the chief prediction is that increasing average
distance from the central place should be matched by in-
creased package (or load) size (Stephens and Krebs 1986:
60). The obvious constraint on this is that foragers cannot
return a package physically larger than they are capable of
carrying. In human terms, this means that at great dis-
tances from the central place, foragers should practice a
"gourmet" utility strategy regarding animals (i.e., harvest-
ing only high-utility parts). This strategy insures that pack-
age size and resultant energy return can be maximized
while simultaneously keeping the physical size of the pack-
age as small as possible. This prediction is consistent with
that made earlier regarding the minimization of work ef-
fort in animal butchery.
One of the limitations of this model, as with all of the
relatively simple optimization models of diet breadth and
choice, is that it does not consider the effects ofvariability
in payoffs or some other resource shortfall. For this rea-
son, there is the additional assumption that foragers in high
mountains do in fact have a threshold level of caloric re-
turns. While this assumption cannot easily be integrated
into the central place foraging model in a formal manner,
some of the potential violations of the model's predictions
may well be due to this assumption and possible risk seek-
ing by foragers when confronted with potentially serious
resource shortfalls or their desire for fatty foods. How-
ever, since Winterhalder and others have demonstrated,
at least from a theoretical perspective, that rate-maximiz-
ing foragers (such as those represented in the central place
foraging model) make decisions much like risk minimiz-
ers, a formal concern with payoff variability may not al-
ways be necessary.
While the central place foraging model can be applied
in any environmental setting, its value to foraging within
high-mountain environments is obvious since it makes
predictions about species likely to be exploited based at
least in part on travel times. To utilize this model requires
a list of the species likely to be exploited, the relative ener-
getic value of the package obtained from each species, the
patches in which they reside, some estimate of handling
time (for plants, collection times, and for animals, butch-
ery time), and the estimated travel times to each patch.
Mobility Based upon the assumption of the minimiza-
tion of work effort as well as the resource characteristics
of high-mountain environments, I expect montane forag-
ers to practice a modified logistical mobility strategy. In
temperate mountain environments, high-elevation land use
will be limited to the late spring through early fall months
since temperature and climate are too extreme for perma-
nent habitation. Foragers will move to lower elevation base
camps during the winter. High-elevation land use during
the late spring through early fall will be characterized by
some residential mobility as foraging groups move into
the highlands to exploit newly available resources. The
degree of residential mobility will depend on specific re-
source configurations, while the size of the foraging group
and whether it disperses into smaller units depend on re-
source density, abundance, and distribution.
The Nez Perce, while a middle-mountain group, are
instructive here. They dispersed from low-elevation base
camps and moved into three different short-term residen-
tial bases situated at ever-higher elevations: a late spring,
summer, and late summer camp. In effect, these groups
followed the vertical, seasonal ripening ofmajor plant spe-
cies and the animals that exploited them. Logistical par-
ties of males would move out from these short-term resi-
dential bases to hunt large game like mule deer and elk.
Women would collect berries, whitebark pine nuts, and
other plant species within the foraging radius (Marshall
1977; Munger 1992). These dispersed residential groups
would only enter the highest elevations in the late sum-
mer or very early fall when animal species were beginning
to attain prime condition in terms of fat content and coat
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
quality. Residence at these high-elevation camps was rela-
tively short, generally ranging from two to eight days
(Marshall 1977).
The pattern of mobility will be somewhat different in
tropical mountain environments in which the seasonal
pulse is considerably less dramatic and the highest eleva-
tions are often habitable year-round. Under these circum-
stances, the number ofresidential moves will be determined
more by resource densities and increases in work effort
than by significant changes in resource availability due to
seasonal change alone.
Exchange Some risk amelioration or buffering strategy
is necessary in every high-mountain environment utilized
by foraging peoples. Which of these is developed depends
on a number of factors, including resource abundance and
availability, the spatial distribution of resources, and costs
of resource procurement and processing. Under condi-
tions of low population density and low productivity, mu-
25
tual access to territory is the most likely strategy as long as
movement costs are relatively low. As population sizes and
densities increase, exchange becomes more likely even
though productivity may remain relatively low. This can
be attributed to the increased costs of residential mobility
of larger groups and the decreased benefits to recipient
groups as larger groups utilize their territories. Higher
social costs are also likely due to increased conflict or avoid-
ance ofit (Brown 1985). Ethnographically recognized sys-
tems such as verticality or Alpwirtschaft emerge under these
conditions and are characterized by the formal exchange
of subsistence resources based upon balanced reciprocity.
The intensification of resource production to support this
pattern of exchange is also probable. In many ways, stor-
age provides a superior means of decreasing residential
mobility and minimizing work effort if the costs of pro-
duction are relatively low and there are sufficient quanti-
ties of storable species.
The South-Central Andes and the
Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat

It is a commonplace to describe the south-central Andes

as a vertical environment, one in which very different eco-
logical formations are juxtaposed in a minimum of geo-
graphical space. In many of the valley systems of the west-
ern flanks of the Andes in this region, the straight line
distance from the warm, arid Pacific littoral to the cold,
hypoxic high puna at an elevation of 4,500 m is less than
100 km and frequently no more than 125 to 150 km using
traditional trails along the river valleys and major tribu-
tary streams. "While this vertical zonation has profoundly
affected the course of human history in this region, it is
important to remember that this extreme ecological vari-
ability is dominated by two major ecological "types": arid
lands and high mountains. Moreover, in the south-central
Andes, these two ecological types can also be described as
extremes. The Atacama Desert, which extends into south-
ern Peru, has been described as one of the driest deserts in
the world, while the Andes are well known for their mas-
siveness, ruggedness, and extreme height (Gomez and
Little 1981: 115-116). It is the interaction of the climatic
and geomorphologic features of these two ecologies that
has largely created the structure of the human occupation
of the region and channeled its changes through time.

~
eJuiuy
Regional Ecology and Environmental Zonation CIRCUMPUNENA /
//e50Ito

The south-central Andes are found in Peru, Bolivia, Chile,

and Argentina and can be divided into five major subre-
gions: the valles occidentales, the Titicaca basin, the alti- o
I
N

I ( ARGENT I NA
I
/

plano meridional, the circumpuneiia, and the val/una (fig. 2.1).

This discussion is concerned with only two of these sub- Fig. 2.1. Major regions of the south-central Andes.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
regions: the valles occidentales and the Titicaca basin.
Despite differences created by topography and climate,
both of these subregions can be characterized by three
primary features: ecological zones that vary with changes
in altitude, creating a vertical banding of habitats from
low elevation to high; pervasive aridity leading to low pri-
mary plant productivity and the clustering of resources
around sources of permanent water; and high variance and
unpredictability in the availability of resources in most
environmental zones (Aldenderfer 1989a: 120).
Climate and ecology in the south-central Andes are
strongly affected by the geological massiveness and high
altitude of the Andes, the interplay between latitude and
altitude, the presence of the Humboldt current, and glo-
bal positioning factors of the major air masses of the South-
ern Hemisphere and their seasonal variation in location
(Gomez and Little 1981: 123-124; Winterhalder and Tho-
mas 1978: 12). The Andes, running along the western
margin of the South American continent, split the major
air masses that dominate this portion of the Southern
Hemisphere. As a consequence, there is a marked asym-
metry of rainfall frequency and quantity moving from west
to east across the continent, with extreme aridity in the
valles occidentales but substantial rainfall along the east-
ern slopes of the Andes. In effect, the Andean cordillera
blocks all but the most powerful storms from moving east
to west across the puna into the valles occidentales. Those
fronts that cross the cordilleras quickly increase their ca-
pacity to hold moisture as they move into the valles
occidentales due to increasing ground temperature and
barometric pressure, thus creating a situation in which
rainfall becomes increasingly improbable (Winterhalder
and Thomas 1978: 9). The aridity ofthe valles occidentales
is then exacerbated by the presence of the Humboldt cur-
rent, which has the effect of further cooling the already
cool-dry Pacific high pressure air mass as it moves east-
ward. Temperatures are stabilized, moisture is decreased,
and the possibili ty of rainfall is essentially eliminated
(Gomez and Little 1981: 124).
Rainfall periodicity is seasonal and is dominated by the
interaction ofthe north-south movement of the intertropi-
cal convergence zone (ITCZ), a low-pressure trough lo-
cated near the equator; high- and low-pressure cells in both
the Atlantic and Pacific; and the westerly trade winds
(Gomez and Little 1981: 123). During the months of
November through March (the austral summer), the
ITCZ, trade winds, and major pressure cells shift to the
south, bringing moisture-laden air from the equatorial
region into the center of the South American continent
27
and into the south-central Andean highlands. The ITCZ
returns to the north from May through July.
Although rainfall is a seasonal phenomenon, it is nev-
ertheless highly variable in quantity from year to year.
Droughts, sometimes lasting from three to five years, are
common in the highlands, and there is significant irregu-
larity in the monthly distribution of rainfall as well, espe-
cially in the critical transitional months of September
through November (Winterhalder and Thomas 1978: 13).
Kuznar (1990: 89-90) reports that the coefficient of varia-
tion (CV) of the mean annual precipitation at a number of
locations in the sierra of the Osmore basin ranges from a
minimum of 50 to over 90. Both of these are extreme and
indicate that precipitation periodicity even in this seasonal
environment is highly variable.
Temperature variation in the valles occidentales and
Titicaca basin is a complex phenomenon and is not strictly
correlated with increasing altitude. Temperature gradients
(also known as the lapse rate) are very steep in the south-
central Andes. During the austral winter, for every 1,000
m in rise, the lapse rate is 10.5 C, while during the austral
summer, the lapse rate increases to 12.5 C for every 1,000
m in rise (Little and Hanna 1978). However, since the re-
gion lies within tropical latitudes, there are not substan-
tial seasonal differences in temperature, especially in the
highlands. Mean daily maximum temperature is nearly
constant year-round on the puna, while mean daily mini-
mum temperature varies slightly more, being warmer in
the austral summer and cooler in the austral winter
(Winterhalder and Thomas 1978: 20). Diurnal tempera-
ture differences are far more extreme. During the dry sea-
son (the austral winter), for example, the average daily tem-
perature range in the wet puna is 15 C, increasing up to
20 C in the dry puna (Gomez and Little 1981: 134-135).
Winterhalder and Thomas (1978: 21) indicate that at
Chuquibamaba (3,910 m) on the wet puna, diurnal tem-
perature variation as measured over the years 1931-1972
exceeded 20 C. The aridity of the environment tends to
exacerbate the degree of these differences.
One result of diurnal temperature variation, especially
during the austral winter, is a high frequency of night frosts
in the highlands (Winterhalder and Thomas 1978: 21-22).
In the dry puna, for example, frost occurs almost nightly
during the austral winter (Gomez and Little 1981: 135).
These frosts can be especially damaging in the transitional
months important to plant growth just prior to the begin-
ning of the wet austral summer, reducing forage produc-
tivity (Kuznar 1990: 80).
A number of researchers, beginning with the botanist
28 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat
Weberbauer (1945), have described the ecological struc-
ture of the valles occidentales and the Titicaca basin
through the use of the concept of vertical zonation of
lifezones, which is based upon observed variability in tem-
perature, rainfall seasonality, abundance, and frequency,
and the interaction of these factors with altitude and lati-
tude (Brush 1982; Cabrera 1968; DOllfus 1981; Gomez
and Little 1981; Tosi 1960; Troll 1968; Winterhalder and
Thomas 1978). Because of the steep and rapid rise in el-
evation and attendant changes in temperature gradients,
rainfall quantity and frequency, partial pressure of oxy-
gen, and degree of insolation, there are rapid and signifi-
cant changes in the structure of plant communities, re-
source availability, and overall primary productivity. While
there are a number of systems and terms used to describe
these juxtaposed zones, most authors agree that there are
four basic environmental zones in the valles occidentales
and Titicaca basin subregions: the fertile coast and littoral,
low transverse valleys and basins, high transverse valleys
and basins (the sierra), and puna (fig. 2.2). The sierra can
be divided into two parts, the lower high sierra (roughly
PERU
Pacific Ocean
D Coastal Duert
~
,~.:;l
Low Sierra
I?ZI HiQh Sierra
Salt
Dry
Wet Puna
,*" Lomas
C?D Solares
Fig. 2.2. Major environmental zones in the south-central
Andes.
2,500-3,400 m in elevation) and the upper high sierra
(3,400-3,800 m). Likewise, most authors recognize three
different types of puna: wet, dry, and suni, with differences
between them based primarily upon the amount of rain-
fall received during the austral summer.
The two most attractive zones in terms of primary pro-
ductivity are the fertile coast and the puna, particularly
the wet puna and the suni, while the least attractive are the
low transverse valleys and the sierra. However, each has
significant limitations. The fertile coast, for example, is a
highly water-limited environment. While marine produc-
tivity is very high, the value of this potential resource base
is tempered by the overall lack of potable water. The spa-
tial distribution of water availability-water is found only
at a small number of springs and at river mouths-prob-
ably served as a limiting factor on mobility and resource
utilization. Similarly, while overall predictability is high
and seasonality of resource availability is low when com-
pared to the other zones, this predictability is based on
the high constancy of the environment. That is, the con-
stant lack of rainfall on the fertile coast is highly predict-
able (Kuznar 1990: 92).
In contrast, the puna is a comparatively water-rich en-
vironment. Water availability has strongly linear features,
and there are many more permanent point sources of wa-
ter such as lakes, bofedales (places on the landscape where
groundwater seeps to the surface), and ponds. Further-
more, rainfall frequency and abundance are far greater than
on the littoral. Primary productivity, then, is comparable
to the marine environment. However, the puna is a strongly
seasonal environment, especially in terms of rainfall fre-
quency and amount, and this creates a seasonal pattern of
plant resource abundance and availability. However, year-
to-year variability and irregularity in occurrence are high,
and thus overall predictability is low. These factors, com-
bined with high probabilities of frost and extremely low
nighttime temperatures, particularly in the austral winter,
make the puna a significantly more uncertain environment
than the fertile coast.
The low transverse valleys are similar to the littoral in
terms of their predictability, but their productivity is very
low. The major problem with the low transverse valley
environments is that except for the immediate river bot-
toms, there are almost no other sources of water present
in them. Springs are exceptionally rare, and none of the
tributary streams carry water, even at the height of the
highland rainy season. From the perspective of foraging
peoples, the low transverse valleys are considered an ex-
tremely limited environment.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
The sierra is a transitional environment between the
aridity of lower elevations and the temperature extremes
of the puna. While it has the lowest overall predictability
of the major environmental zones, rainfall abundance, and
therefore overall productivity, is substantially greater than
in the low transverse valleys. The tributary streams in the
highlands are permanent, although they may cease to flow
during extended droughts. Springs and seeps are abun-
dant, and small bofedales, important resource patches for
both animals and humans, are found at elevations above
3,200 m. While frost and low temperatures are common
in the austral winter, they are not as prolonged nor as se-
vere as on the puna. Despite its low predictability, then,
the sierra has considerable potential for foraging peoples.
High-Sierra and Puna Rim Environments
of the Osmore Basin: The Rio Asana
Definitions
The Osmore, or Moquegua, drainage is one of the major
river valleys of the valles occidentales in the south-central
Andes (fig. 2.3). Above the modern city of Moquegua, the
river is composed of four major streams, one of which is
the Rio Tumilaca/Coscori/Asana. This branch ofthe river,
like all in the Andes, is locally named, and the two sections
most relevant to this study are the Rio Coscori (ca. 2,200-
3,400 m in elevation) and the Rio Asana (ca. 3,400 m to its
primary source at over 4,800 m). The Asana (I will use this
name throughout the remainder of the text) has its origins
in the runoff of seasonal precipitation from the pampas of
the margin of the high puna in this region, including the
Pampa Tinajones and the Apacheta Limani, in addition to
the snowmelt from the nearby peaks of the western cor-
dillera of the Andes.
The Rio Asana has two major tributary streams, the
Capillune and the Charaque. These streams have a gener-
ally low discharge, and both may become dry during se-
vere drought. Below 3,500 m, there are a large number of
permanently dry quebradas that drain runofffrom seasonal
precipitation, while above this elevation, the largest
quebradas, such as the Altarani, Millune, Quisuta, and
Panturane, have water year-round since they are fed ei-
ther by runoff or snowmelt. None of these tributaries are
particularly large; they average 1.5 m in width and range
from 20 to 50 em in depth.
The Rio Asana courses through two regional-scale en-
vironmental zones: the high sierra and puna. As Kuznar
(1990) points out, based on precipitation and temperature
29
changes that are in great part altitudinally influenced, it is
possible to divide the high sierra into two zones of differ-
ent ecological potential: the lower high sierra (ca. 2,500-
3,400 m) and the upper high sierra (3,400-3,800 m). Pre-
cipitation differences are key: the lower high sierra aver-
ages just over 40 mm/year (as measured at Coscori, 2,860
m), while in the upper high sierra, average precipitation is
just over 252 mm/year (as measured at Quellaveco, 3,550
m; see Kuznar 1990: table 3). While neither amount is
substantial, the difference it represents locally can be sig-
nificant; the precipitation supports considerably different
community ecologies. In general, the lower high sierra cor-
responds to Weberbauer's (1945) Level 2 botanical zone
and ONERN's (1976) Low Mountain Matorral Desert,
while the upper high sierra is very similar to Weberbauer's
Level 3 zonation and ONERN's Mountain Matorral
Desert and Mountain Steppe.
Areas above 3,800 m in elevation in the Rio Asana drain-
age are described as puna. While these areas do indeed
share a number of ecological characteristics with what is
commonly called the puna, such as similar vegetation com-
munities, animal species, and certain climatic features,
there are important differences as well. 1 will refer to the
upper reaches of the Asana drainage as the puna rim to
distinguish this region from the puna proper, much as
Kuznar has done for the high sierra. That is, the puna rim
is defined here as that set of puna vegetation communities
found in an elevational range of ca. 4,000 to 4,600 m and
interdigitated in the narrow valleys and gorges of the head-
waters of the major streams and their tributary quebradas
along the western cordillera of the Andean chain.
To demonstrate the differences between the puna rim
and the puna, I will compare two areas nominally called
puna in regional-scale classifications: Tacalaya and Pasto
Grande (table 2.1). Tacalaya is on the puna rim at an el-
evation of 4,450 m, while Pasto Grande is on the puna at
4,515 m and is approximately 35 Ian north of Tacalaya.
While mean maximum annual temperatures are essentially
identical, mean annual minimum temperatures on the puna
are much colder. Rainfall is greater at Pasto Grande, and
while mean annual rainfall has a moderately high correla-
tion between the two locations (Pearson's r = 0.72, p <
0.05), both mean and median values of mean annual rain-
fall are quite distinct, and the two rainfall distributions
just barely overlap at the 95% confidence interval. While
neither value is very large, predictability at Pasto Grande
is greater than that at Tacalaya. Given lower rainfall
amounts and lower predictability, it appears that produc-
tivity is lower at Tacalaya than at Pasto Grande.
30 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat

\ -0
00
.r
~
"".
::Y ~' ,000

0 10
N

I
20 30
I I I I
KM

Fig. 2.3. The Osmore drainage.

Table 2.1. Tacalaya and Pasta Grande Compared There are also clear differences in the size and distri-
bution of the major resource patch-the bofedal between
the puna rim and the puna. On the puna rim, bofedal size
Tacalaya Pasta Grande and orientation are significantly constrained by topogra-
phy and are channeled by the narrow, deep valleys that
interdigitate with the high rides and peaks of the cordil-
Mean temperature
variation
lera (fig. 2.4). Bofedales are also patchy in their distribu-
tion, and relatively small, ranging in size from 0.1 to 10
Mean annual rainfall 481.9 mm 551.4 mm ha. In contrast, bofedales on the puna are large and con-
s.d. 140.7 s.d. 152.1 tinuous and frequently are hundreds of hectares in size,
Periodicity 0.438 0.522 although smaller ones can be found scattered throughout
the puna. The puna rim, then, appears to have consider-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 2.4. The puna rim in the Rio Asana valley in the vicinity of the comunidad of Asana.
able constraints in terms of productivity, predictability, and
resource potential when compared with the puna.
Vegetation and Plant Communities
For purposes of this discussion, I have divided the Rio
Asana valley into two major environmental zones consis-
tent with those described previously: the high sierra and
the puna rim. Much of this section is based upon Kuznar
(1990, 1995: 35-44), who conducted an extensive botani-
cal survey in 1989 and did follow-up work in 1991. In ad-
dition to defining plant communities, he also calculated
the net primary productivity of each community and de-
termined the productivity of palatable forage plants for
the guanaco, taruca, and vicuna. I shall return to these data
in a later section on animal productivity. Major plant spe-
cies are summarized in table 2.2, and community summa-
ries are presented in table 2.3. Figure 2.5 shows the spatial
distribution of these communities.
31
High-Sierra Plant Communities In the Rio Asana drain-
age, the lower high sierra (2,500-3,400 m) is dominated
by four plant communities. Aside from the small stream-
side community that contains small evergreen shrubs and
widely scattered mol/e trees (Schinus mol/e), the other three
communities are dominated by a perennial shrub, Franse-
ria meyeniana, and include a number of other grasses and
herbs, the most important being Chenopodium petiolare, a
close relative of the domesticated Andean grain quinoa
(Chenopodium quinoa). These communities differ prima-
rily in plant density and therefore productivity. Kuznar
(1993: table 1) has estimated that one of these communi-
ties (Franseria meyeniana dry aspect) has very high densi-
ties of Chenopodium petiolare (70 kg seeds/ha), making it
very productive. However, plant densities in each of these
communities are highly dependent upon rainfall. There-
fore, provided that seasonal rains were sufficient, the lower
high sierra represents a potentially productive zone of use
during and immediately after the rainy season.
32 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat

Table 2.2. Plants Collected between 3,000 and 4,600 m in the Asana Valley, Department of Moquegua, Peru

Scientific Names (Local Names) Range Scientific Names (Local Names) Range

Anacardiaceae Cruciferae
Schinus molle (Molle) < 3,200 m Sisymbrium macrophagus 2,500-3,800 m
Sisymbrium myriophyllum 2,500-3,800 m
Asclepiadaceae
Sarcostemma andinum 3,500 m Ephedrae
Ephedra americanum (Pingo pingo) 3,200-3,750 m
Cactaceae
Ephedra sp. (Pingo pingo) 3,200-3,500 m
Armatocereus sp. (Suja) 3,200-3,700 m
Espostoa lanata (Pichaka) 3,000-3,500 m Geraniacaea
Lobivia corbula (Machu) 3,000-3,500 m Balhisia meyeniana (Bichinchuya) 3,400-3,700 m
Opuntia atacamesis (Pulya pulya) 3,400-4,600 m
Graminea
Opuntia dimorpha (Clavo) 3,000-3,500 m
Calamagrostis amoena (Paja, T'isfia) 3,400-3,800 m
Opuntia pantlandii (Waqto) 3,000-3,500 m
C. brevifolia (Pasto raice) 3,000-4,600 m
Opuntia sp. 1 (Engrampo) 3,000-3,500 m
Calamagrostis crysantha 4,200-4,600 m
Opuntia lagopus 3,000-3,500 m
Calamagrostis curvula 4,200-4,600 m
Opuntia sp. 4 3,000-3,500 m
Calamagrostis rigescens (Chilliwa) 3,700-4,600 m
Cactaceae (K'unira) 3,000-3,500 m
Phragmites communis (Cortadera) 2,500-3,800 m
Caryaphyllaceae Stipa hrachyphylla (Paja, Sicuya) 3,400-3,800 m
Spergularia fasiculata 3,500-4,000 m Stipa ichu (Paja, hicchu) 3,800-4,600 m
Graminea (T'auka) 3,500 m
Chenapadiaceae
Graminea (Waylla) 4,400 m
Chenopodium petiolare (Quinuay) 3,000-3,800 m
Graminea (lru) 4,400-4,600 m
Chenopodium sp. (Quinua Chiba) 3,000-3,800 m
Graminea (Llantin) 4,200 m
Compositae
Juncaceae
Baccharis holiviensis (Tala) 3,400-3,800 m
Distichia muscoides (T'ifia) 3,750-4,600 m
Baccharis dracunifolia (Tola) 3,000-3,800 m
Oxychloe andinum (Kuli) 3,750-4,600 m
Baccharis latifolia (Chilca) < 3,800 m
Baccharis macrophylla (Duranita) 3,400-4,400 m Labiatae
Baccharis odorata (T'asa) 3,400-3,500 m Marrubium vulgare 2,;00-3,800 m
Bidens andicola (Chidido) 3,400-3,600 m
Leguminosae
Chersodoma iodopappa 3,600-4,400 m
Adesmia arborea (Kanli'yaILlarito) 3,400-4,600 m
Chuquiraga spinosa rotundifolia (Qu~swara) 3,600-4,000 m
Adesmia sp. 3,800-4,600 m
Diplostephium meyenii Wedd. 3,400-3,800 m
Cassia arequipensis (Abil'ya) 3,000-3,400 m
Franseria meyeniana (Rumadillo) 2,500-3,400 m
Cassia sp. (Sankalaya) 4,400 m
Hypocheris sp. 3,600-4,600 m
Lupinus paniclatus (Kuela) 3,500-4,600 m
Mutisia acuminata (Ch'inchelcoma) 3,000-3,900 m
Psorlea puhescens (Bilyea) < 3,200 m
Mutisia sp. 4,400 m
Parastrephia lepidophyllum (Tala) 3,600-4,600 m Loasaceae
Parastrephia macrophylla (Tala) 4,000-4,600 m Cajophora cirsiifolia 3,600-4,200 m
Senecio adenophylloides 3,400-3,500 m
Malvaceae
Senecio sp. 3,400-3,500 m
Tarasa rhamerii (Llegosa blanca) 2,500-3,600 m
Stevia macbridii (Llegosa) 2,500-3,500 m
Sphaeralcea arida 2,500-3,600 m
Tagetes multiflora (Chidido) 3,000-3,800 m
Oancaroma) 4,200-4,400 m Nyctaginaceae
(Cacawara) 4,600 m Mirabilis intercedens (Pega pega) 3,500 m
(Mamaripa) 4,400 m
(Llantin) 4,200-4,400 m
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 33

Scientific Names (Local Names) Range ha). Two different communities-tola Cherodesma and tola
pampa-are important from 3,600 to 3,800 m. The former
is rather sparse, but since it is barren, annual grasses and
Polemoniaceae
herbs grow thickly and rapidly given sufficient rain. Tola
Cantua candelilla (Cachicana) 2,500-3,500 m
pampa is dominated by bunch grasses and tola (Parastrephia
Gilia glutinosa (Rumadito) 2,500-4,000 m
Gilia sp. (Rumadito)
lepidophyllum). This community is known to have a high
2,500-4,000 m
productivity, but because its dominant plant is not pre-
Rosaceae ferred forage for any species, it has little resource poten-
Polylepis besseri (Quenuo) 3,800-4,200 m tial for humans. Another important community is the tolar,
Tetraglochin strictum 3,800 m
which is primarily dominated by tola and bunch grasses,
Scrophulariaceae most commonly Stipa ichu. While extensive (35% of up-
Caleeolaria australis (Zapatilla) 3,400-4,000 m per high-sierra land) and characterized by high produc-
Caleeolaria inamoena (Zapatilla) 3,400-3,800 m tivity, the palatability of its major species is low. Another
Caleeolaria sparsifolia (Zapatilla) 3,400-3,500 m important community is that based upon the queiiua
Solanaceae (Polylepis bessert), the only major tree species found in the
Dunalia brachycantha (LIar' 0) 3,200-3,500 m high sierra. This community comes in two variants: an
Fabiana weberbaurii (Tola) 3,200-3,500 m open forest found on hillslopes ranging in elevation from
Lycopersicum peruvianum 2,500-3,200 m 3,800 to 4,000 m and a closed forest found along the stream
Solanum nitidum (Yanawarmi) 3,750 m course. Together, these account for about 4% of the total
Solanaceae 3,500-3,800 m area of the high sierra. These communities are the natural
Umbeliferae habitat of the taruca, but they can also be used by the gua-
Azorella compacta (Yareta) 3,800-4,600 m naco. Finally, very small bofedales (Distichia moor) are
found scattered throughout the high sierra. Although small
Urticaceae
in area, they have very high productivity, especially for
Urtica ftabellata (Ortega) 3,500-4,000 m
guanacos and vicuna.
Verbenaceae
Verbena juniperina 3,200-3,800 m Puna Rim Plant Communities Two types of landforms
Verbena seriphiodes (Li'la) 3,000-3,500 m
predominate in the puna rim (4,000-4,600 m): dry lands
Unidentified (pampa) and wet lands (bofedal). The vegetation of the
(Llanch'u) 3,750-4,600 m puna rim is less varied than that of the high sierra and
(Chingu) 3,750-4,600 m consists primarily of two plant communities: pampa (35 %)
(Ocururu) 3,800 m and puna desert (37%). The pampa is similar to the high-
(Laqho) 3,750-4,600 m sierra pampa although it contains less palatable bunch
(Llayt'a) 3,750-4,600 m
grasses. The puna desert is typical ofthe dry puna ofsouth-
(Pura pura) 4,400-4,600 m
ern Peru, Bolivia, and northern Chile, and it is a barren
and unproductive region generally avoided by the Aymara
pastoralists of the region.
Thirty-two species were found in the puna rim survey.
The upper high sierra (3,400-3,800 m) is the most com- The dry lands are dominated primarily by bunch grasses
plex zone ecologically, and 14 plant communities have been (Calamagrostis amonea, C. brevifolia, Stipa ichu, S.
defined. However, there are a few communities that domi- brachyphylla) and shrubs (Parastrephia lepidophylum, P. lu-
nate the landscape both areally and economically. From cida, Baccharis macrophylla, Chersodoma iodopappa). All of
3,400 to 3,600 m, two communities are dominant-Fabiana these shrubs are composites. Only one type of cactus is
weberbauerii regular and dry aspect and Balbisia-Verbena- found at these altitudes, the edible Opuntia atacamensis. Two
Diplostephium. Taken together, these communities com- woody plants exist, the cushion plant Azorella compacta
prise about 42 % of the land area of the upper high sierra. (yareta) and Polylepis besseri. Wet lands are dominated by
Both are good sources of high-quality forage, and of all mats of Distichia muscoides (t' ina) and Oxychloe andinum
the upper high-sierra communities, only Balbisia has sig- (khult). Upon these mats grow a number of grasses, in-
nificant densities of Chenopodium petiolare (ca. 17 kg seeds/ cluding Calamagrostis crysantha and C. rigescens.
34 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat

Table 2.3. Plant Communities in the Asana Valley

Zone Plant Community Primary Plants

Lower High Sierra AA: Franseria meyeniana Franseria meyeniana

2,500-3,200 m Regular Diplostephium meyenii
Armatocereus sp.
AA': Franseria meyeniana Franseria meyeniana
Dry aspect Chenopodium petiolare
Diplostephium meyenii
Armatocereus sp.
Annual herbs
S: Franseria Franseria meyeniana
2,500-3,000 m Annual grasses
Herbs
Upper High Sierra A: Baccharis odorata Baccharis odorata
3,400-3,800 m 3,400-3,500 m Diplostephium meyenii
Calceolaria sp.
Opuntia sp.
B1: Quellaveco Bofedal Distichia muscoides
3,800 m Calamagrostis rigescens
Bunch grasses
B2: Lestanque Bofedal Distichia muscoides
3,700 m Calamagrostis rigescens
Baccharis latifolia
Stevia macbridii
c: Fabiana weberbauerii Fabiana weberbauerii
Regular and dry aspect Diplostephium meyenii
mixed community Verbena juniperina
3,400-3,700 m Baccharis dracunifolia
Baccharis boliviensis
Fabiana densa cacti
D: Baccharis latifolial Balbisia meyeniana
Stevia macridii Waste area Diplostephium meyenii
3,400-3,600 m Verbena juniperina
J: TolalCherosodomal Parastrephia lepidophyllum
Adesmia Chersodoma iodopappa
3,600-3,800 m Verbena juniperina
K: Barren ground Spergularia fasiculata
3,500 m Gilia sp.
N: Streamside bofedal Distichia
above 3,700 m
0: Talus wasteland Baccharis latifolia
3,500-3,800 m Baccharis dracunifolia
Stevia macbridii
Adesmia arborea
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 35

Zone Plant Community Primary Plants

Upper High Sierra/ M: Tola/Jchu grass Stipa ichu

Puna above 3,800 m Calamagrostis spp.
Q: Open Queiiuo forest Queiiuo
above 4,000 m Kan'liya
Adesmia sp.
Q: Closed Queiiual forest Queiiual
3,800-4,200 m Polylepis besseri
Puna PP: Puna Pampa Stipa ichu
3,800-5,000 m Calamagrostis amoena
Parastrephia lepidophyllum
Parastrephia lucida
Baccharis macrophylla
Lupinus panidatus
B3: Puna Bofedal Distichia muscoides
Oxychloe andinum
Calamagrostis crysantha
Calamagrostis curvula
Calamagrostis regescens
Y: Yaretal Azorella compacta
4,000-4,600 m Parastrephia lepidophyllum
PD: Puna desert Baccharis macrophylla
4,000-5,000 m Adesmia sp.
TS: Tolar seco Parastrephia lepidophyllum
4,000-4,600 m Tolar seco

,,'"1,1,
G:::J '''1,"
r.Il/IM-O"
~" ....rl.
~'''.'''I. O',
~T'I"'.cUtl.
(0 Ov"II"
c::::J ,
..,.
0. ..,1
c:::J T , SKI
~,
[Z]hll'''.llIIH
c.:z?a T.1,ICMt"",_
~Y"'I'I.I"T".
~U,..,H"'~SIeI"l'h"
c::J HItIl'''''' ...... l....

I
i
,w

Fig. 2.5. Vegetation communities in the Rio Asana valley from ca. 3,200 to 4,800 m.
36 The South-Central Andes and the Osrnore Basin as a Human Habitat
Although bofedales comprise only 2.5 % of puna lands,
they are important sources of forage for herbivores and
are the most critical resource for puna rim pastoralists and
for the vicuna. These are highly productive wetlands, and
vicuna cannot thrive without them.
Behavioral Ecology ofthe Major Herbivores
The three most important wild herbivores in the Rio Asana
valley throughout most of prehistory include the guanaco
(Lama guanicoe), taruca (Hippocamelus antisensis), and vicuna
(Vieugna vieugna, but also Lama vieugna). While small mam-
mals such as the vizcacha (Lagidium viscacia) are common
today, they apparently were not important to subsistence
economies in the past-at least in the Rio Asana valley-
and therefore they will not be discussed in this section.
Guanacos Of the South American camelids, the gua-
naco has by far the greatest behavioral flexibility in terms
of range, diet, and social behavior (Franklin 1982). Gua-
nacos have an elevational range from sea level to approxi-
mately 4,200 m and, depending upon resource availability
and abundance, are either migratory on a seasonal basis or
fully territorial. How far they migrate, however, is not clear,
although Franklin (1982: 481) notes that they may move
up and down within valley systems or laterally between
valley systems. Unfortunately, there are no studies that have
identified migratory ranges or the severity of the condi-
tions required for migration, and it is unknown if guana-
cos can move through an extreme altitudinal range with-
out biological costs, although given their long residence
in the Andean highlands, these costs are likely to be mini-
mal. Guanacos can both graze and browse, which is the
basis of their ecological flexibility. They are known to eat
grasses, forbs, and shrubs, are able to digest forage more
effectively than most domesticated animals, including the
domesticated camelids, and can inhabit extremely arid en-
vironments (Franklin 1982: 482).
Guanacos typically have a number of social groups, the
two most important being the family group, which includes
a single adult male, females, and their offspring younger
than 15 months, and the male group (Franklin 1982: 482).
When possible, the male of the family group defends a
feeding territory year-round, although females without
young may leave the group during the austral summer.
Franklin (1975: 168) notes that guanacos in the high si-
erra of the Peruvian Andes maintain family territories.
Guanaco family territories in Tierra del Fuego averaged
29.5 ha, varying with forage quality (Franklin 1982: 482),
and average densities of guanacos ranged between 1 gua-
naco/8 ha and 1/19.2 ha (Franklin 1975: 194-195). Male
groups consist of immature males socially and spatially
separate from the family groups, and while the male group
apparently has no defended territory, it can generally be
found in a single area or zone. Solo, nonterritorial males
circulate around and between these different groups.
Franklin (1975: 195-196) reports that of the 326 guana-
cos observed at Guanacon in the central Peruvian Andes,
74% were in family groups while 23 % were either in male
groups or were solitary animals.
Group size and density are highly variable, and family
groups are regulated more by the fluidity of social struc-
ture and the aggressiveness of the territorial male. As
Franklin (1982: 483) observes, while group territory size
declines with higher densities of preferred forage, mean
group size apparently is not directly predictable from for-
age quantity alone. Kuznar (1990: 126) suggests that the
maintenance of family territories tends to keep average
group size significantly below carrying capacity predicted
by forage density.
Guanacos are no longer found in the Rio Asana valley,
but it is clear that they could have inhabited most of the
valley, including the lower and upper high sierra and puna
rim up to elevations of approximately 4,000 m. In the mod-
ern era, bofedal vegetation dominates the valley above this
elevation, and the density of preferred forage for these
animals is substantially reduced when compared to the
upper high sierra.
Taruca As a cryptic species, taruca prefer highly dis-
sected environments generally near forested habitats such
as groves of queiiua (Polylepsis spp.), the only large tree that
grows in the high elevations of the south-central Andes
(Winterhalder and Thomas 1978: 40-41). While these
trees have been observed at elevations up to 4,600 m, they
are generally confined to elevations below 4,200 m, where
they form thickets ofvarying size and density. The taruca's
diet is poorly understood, but apparently these animals
avoid larger bunch grasses and prefer to eat smaller plants
close to the ground (Kuznar 1990: 135; Roe and Rees 1976:
725), although reports from Chile and Argentina indicate
that their diet is relatively broad and includes both graze
and browse (CONAF 1987: 9; Mengoni 1986: 68). Given
these characteristics, they do not appear to compete di-
rectly with guanacos for forage.
Taruca are territorial and inhabit home ranges that vary
between 0.25 and 2.0 km 2 They are found in three differ-
ent types of groups: a male/female group and their off-
spring, with an average size of9.5 individuals; a male group
 Montane F01'"agers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
ranging in size from 1 to 5 animals, with an average size of
1.8 animals; and a female group, with an average size of
4.2 animals. In regional population composition, each
group contributes 53%, 22%, and 25%, respectively, to
the total. Densities of taruca can vary considerably, rang-
ing from a low of 0.3/km2 at Pampas Galeras, 1.2/km2 at
La Raya, and 0.7-0.95/km 2 in the Rio Asana drainage
(Kuznar 1990: 136).
Taruca are still in existence in the Rio Asana valley, al-
though they have declined in number substantially since
the early 1960s. They are found today exclusively in the
quenual forest and are hunted by the valley's inhabitants.
Over the six years of the project, no member of any field
crew ever saw a single taruca.
Vicuna The vicuna is the best understood of the wild
Andean camelids in terms of its diet and behavioral ecol-
ogy. Unlike guanacos, vicuna are strictly grazers, and their
preferred forage is the vegetation that is typically found at
puna rim and puna bofedales. Moreover, as Franklin (1982:
477) notes, the animal is an obligate drinker, meaning that
it must drink water once or twice a day during the dry
season (see also Vila and Roig 1992). Because of these lim-
its, vicuna have relatively little behavioral flexibility and
are found at elevations of 4,200 to 4,800 m. Because of
their diet, they are essentially tied to bofedales large enough
to maintain group size, although they are able to eat bunch
grasses when necessary.
According to Franklin (1982: 477), "vicuna social orga-
nization is based upon a year-round system of resource
defense polygyny with permanent feeding and sleeping
territories." Like guanacos, vicuna have two basic social
groups: family groups and male groups. Permanent fam-
ily groups consist of a single male and associated females
and their offspring. These groups occupy the best areas of
pasture within the bofedales. Average family group com-
positions have been reported as 1 male, 4.4 females, and
1.84 young at Huaylarco (Koford 1957: 164) and 1 male,
3.2 females, and 1.9 yearlings at Pampas Galeras (Franklin
1982: 478). The territory sizes of vicuna family groups
average 12.8 ha at Huaylarco (Koford 1957: 170) and 20
ha at Pampas Galeras (Franklin 1982: 479). Data from
Parque Lauca, Chile, suggest that bofedales of 1.01 to 2.67
ha can support a single adult vicuna (CONAF 1983: 23-
28). Group size remains constant year-round and changes
only when juvenile males are expelled from the group or a
new female is acquired by the dominant male. A family
group is essentially sedentary since its feeding and sleep-
ing territories are generally very close.
37
Two other family groups have also been defined: the
marginal territory group and the mobile family group
(Franklin 1982: 479). Both of these groups are slightly
smaller than the permanent group since they occupy less
productive territories. Because of this, they are obligated
to move more frequently for forage and water. Conse-
quently, these groups are slightly less predictable in terms
of their location than are permanent family groups.
Unlike that for the guanaco, territory size, group com-
position, and population density for the three vicuna fam-
ily groups are highly correlated with forage density. Ac-
cording to Franklin (1982: 480), this is apparently due to
the territorial male's ability to defend and maintain the
boundaries of the territory. This means that these groups
are very predictable in terms of size, composition, and lo-
cation. Koford (1957), in his study of the vicuna popula-
tion of Huaylarco, notes that of the 250 vicuna that made
up the local population, 175 were in family bands (62.5%),
with the remainder (75; 37.5%) in male groups.
Male groups are composed ofnonterritorial males, with
group size ranging from 2 to over 100 animals (Franklin
1982: 479). These animals live in poorer habitat types and
move long distances between feeding areas to avoid con-
flict with territorial males. When compared to the family
groups, male groups are larger, have the greatest mobility
and range, have the greatest variability in group size, and
are the most unpredictable in terms of location.
Vicuna still live in the Rio Asana valley and are found
near the large bofedal in the upper reaches ofthe Quebrada
Huaillane (fig 2.6). This is a relatively small bofedal, but it
is composed of preferred forage for these animals. The
eastern end of the bofedal reaches an elevation of 4,500
m, while the western end drops to 4,100 m. Group size is
eight, and although there has been no formal study of its
composition, it appears to correspond to a permanent fam-
ily group. When humans approached too closely, a single
vicuna, probably the male, came out to challenge while
the other group members fled in the opposite direction.
Although the bofedal is unoccupied by humans, its lower
reaches are used by people who drive their cows here from
well down valley and who leave them here for weeks at a
time to graze upon the bofedal forage. The vicuna graze
with the cows but apparently sleep beyond the eastern lim-
its of the bofedal about 1 to 2 km away. Despite this, their
location is relatively predictable.
38 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat
Fig. 2.6. The bofedal in the Quebrada Huaillane, ca. 4,300 m in the puna rim environment.
High-Sierra, Puna Rim,
and High-Mountain Ecology
It is now possible to evaluate how the Rio Asana valley
reflects the broad outlines of high-mountain ecology pre-
sented in chapter 1. Consequently, this section reviews each
of the pertinent characteristics of that ecology: environ-
mental heterogeneity, extremeness, low predictability, low
productivity, fragility and instability, and mobility con-
straints. Since the entire valley lies above 2,500 m in el-
evation, no evaluation of human biology is necessary.
Environmental Heterogeneity
It is clear that the Rio Asana valley is a patchy environ-
ment as measured in a number of ways. The distribution
of Chenopodium spp. in the valley, while generally predict-
able in that the greatest densities of the plant are found
primarily on north-facing slopes in a restricted number of
community types or in new patches created by camelid
dung-influenced behaviors (Kuznar 1993; see also Franklin
1982: 481), is nevertheless extremely patchy due to the
plant's small size and uncertain productivity. It is the pre-
ferred forage of every major herbivore in the valley, and
this tends to exacerbate the "unpredictability" of the plant
both spatially and quantitatively.
Animal resources are equally patchy. Using Kuznar's
(1993) plant communities and those that have stocking
rates below 2.0 (fig. 2.7), it is possible to chart the spatial
location of those areas within the valley most likely to be
attractive to the valley's herbivores (fig. 2.5). While this
does not guarantee that animals will actually be found in
each patch, it does dramatically show that potentially pro-
ductive resource patches are widely scattered throughout
the valley and its associated drainages.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 2.7. Patch distribution in the Rio Asana valley.
Extremeness
Because the south-central Andes are tropical mountains,
they are not affected by extremely cold temperatures as
are temperate latitude high-mountain systems such as the
Alps or Himalayas; they are therefore never uninhabitable
during any season of the year. Temperatures remain rela-
tively low throughout the year, however, and exacerbate
heat loss, thus placing greater caloric demands on resi-
dents. In addition, there are certain times of the year in
which temperatures reach potentially dangerous extremes
(table 2.4). Average annual minimum temperatures are gen-
erally low but not dangerous in both the upper high sierra
and puna rim and are moderate in the lower high sierra. If
mean extreme minimum temperatures are carefully exam-
ined, this picture changes. In July at Quellaveco, the mean
extreme minimum temperature is -2.40 C, while at Tacalaya
it is -9.8 0 C with ranges down to -20 0 C. By any standard,
these temperatures, which primarily occur late at night or
in the early morning hours before sunrise, are very cold.
The situation at Tacalaya improves only slightly during
January and March, months nominally associated with the
austral summer. Temperature extremes, however, remain
essentially the same.
39
\
\
Ii
,,~..'. Botedal
~ EKorp"""nt
If wind speed and associated wind chill are considered,
these temperature minimums can be extreme. Average
annual wind speed in the region-as measured at the puna
location of Suches, approximately 30 km northwest of
Tacalaya-is ca. 9 kmIhour, and gusts typically exceed 20
kmIhour. Using the average wind speed, the wind chill for
each of the temperatures in table 2.5 can be calculated
(Ward, Milledge, and West 1989: 329, table 18.1). While
few of these temperatures are dangerous in the sense that
there is a risk of the flesh freezing, again they show that
late night and early morning are periods of extreme ther-
mal stress. Three of the wind chill temperatures-the ex-
treme minimums of July, January, and March-are very
close to the temperatures at which unprotected flesh freezes
within one minute. A slight increase in wind speed above
the average, especially with powerful gusts more than 20
kmIhr, would send these temperatures over this boundary
and would increase the probability of significant tissue
damage of unprotected skin. Given these results, it is clear
that the puna rim is the most extreme environment of the
Rio Asana valley, followed by the upper high sierra and
the lower high sierra.
40 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat

Table 2.4. Temperature Extremes at Toquepala, Quellaveco, and Tacalayaa

Toquepala Quellaveco Tacalaya

Annual mean minimum temperature 3.7 2.4 -4.7

(-2.0) (-4.0) (-9.0)
Mean extreme minimum temperature, July -1.5 -2.4 (-9.8)
(-3) (-4)
Range (1-5) (1.0- -5.5) (-7--26)
Mean extreme minimum temperature, January 2.5 0.2 -7.3
Range (0.6-5.8) (2.5- -3.0) (-2.0-15.6)
Mean extreme minimum temperature, March 2.6 1.1 -5.8

Range (-4.2-4.5) (-2.8-3.0) (-2--21)

aAlI temperatures in degrees Centigrade. Figures in parentheses are absolute minimums.

Table 2.5. Rainfall Amount and Predictability in the Rio Asana Valley

Predictability, Percent
Constancy, ofMonths
Location Amounta Contingency cvb < 1 s.d.

Toquepala 87.9 0.546 62.9 15

(lower high sierra) 0.310
0.236

Quellaveco 252.3 0.434 51.8 28

(upper high sierra) 0.174
0.260

Tacalaya 481.5 0.438 42.8 18

(puna rim)

Titijones 382.4 0.544 24.9 21

0.233
0.311

aMillimeters/year.
bCoefficient of variation where CV = 100 (s.d.lmean x).
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Predictability
Records maintained by the Southern Peru Copper Cor-
poration allow us to assess the degree to which rainfall
periodicity and amount are predictable in the Rio Asana
valley (table 2.5). Unfortunately, what data exist do not
allow us to evaluate the predictability of killing frosts or
other environmental parameters of interest. Rainfall tim-
ing and amount, however, are good proxy measures of
annual variation in the start of the growing season, the
degree to which its onset can be reliably predicted, and
the degree to which it can be maintained by sufficient rain-
fall. Three measures of predictability are employed:
Colwell's (1974) predictability coefficient, the coefficient
of variability, and the percent of months over the period
measured with rainfall amounts more than one standard
deviation lower than the mean.
As can be seen (table 2.5), while no location in the val-
ley has high predictability, the upper high sierra has the
lowest predictability of all, followed closely by the puna
rim. The puna and lower high sierra are generally similar
but for different reasons. Toquepala has a relatively higher
predictability because of a moderate value of constancy,
since most of the time there is no precipitation. In con-
trast, Titijones has a higher value for contingency, in this
case based on the generally seasonal distribution of rain-
fall in the region (i.e., rain has some tendency of falling in
the austral summer). Quellaveco has both low constancy
and contingency, meaning that it is extremely difficult to
predict when it will rain.
These trends in predictability are generally reinforced
by the values of the coefficient of variability. Once again,
while each value is high, the highest is found at Toquepala
in the lower high sierra, followed by Quellaveco in the
upper high sierra. Tacalaya and Pasto Grande have slightly
smaller values, while Titijones has the lowest. There are
some interesting differences when the percentage of
months with extremely low rainfall are considered. While
the upper high sierra has the most months falling below
one standard deviation, the next highest are Titijones and
Tacalaya, respectively. Toquepala and Pasto Grande have
the fewest months that fall below one standard deviation.
The meaning of these measures is clear: in the upper
high sierra, both rainfall periodicity and amount are un-
predictable. The puna rim is similar, although rainfall
amount appears to be slightly more predictable. In the
lower high sierra, while rainfall periodicity is relatively
predictable, the amount of that rainfall appears to be highly
variable. The puna shows something of a mixture of these
41
trends, with rainfall periodicity being relatively predict-
able but with rainfall amount somewhat variable.
There is no direct trend in these data based simply on
altitude alone. At a regional scale, while rainfall does in-
crease with altitude, significant local variability can readily
be observed. Titijones receives less rainfall than does a simi-
lar location on the puna or one on the puna rim as well,
but the amount of precipitation is more predictable at
Titijones than at either of the latter two areas. These data
tend to reinforce the degree of "patchiness" characteristic
of this high-mountain system.
Productivity
Given the discussion of the vegetation communities and
the behavioral ecology of the herbivores of the region, it
is now possible to discuss general levels of plant and ani-
mal productivity of the species of greatest dietary impor-
tance to humans in the Rio Asana valley.
Productivity of Chenopodium spp. Wild chenopods grow
naturally in the high-sierra environment of the Rio Asana
valley, especially at elevations between 2,800 and 3,400 m
in what I have described as the lower high sierra. There is
increasing biological and taxonomic data accumulating to
suggest that the high-sierra valleys of the western flanks
of the Andes possessed the ancestral form to the domesti-
cated chenopod quinoa (Chenopodium quinoa) (Wilson
1988). Therefore, it is probable that a form of chenopod
in the valley may have been an important food resource
throughout prehistory.
Two different forms of chenopods grow naturally in the
Rio Asana valley: Chenopodium petiolare (quinuay) and an
unidentified species locally named quinua chibo, or goat
quinoa (Kuznar 1993: 259-260). Modern goat pastoralists
cultivate small patches of quinuay on the middens near their
residential structures (Kuznar 1990). Although these che-
nopods are found scattered throughout the valley in small,
discontinuous patches distributed in part by a mutualistic
relationship with goats, they are concentrated in two plant
communities in the high sierra: the Franseria meyeniana-
dry community of the lower high sierra and the Balbisia
community of the upper high sierra. Kuznar (1993: table
1) has estimated that these communities have natural stands
of chenopods totaling 70,000 and 1,600 plantslha, respec-
tively. Other communities have densities too low to calcu-
late. In a series of harvesting experiments, he has further
calculated that individual plants of either species produce
0.79-1.39 g/plant, averaging 1.0 g/plant, the figure used
in further calculations (L. Kuznar, personal communica-
42 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat

tion, 1992). Based on these figures, it is possible to com-
pute the total number of kilograms of seed weight in these
communities (table 2.6). This calculation assumes average
values of seed weight and "normal" climatic conditions
for the high sierra. The result is a very large amount of
seed productivity of these chenopods.
Another factor that may have served to increase the
amount of chenopods in the valley is the previously men-
tioned mutualism between goats and these species. Kuznar
(1993) has noted that chenopod densities are extremely
high in and around the corrals of modern goat pastoralists
in the Rio Asana valley. Not only do goats transport seeds
in their coats, they also defecate large numbers of seeds in
their corrals since chenopods are their preferred forage.
This process produces very high densities: at 15 pastoral
camps in the valley totaling 952 m 2, the total seed produc-
tion is 467 kg. Koford (1957: 160) and Franklin (1975)
have observed similar vegetation growth, but of different
species, in natural dung piles for both vicufia and guana-
cos. While the number of such mutualistically generated
patches would depend on the number of territories and
would probably be individually smaller and of lower den-
sity than the modern patches, these patches would never-
theless have the advantage of being predictable in their
location given the territorial habits of these species.
Animal Productivity The density and size of any ani-
mal population are dependent upon the natural produc-
tivity of the animals' habitat and behavioral ecology in
terms of dietary preferences and territorial maintenance.
Natural productivity can be expressed in a number ofways,
and the one to be used in this study is the stocking rate,
which is an estimate of the number of hectares of land one
animal needs for foraging and is expressed as the number
of hectares per animal per year (Williamson and Payne
1978). A small number indicates a higher ranking plant
community. Since animals have distinct forage preferences,
these preferences must be taken into account when calcu-
lating stocking rates.
Kuznar (1990) calculated the amount of available pro-
ductivity for each plant species in the communities of the
Rio Asana valley in order to estimate the amount offorage
available and palatable to the region's three major herbi-
vores. He did this by adding up the amount of browse or
graze produced by each species as yearly net aboveground
annual production (NAAP). He then multiplied NAAP by
the proportion that species could potentially represent in
an animal's diet, and the scale productivity for all species
added up to give the amount of available forage in that
plant community for each animal. The palatability of each
plant for each species, as well as its contribution to the
diet, was based on his review of the literature for the gua-
naco (Guerra and Murua 1984; Simmonetti and Fuentes
1985; Cammas 1986; Franklin 1975), taruca (Roe and Rees
1976; CONAF 1987), and vicufia (Koford 1957; Guerrero
1986; CONAF 1983).
Once Kuznar determined the amount of forage avail-
able per hectare for each animal species, the next step was
to calculate the stocking rate of the community. This was
done by estimating the amount of forage required by each
animal as calculated over some time interval (usually the
amount required on a daily basis) and by dividing the
amount of forage available by this figure. Wild animals
were assumed to be year-round residents in their particu-

Table 2.6. Chenopodium Productivity and Distribution in the Rio Asana Valley

Plants/ Total Area Mean and Range

Community ha ofCommunity ofProductivity

Franseria 70,000 707 ha 70 kg seeds/ha; 55-94 kg/ha

Balbisia 1,667 480 ha 17 kg seeds/ha; 13-22 kg/ha
Mean and range of total productivity, 49,400 kg; 38,885-67,165 kg
Franseria community
Mean and range of total productivity, 8,160 kg; 6,240-10,560 kg
Balbisia community
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 43

lar environmental zone (see Franklin 1975, 1982; Guerrero
1986; Merkt 1987; Roe and Rees 1976; Kuznar 1990).
Given these assumptions, the stocking rates per animal
for the guanaco, taruca, and vicuna are, respectively, 730
kg DMiyear, 456 kg DMiyear, and 502 kg DMiyear, where
DM is dry matter. The amount of forage available to each
animal, its relationship to primary productivity, and the
stocking rates for each species, along with a community
summary, are described in table 2.7.
As can be seen in this table, the environmental zone

Table 2.7. Stocking Rates for Wild Herbivores

Zone Community Area a NAApb Guanaco Taruca Vicuna

LHS AA 707.6 302.3 21.7 14.9

AA' 707.6 744.1 1.0 1.5

S 707.6 435.9 1.7 1.2
UHS A 48.6 690.2 10.4 7.2
B1 0.0 2,379.0 1.2 0.8
B2 1.8 1,015.0 4.2 2.0
C 199.8 766.7 14.4 9.9
C-dry 64.8 420.3 5.6 3.8
D 27.0 245.9 53.8 37.0
G 480.6 202.8 7.6 5.2

J 171.0 167.2 21.9 15.1

J-dry 87.3 77.0 11.8 8.1
M 639.0 1,372.0 1.4 101.1
N 5.4 455.0 9.2 14.8
DIN 18.0 350.0 31.5 25.9
0 14.4 200.9 25.7 17.7
Q 40.0 1,761.0 1.4 0.9
Puna Q 1,007.0 1,761.0 1.4 0.9
pp 5,542.0 1,007.0 1.9 100.3 12.3
B3 393.6 2,705.0 1.6 1.2 0.2
CQ 330.6 3,095.0 3.1 2.1 61.2
Y 645.5 196.3 55.8 38.4 304.1
PD 5,825.0 164.1 51.8 35.6 45.6
TS 1,653.0 2,909.0 1.3 0.9 1.1

aTotal area in hectares of the community type within zone.

bNet annual aboveground productivity; see Kuznar (1990) for details of calculation.
44 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat
with the largest amount of area with high stocking rates
for the three species is the puna, followed by the upper
high sierra and lower high sierra. This is consistent with
expectations since the puna, despite being the coldest of
the environmental zones, is also the wettest. Rainfall abun-
dance and predictability decline with elevation. There is
variation within these zones, however. Of the three, the
lower high sierra has the largest proportion of area with
high stocking rates, followed by the upper high sierra and
puna. This suggests that the latter two zones are in fact
patchier in the distribution ofplant communities with high
stocking rates. Further, if the focus is solely upon produc-
tivity, the puna, with its very large amount of area of high
stocking rate communities, should have been the obvious
focus of utilization for the region's foragers.
Although the quantity of resources places an absolute
limit on the population density of any species, this mea-
sure may not be the best for wild animals because of terri-
toriality, mating patterns, and other dietary considerations
that influence the distribution ofwild animals on the land-
scape. Wild populations often establish themselves well
below the carrying capacity of their environments (here
measured as the inverse of the stocking rate). Therefore,
stocking rates cited for wild herbivores may not be the
best estimators of actual wild herbivore abundance. All of
the wild herbivores considered in this study-guanacos,
taruca, and vicuna-have a social structure based on fam-
ily groups that defend territories. The stocking rates for
vicuna cited in table 2.7 of 0.2 ha/vicuna for the puna rim
bofedal community (B3) and in CONAF (1983: 40) of 0.28
ha bofedal/vicuna suggest that an average family band of
six to seven individuals would require a territory of 1.5 to
1.75 ha, less than 10% ofthe actual territory sizes observed.
This is reflected in Franklin's (1982: 480) statement that
"although habitat resources probably dictate group size
within the feeding territories, they to not regulate it; the
territorial male does." Therefore, considerations beyond
the gross amount of forage influence the size of vicuna
territories. Clearly, while the puna could in theory sup-
port large numbers of vicuna, it cannot do so due to their
behavior. Also, since they are obligate drinkers, they are
tethered to water. In estimating the economic potential of
the puna and puna rim, the productive potentials of the
abundant dry lands can be ignored since the only limiting
resource is the bofedal. For the vicuna, this would decrease
the total area available by almost 81 %, thus limiting them
to ca. 400 ha of high-quality bofedal (B3 community).
Yet another consideration is niche selection. The vicuna
specialize on bofedal lands and have developed a highly
efficient dentition that allows them to more quickly eat
the plants that grow in this community. Thus while the
taruca and guanaco find these plants palatable, they can-
not compete effectively with the vicuna for this preferred
forage. Further, the vicuna's preferred habitat lies within
the quenual forest, which provides them with both cover
and shelter. These two factors essentially eliminate the
taruca from consideration as a species of major importance
on the puna and puna rim. A similar case can be made for
the guanaco, although in this instance the criterion for
niche selection appears to be the altitudinal range of the
animal. Most of the high stocking rate land-the puna
pampa and tola seca-for the guanaco in the Rio Asana
valley lies at elevations above 4,300 m and generally ranges
from 4,400 to 4,700 m. This is beyond the known niche of
the guanaco as observed in other regions. Therefore, while
palatable plants exist within the puna and puna rim for the
guanaco, it is highly improbable that it used these envi-
ronments in the past.
Given these constraints on habitat and niche use, the
following figures are realistic estimates of wild animal
abundance in Andean environments: 1 guanaco/8-20 ha
of high-sierra land, 1 vicuna/2 ha bofedal or 1 vicuna/6.5-
10 ha bofedal and environs, and 1 taruca/30-100 ha of
upper high-sierra land and queiiual. Using estimates of
high-sierra and puna area based on the community veg-
etation surveys completed by Kuznar (1990), it is possible
to compute total numbers of animals present in each envi-
ronmental zone (table 2.8). The puna bofedal has higher
per hectare animal productivity than any habitat in the
high sierra, and, given the behavioral characteristics of
vicuna, their presence in and around the bofedal resource
patch is very predictable. In contrast, although both the
guanaco and taruca are territorial animals, their overall
numbers are relatively low per hectare of animal produc-
tivity. Consequently, their territories and home ranges
would necessarily be larger than those of the vicuna, and
their spatial predictability would be lower.
Animal Territories and Locations Because the guanaco is
now extinct in the Rio Asana valley and the taruca and
vicuna have recently been pushed into marginal habitats
by overhunting and competition with domesticated herd
animals, it is not possible to observe their territories in the
field. However, it is possible to estimate the general sizes
and locations of their territories based on the known be-
havioral ecology of these animals.
In narrow valleys such as those typical of the western
flanks of the Andes, sedentary guanaco family groups have
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 45

Table 2.8. Estimates of Animal Productivity, territories linearly distributed along the valleys (Franklin
Rio Asana Valley 1982). Animals use the flanks of the slopes for sleeping
areas and to search for food and move to the valley bot-
toms for both forage and water. Territories tend to be ad-
Total Area of Environmental Zones jacent along the length of the valley and are tightly packed.
Lower high sierra 2,125 ha Vicuna have a similar territorial organization, although
they focus on bofedales. At night, both of these animals
Upper high sierra 1,800 ha
move onto the slopes surrounding the bofedal or water
Puna rim queiiual 1,007 ha source. Before sunrise, the animals begin to move toward
Puna bofedal and environs 400-600 ha the bofedal, grazing. They begin to return to the slopes in
the early afternoon. All of this activity takes place within
Total Number of Animals Present their territories (Vila and Roig 1992: 294; Franklin 1982).
Lower high sierra 0.05-0.13 animal/ha Like the guanaco's territories, the taruca's territories are
packed linearly within valleys. Taruca have similar territo-
Guanaco a 106-266
rial characteristics. They tend to remain hidden during
Modal territories b 13-33 the day in the queiiual and forage within it.
Upper high sierra 0.06-0.16 animal/ha The concept of territory is useful because it can be used
as a proxy measure of a resource patch. That is, since each
GuanacoC 140-350
of these species is highly territorial, the location of the
Modal territories b 17-43 territory is predictable, although the exact location of the
Taruca d
animals within it may not be known. Given their habits, it
28-93
is virtually certain that the animals will be somewhere
Modal territories e 6-19 within that territory. This knowledge can be used to de-
Puna rim 0.5-0.65 animallha termine the number of modal territories within each of
the environmental zones. A modal territory is simply the
Vicuna f 200-390
area required by an average family group for each species.
Modal territories g 21-41 To calculate the number of modal territories, one needs to
know the proportion of animals in the entire population
residing within family groups as well as the average family
aEstimate based upon 1 animal to 8-20 ha of high-sierra land.
group size. Using estimates of74% of guanacos, 62.5% of
bEstimate based on average family size of 6, with ca. 74% of
population in family group. vicuna, and 100% of taruca living in family groups, and
CEstimate based upon 1 animal to 8-20 ha high-sierra land and average family sizes of 6, 6, and 5 animals, respectively, it
puna rim queiiual. is possible to estimate the proportion of the population
dEstimate based upon 1 animal to 30-100 ha high-sierra land and living in family groups and thus the number of modal ter-
puna rim queiiual. ritories within each environmental zone (table 2.8).
eEstimate based upon average family size of 5, with 100% in some
While it is important not to reify these numbers, they
social group.
fEstimate based upon 1 animal to 2 ha bofedal or 6.5 animals to 10 do provide some interesting comparisons. If it is assumed
ha bofedallands and environs. that each modal territory is a patch, it is clear that the
gEstimate based upon average family size of 6, with 62.5 % of environmental zone with the most patches, on average and
population in family group. in average years, is the upper high sierra, followed by the
puna and puna rim and the lower high sierra. That the
puna has fewer patches makes sense since the bofedal is
able to support larger numbers of animals. Likewise, the
lower high sierra has few patches simply because the plant
communities are the least productive in the entire valley
system. The larger number of patches in the upper high
sierra is obviously determined by the presence of two
noncompeting species inhabiting the same zone.
46 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat
Fragility and Instability
While there is no direct measure of fragility and instabil-
ity of high-mountain ecology, it is clear that from a geo-
logical perspective, the entire Rio Asana valley is highly
unstable. The stratigraphy at Asana shows the effects of at
least four major landslides, and visual inspection of the
slopes on both sides of the valley shows large numbers of
pockets from which various landslides have occurred in
the past (see chapter 5). These slopes are composed of the
Huaylillas Formation, which is especially prone to collapse
due to the combination of water infiltration and the high
level of seismicity of the Andean chain. Talus modifica-
tions from these slides are common in the valley, and their
primary effect has been the destruction of the natural com-
munityvegetation and the subsequent colonization ofthese
bare areas with new communities. In the valley, Kuznar's
(1990) communities 0 and K are typical of these barren
ground or talus communities. Community 0 is of some
interest because while it is relatively small, it is one of the
more productive small patches in the valley, producing
large quantities of forage preferred by the guanaco.
Another indicator of fragility is the very high rates of
slopewash and colluviation found in the valley. Ground
cover is patchy in almost every plant community, and heavy
rains erode slopes routinely during the austral summer.
These heavy rainfall events also modify stream courses
substantially. Torrential rains in the 1989 rainy season
moved massive boulders measuring over 2 m in maximum
dimension over 2 km downstream from the stream bot-
toms and obviously completely destroyed all vegetation
growing on the valley floor. While the vegetation grew
back relatively quickly, it took at least two years for it to
reach preflood levels. The amount of forage would have
been significantly reduced along the valley floor. Aside from
the obvious effects of the landslide on the site itself, it is
important to remember that the ecology of the valley has
been dynamic throughout the past.
Mobility Constraints
Although many of the most important features of move-
ment within the Rio Asana valley have been discussed pre-
viously, there are additional issues about movement that
must be considered: elevation and terrain difficulty within
the valley and the costs, as measured by the hiking func-
tion, of within-valley and between-valley movement.
Elevation and Terrain Difficulty Although I have defined
operationally altitude variation in the high sierra as rang-
ing from 2,500 to 3,800 m and in the puna rim from 3,800
to 4,800 m, it is important to provide a sense of just where
these altitudinal boundaries exist spatially within the val-
ley system. On the valley floor, the 2,500-m contour is
found just upstream (to the east) of the modern village of
Coscori. The lowest known Archaic Period site in the high
sierra-Coscori (a rockshelter)-lies just above the valley
floor at an elevation of 2,860 m. However, the mouth of
the Rio Asana valley, that is, where the valley widens to
over 1 Ian, is found 7.5 Ian downstream (west) of this loca-
tion. Here, the elevation of the valley floor is just over
2,000 m. The 4,600-m contour is found just to the east of
the tiny village of Azana, and relatively "flat" land on the
valley floor continues to approximately 4,700 m in eleva-
tion. The distance between these two elevations as mea-
sured by a route along the valley floor is ca. 30 Ian; if the
valley opening and the last of the flat land in the puna rim
are included, the distance increases to just under 40 Ian.
The average grade, then, of the valley floor is 7%.
The valley itself is typical of the western flanks of the
Andes: long, relatively narrow, with valley floor width vary-
ing between 250 to 800 m and steep surrounding slopes.
The width of the valley is greatest in an elevation range
from about 3,400 to 3,700 m. In fact, the valley floor be-
gins to widen appreciably only 200 m downstream (west)
of Asana and remains relatively wide until the Rio Asana
turns sharply to the northeast. Local relief (measured from
valley floor to the crest of the surrounding peaks or
ridgelines) ranges from 300 to 500 m, and the slopes rise
very quickly, often having grades that exceed 20%. In gen-
eral, the least difference in relief between valley floor and
peaks is found in the puna rim, and relief gradually in-
creases downstream.
Since the valley floor is narrow, there is relatively little
flat land on it. Most of the flat land is found in the portion
of the valley from 3,400 to 3,700 m, although there are
some very small patches of flat land below this range. The
land within this "flat" section of the valley is composed for
the most part of a series of remnant terraces of the Rio
Asana (Aldenderfer 1989c: 135-136). While the land it-
self may be relatively flat, the terrain, both on the valley
bottoms as well as the surrounding slopes, is littered with
colluvial rock. Much of this rock is very loose and difficult
to walk upon. Elsewhere, rocks of varying sizes, from
cobble to boulder, are embedded in the ground, creating
an irregular surface. These features make off-trail walking
difficult and time-consuming.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 47

Intravalley Movement Within-valley movement has two
components: point-to-point movement between different
sites in the valley and off-path activity performance in
search of resources. Table 2.9 provides an overview of
point-to-point movement within the valley as computed
from Asana. Round-trip travel time to the furthest known
site within the valley with an Archaic Period component
is just over 9 hours, while round-trip travel time to the
furthest known site down valley is just over 6 hours. I have
included the distance to the 2,000-m contour since, while
there is no known site from that area, it is the place in
which the Rio Asana enters the lower sierra valleys and
thus exits the high sierra. To traverse the entire valley from
the 2,000-m contour to Quelcatani would take just under
10 hours with unburdened, on-path travel. There is a sym-
metry of round-trip travel times for the major sites up and
down valley from Asana. While site location is conditioned
by numerous factors-proximity to water, resources, and
suitability as shelter-the distances between known site
locations up and down valley are striking.
Off-path activity performance has considerably higher
movement costs. While the exact amount of time varies in
terms of the resources exploited, such as hunting versus
gathering, it is clear that off-path movement in the valley
is a major time and caloric expense for its inhabitants. One
way to look at relative costs is to "drape" cost surfaces across
the valley from sites; figure 1.4 shows such a cost surface
as measured with the walking function from Asana. As ex-
pected, paths are used to penetrate areas, but once this has
been accomplished, travel (or foraging or hunting) costs
increase dramatically moving either up or down slope.
Intervalley Movement Intervalley movement in the vi-
cinity of the Rio Asana valley is generally point-to-point
movement; the trip begins and ends at specific locations
and almost always follows well-known and well-used paths.
The three valley systems nearest the Rio Asana valley in-
clude the Rio Capillune and Rio Charaque drainages, both
of which are small tributary streams to the Rio Asana, and
the Rio Torata, one of the major tributary streams of the
Osmore itself. Distances and travel times to these valleys
from Asana are presented in table 2.10. While in two of
the valleys-the Rios Torata and Capillune-the destina-
tions are points on the valley floor at the same elevation as
Asana, the destination in the Rio Charaque is Block 3 of
surface densities found in this valley during surface survey
in 1985. In the case of the Rios Charaque and Capillune,
two different routes are described: a "direct" route that
follows existing paths insofar as they are available and then
uses the refraction principle to move around major con-
tours and up and down quebradas as directly as possible,
and a "refracted" route that follows the existing path net-
work to the specified location. The route to the Rio Torata
is a direct route that follows existing paths for approxi-
mately 60% of the distance between the two valleys.
Obviously, the Rio Charaque is relatively close in travel

Table 2.9. Travel Times to Major Sites within the Rio Asana Valley

Site

2,OOO-m Cueva 4 Suiface

contour Coscori Complex Densities Charaque Quellaveco El Panteon Quelcatani

Distance 3 25.60 16.38 7.81 5.00-6.00 7.00 6.29 15.10 23.10

From b 4.20 3.09 2.74 1.20-1.40 1.45 1.50 3.64 5.44

To 5.97 3.74 2.03 .88-1.02 1.19 1.08 2.56 3.94

Round trip 10.17 6.43 3.34 2.08-2.42 2.64 2.58 6.20 9.38

aDistance measured in kilometers.

b"From" refers to travel time to the site from Asana; "to" is from that location to Asana. All times in hours, unburdened,
and on path travel.
48 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat

Table 2.10. Distances and Travel Times to the Major similarities suggest that something approaching a 2-hour
Nearby Valley Systems one-way travel time may be significant for understanding
the distribution of sites around Asana.

Travel Time a
Paleoenvironments in the South-Central Andes

Few topics in south-central Andean prehistory have cre-

Valley System Distance Unburdened Burdened
ated as much controversy or have been as problematic as
the attempt to reconstruct paleoenvironments and climate
Rio Charaque over the past 15,000 years. Until the 1970s, the primary
obstacle in this reconstruction was a lack of field studies.
"Refracted" route 7.63 Ian 1.59 hr 1.99 hr
A number of important studies were initiated in the 1980s
"Direct" route 7.00 Ian 1.45 hr 1.81 hr by investigators in various disciplines, and while some as-
Rio Capillune pects of prehistoric environments are now better known,
Lynch (1990: 199-200) has pointed out that most of these
"Refracted" route 24.80 km 4.94 hr 6.18 hr studies have had the salutary effect of better defining and
"Direct" route 8.39 Ian 2.39 hr 2.98 hr identifying areas of significant disagreement. Among the
most important of these still-to-be-resolved problems are:
Rio Torata 22.50 Ian 6.58 hr 8.23 hr
the timing of deglaciation and its effects on both the high
puna and sierra valleys of the western flanks of the Andes;
aTravel times computed with walking function of individual trip variation in the movement of storm tracks and variability
segments; burdened travel computed by dividing unburdened in regional-scale climate, including the advent ofEI Nino
travel by 0.8. phenomenon and its effects in the south-central Andean
highlands (Lynch 1990: 199); the degree and extent of
postglacial climatic variability (Santoro et al. 1991); and
the effects of volcanism on the human utilization of the
time and can be reached even when burdened in less than high-elevation environments in the region.
2 hours. The Rio Capillune, in contrast, is more distant, Archaeologists working in the south-central Andes, es-
with an Asana-like point on the valley floor more than 2 pecially those with an interest in human cultural adapta-
hours distant and close to 3 hours distant with burdens. tions in the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene, have
The Rio Torata, a valley comparable to the Rio Asana in tended to adopt what can be called a "European" model of
terms of resource density and abundance, lies from 6.5 to glacial advance and retreat (see, for example, Nunez 1989:
8 hours distant. None of these travel time estimates in- fig. 4). Not surprisingly, since both the North American
clude routine rest stops. Using the number and length of and European glacial epochs are so well understood, there
stops made by the modern inhabitants of this region, travel has been a conscious attempt to use European terms and
time to the Torata valley approaches 10 hours. From what even dates, frequently without clear-cut empirical support,
is known of modern foraging peoples, it seems clear that to describe and label the major glacial events that occurred
the Torata valley lies beyond a typical "day's travel" for in South America. While it is clear that glaciation during
most known foot-mobile foraging peoples. However, both the Pleistocene was a global phenomenon, there are nev-
the Charaque and the Capillune are relatively close, and ertheless serious problems in attempting to make correla-
while only the Charaque was surveyed intensively (the tions between glacial events, especially those that took place
entire Capillune has been reconnoitered three times by in different hemispheres. Indeed, Lynch (1990: 207-208)
survey crews; while small rockshelters have been found in has labeled such attempts as "speculative" and has further
the upper Capillune, no shelters or surface finds are found noted that these attempts have inspired little confidence
in elevations from 3,000 to 3,800 m), only the Charaque, in their validity.
the closest valley in terms of travel time, has surface den- In great part, much of the difficulty in establishing a
sities like those found above Asana at a distance from 5 to consensus about the interpretations of paleoclimates in the
6 Ian and roughly comparable travel times to the Charaque south-central Andes is related to the combined effects of
(ca. 1.2 to 1.4 hours, respectively). While tentative, these the rugged mountain mass of the Andean cordillera, the
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
interrelationship between latitude and altitude, and a clear
decreasing trend in rainfall amount and periodicity from
east to west and from northwest to southeast. Given these
aspects of the modern climate, it is no surprise that differ-
ent point locations reporting paleoclimatological informa-
tion produce often contradictory results. Therefore, while
a local source for paleoclimatological data within the Rio
Asana valley would be the best solution to this problem,
such a source, aside from the stratigraphy of the site itself
and what can be read from it, is not available. The
paleoclimatic reconstruction that follows, therefore, draws
on these disparate regional resources as well as on the site
itself and is the best possible integration of them.
Data from the central Andes (Birkeland, Rodbell, and
Short 1989; Lynch 1990; Wright 1983, 1984) and from
the Salar de Atacama (Lynch 1986) suggest that the gla-
cial epoch ended between 14,000 and 11,000 B.P., with the
actual date of deglaciation affected substantially by alti-
tude and latitude. The most probable date of deglaciation
in the central Andes is ca. 12,000 B.P., with some possibil-
ity of minor glacial advances between 11,500 and 11,000
B.P. In the Atacama region, dates for deglaciation as moni-
tored by paleolake levels range from 12,500 to 11,000 B.P.
(Grosjean and Nunez 1994: 275). These dates correlate
well with the Tauca Phase of lake development on the
Bolivian altiplano, which ranges from ca. 13,000 to 10,500
B.P. (Wirrmann and Oliveira Almeida 1987) and which it-
self has been correlated with massive deglaciation in the
Bolivian cordillera (Gouze et a1. 1986). Depending on lo-
cation, then, a nonperiglacial ecology was established in
the south-central Andes between 11,000 and 10,000 B.P.,
with the earlier date being the most probable.
Laguna Seca, ca. 175 Ian south-southeast of Asana
(Baied 1991; Baied and Wheeler 1993) and Sajima, ca. 200
Ian southeast of Asana (Ybert and Miranda 1984) are the
locations nearest Asana that can provide high-quality
paleoenvironmental data. The former lies at an elevation
of 4,500 m at the base of Mount Parinacota on the dry
puna in northern Chile, while the latter is found at an el-
evation of 4,610 m on the dry puna in western Bolivia. At
Laguna Seca, the Early Holocene (ca. 11,000-8000 B.P.)
climate was characterized by conditions moister and wet-
ter than in the modern era. It must be stressed, however,
that the climate would have been somewhat warmer than
in the terminal Pleistocene glacial and periglacial times
(Lynch 1990). From 8000 to 7000 B.P., there was a period
of continuing cold temperatures but a decrease in rainfall.
From 7000 to 6000 B.P., this drying trend persisted, and
temperatures remained cold. This trend is also observed
49
at Sajima at the start of its pollen record, and there the
period 7500 to 6000 B.P. was characterized by cold and
dry conditions. While the degree of aridity remains in
question, it is possible that Sajima was significantly drier,
especially closer to 6000 B.P., than in modern times. The
records at both Laguna Seca and Sajima suggest that the
climate was moister than in the previous period, although
again cold temperatures persisted. There is a growing con-
sensus that modern climatic conditions were established
in a time frame from 3500 to 3000 B.P.
Data from Barro Negro and El Aguilar on the high puna
ofnorthwestern Argentina provide additional insights into
what the Early Holocene climate might have been like
(Fernandez et a1. 1991). The period from 12,000 to 10,000/
9000 B.P. appears to have been cold and humid. Following
these dates, it appears that temperatures gradually in-
creased but not substantially, a pattern very similar to that
found in the valleys of the western flanks of the Andes at
the same time. Of more interest, however, is the apparent
establishment of an austral summer rainfall pattern, char-
acteristic of the modern era, by ca. 10,000 B.P. and possi-
bly slightly earlier (Fernandez et a1. 1991: 268). Another
important insight gained from this locality is the discov-
ery that during the Early Holocene, typical puna vegeta-
tion communities now found at ca. 4,100 m and above
were 200 to 300 m lower. This implies that all other major
vegetation communities in the puna rim and high sierra
would have been similarly displaced downward. Grosjean
and Nunez (1994) have argued for a similar pattern in the
Atacama altiplano for the period 11,000 to 8500 B.P.
The antiquity of El Nino events is an important con-
sideration in understanding the paleoclimates in the high-
lands of the south-central Andes. The devastating effect
of modern El Nino events in these areas is becoming in-
creasingly clear. On the littoral, fish and shellfish popula-
tions are disrupted, and there appears to be a higher prob-
ability of extended drought in the highlands during severe
events. If El Nino events existed in the past, they would
have been especially severe during times of relative aridity
by making predictability of rainfall periodicity even more
difficult. Rollins, Richardson, and Sandweiss (1986) and
Sandweiss (1986) have determined that the origin of El
Nino can be traced to ca. 5000 B.P., approximately at the
start of the ameliorating climate of the Late Holocene. A
slightly earlier origin would have increased environmen-
tal risk in an already risky climate. If it indeed started ear-
lier, this would be consistent with the extreme aridity noted
at Asana and in the northern Chilean puna rim sites from
ca. 6000 to 5000 B.P.
50 The South-Central Andes and the Osmore Basin as a Human Habitat
Given these data, what would the paleoclimate have
been like in the Rio Asana valley from ca. 11,000 to 3500
B.P.? From 11,000 to 10,000 B.P., puna vegetation com-
munities were probably found at lower elevations, possi-
bly between 3,800 and 4,000 m. The puna rim in the val-
ley would have likely been very cold and sparsely vegetated.
Below the puna grasslands in the upper high sierra, queiiual
forests would have been lowered to an elevation range of
3,600 to 3,800 m, roughly 200 m lower than in the mod-
ern era. This would have had the effect of bringing taruca
habitat significantly closer to Asana. It is likely that the
Asana bofedal formed during this period, possibly around
10,500 B.P. Obviously, the lower and upper high sierra
would have been an open niche gradually becoming highly
favorable for human exploitation.
From 10,000 to 8000 B.P., gradual warming with con-
tinued humid conditions permitted puna vegetation com-
munities to migrate rapidly into the puna rim environ-
ment of the valley, and it is probable that the bofedales
seen on the valley floor of the puna rim as well as the higher
quebradas of the valley began to form at this time. Just
how rapid this process was, is unclear. The vicuna first
migrated into the puna rim at this time. Queiiual forests
moved higher in elevation, probably to their modern range
at 3,800 to 4,000 m, taking with them the highest density
patches for the taruca. Wet conditions would have fos-
tered the growth of resource patches in both the upper
and lower high sierra, and it is likely that rainfall predict-
ability may have been greater during this period, implying
that these patches would have been more predictable in
their productivity and abundance. Guanaco populations
may have been larger due to greater amounts of forage
produced by more consistent rainfall and therefore these
groups may have been more sedentary and thus their lo-
cation more predictable. Conditions in the Rio Asana val-
ley would have been very favorable for foraging peoples.
Although it is still unclear how long such conditions
persisted after 8000 B.P., it is likely that some time after
7000 B.P. the climate in the valley began to become more
arid. Regardless of the timing of this trend, it would have
increased the importance of bofedales for both animals
and humans. These patches would have acted as resource
pulls, in that animals, especially the vicuna and taruca,
would have been limited in their mobility. While this may
have improved the predictability of these species, it may
well have reduced their density, because it is clear that their
population densities are constrained in great part by com-
petition for mates, keeping absolute numbers well below
carrying capacity. Guanacos would have become more
mobile up and down the valley as forage became scarcer
due to lower rainfall. Lower rainfall would have had the
same effect on other plant resource patches utilized by
humans, making them smaller and less predictable in their
persistence and abundance. While the exact timing of this
process of desiccation is unknown, stratigraphic and ar-
chaeological evidence from Asana suggest it occurred af-
ter 6000 B.P. and persisted until approximately 5000 B.P.
Climatic amelioration began at approximately 5000 B.P.,
with greater rainfall and probably slightly cooler tempera-
tures than in the immediately preceding period. While
bofedales continued as important resource pulls, regional
productivity most likely increased with the return of other
resource patches in all areas of the valley, especially in the
lower and upper high sierra. However, at no time does
rainfall amount or temperature approach the conditions
seen from 10,000 to 8000 B.P. Resource density would have
increased, its periodicity probably would have been more
predictable, and the environment would have become gen-
erally more productive. Smaller resource patches prob-
ably reappeared but would have been subject to periodic
desiccation due to prolonged drought, much as they are
today, especially if Nino-generated droughts in the high-
lands began at this time.
The Archaic Period Archaeology of the
Western Flanks of the South-Central Andes
"While the south-central Andes as a whole, especially the
littoral, has been a focus of Archaic Period research for
almost 100 years beginning with the pioneering efforts of
Uhle (1917, 1919), it has only been within the past 30 years
that significant research has been initiated in the higher
elevations of the western flanks of the Andes in the region
(Aldenderfer 1989a: 126-129). For the most part, research
has focused upon the fertile coast and nearby low inter-
mediate valleys, primarily in northern Chile in the Azapa
basin (Allison et al. 1984; Bird 1943, 1946; Bittmann 1982;
Bittmann and Munizaga 1984; Dauelsberg 1974, 1982;
Mufioz 1982, 1993; Mufioz and Chacama 1982; Mufioz,
Arriaza, and Auferheide 1993), and the mouth of the
Camarones (Schiappacasse and Niemeyer 1984). Although
a tradition of high-elevation studies has existed in the
Atacama region since the late 1960s and early 1970s (see,
for example, Nufiez 1975; Nunez, Zlatar, and Nunez 1974),
relatively little high-elevation research has been conducted
elsewhere in the region.
It has become increasingly clear that it is impossible to
understand coastal developments without also consider-
ing the nature of high-elevation land use (Nufiez 1983),
and in response, Chilean, Peruvian, and North American
archaeologists have recently initiated a number of impor-
tant archaeological and paleoclimatological projects in the
Andean highlands, including Proyecto Arcaico in the high-
lands of the Osmore basin in southern Peru (Aldenderfer
1989b, 1989c; Kuznar 1989, 1990), various projects in the
Lauca Biosphere Reserve in the highlands of extreme
northern Chile (Santoro et al. 1991), and a number of site-
oriented projects in various portions ofthe Lluta and Azapa
drainages (Dauelsberg 1983; Santoro and Nufiez 1987;
Nufiez and Santoro 1988; Santoro 1989).
Although these efforts have provided archaeologists
with a general chronological outline and a rough sense of
the dynamics of cultural change, the archaeology of the
highlands has remained in an exploratory stage despite the
important advances in our substantive knowledge. After a
decade of intensive work, no more than 20 sites have had
comprehensive descriptions published, and this situation
has hindered the development of periodizations and mod-
els of land use and models of changing land use through
time. Compared to the fertile coast or further to the north
in the Central Andes in either the highlands or the lit-
toral, this is a relatively small data base upon which to build
chronologies and models of adaptation through time.
Archaic Period Chronology
The Archaic Period in the western flanks of the south-
central Andes is commonly divided into three chronologi-
cal subdivisions: Early (11,000-8000 B.P.), Middle {8000-
6000 B.P.), and Late (6000-4000 B.P.). Despite broad agree-
ment on the major divisions of the Archaic, no single phas-
ing scheme has gained widespread acceptance. As I have
noted elsewhere, there have been at least four different
phasings of the region published since 1980 (Aldenderfer
1989a: 130), with each of them emphasizing different re-
constructions of chronology and settlement pattern. Two
recent phasings, however, are broadly compatible (fig. 3.1).
Santoro and Nunez (1987), Nunez and Santoro (1988)
and Santoro (1989) have published a series of papers in
52 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes

PERIOD SANTORO ALDENDERFER testing at Coscori (2,860 m in the lower high sierra) and
1989 1994 Cueva 4 (3,250 m in the high sierra), surface collections
B.P.
3000 above Asana in an elevation range from 3,500 to 3,800 m,
Late Archaic
and excavations at El Panteon (4,250 m), an open-air site
Awati
4000 - Asana VII on the puna rim approximately 15 km above Asana on the
H akenasa Rio Asana, and Cueva San Agustin (4,450 m), a small shel-
Qhuna ter 17 km above Asana (Aldenderfer 1990a). Seven phase
Asana V I
5000 - designations have been made based upon changes in do-
Pisi Mara
A sana V mestic architecture and composites of activity performance
at sites. Changes in subsistence activity and settlement
6000
Middle
Archaic
Asano r Muruq1uto
Asana IV
pattern are also used to create phase boundaries. In gen-
eral, these phases show significant overlap with those pro-
7000 - posed by Nunez and Santoro, but because they are based
upon a wider range of sites as well as more extensive exca-
vations, they are also more detailed. For instance, I have
8000 J ilona
Early Patapatane Asana III proposed three distinct Middle Archaic phases based upon
Archaic
clear changes in activity performance at Asana and modi-
9000 - Khituna fications in settlement pattern. Likewise, the Late Archaic
Asona II
Tuina ? is composed of two very different phases: Asana VIlQhuna,
in which seed grinding is important and residential mo-
10,000 - Purumo
Asono I bility is markedly reduced, and Asana VIIIAwati, in which
a pastoral economy has replaced a foraging life-style. This
11,000 - phasing will be used throughout the remainder ofthis book.

Fig. 3.1. Current Archaic Period phasings in the south-

central Andes.
Models of High-Sierra and Puna Rim Land Use

Because of the small size of the data base, as well as the

which they describe a proposed phasing for the dry and
salt puna of northern Chile. For the dry puna, they pro-
pose two Early Archaic phases, none for the Middle Ar-
chaic, and a single phase for the Late Archaic. They bor-
row the Tuina Phase from the better-known salt puna se-
quence but admit that diagnostic Tuina materials have yet
to be found on the dry puna. Three sites, Las Cuevas (ca.
4,000 m), Patapatane (2,600 m) and Hakenasa (4,000 m),
form the basis for these phase definitions, which are pri-
marily made on the basis of artifact type and morphology
as well as inferred settlement patterns said to be charac-
teristic of each. In the earliest of this series of phasings,
Santoro and Nunez created no Middle Archaic phase be-
cause of the paucity of assemblages dating to this period at
Las Cuevas, Patapatane, and Hakenasa. "While in a later
revision of their phasing they propose a Middle Archaic
Asana phase, they make no effort to define its content.
I have proposed a phasing based on the extensive exca-
vations at Asana, a high-sierra site in the Osmore basin of
southern Peru, and supplemented by data obtained through
research orientations prevalent in the region (Aldenderfer
1989a: 117-118), models of Archaic Period land use re-
main at a descriptive level. Further, most models that have
been constructed suffer from one or more shortcomings:
1. Reconstruction of resource utilization patterns has
been based upon nonsystematic, essentially opportunistic
data collection. No systematic survey of all major envi-
ronmental zones has been attempted despite the recogni-
tion that data from these areas, particularly the highlands,
are of crucial importance in reconstructing regional-scale
patterns of resource utilization and their change through
time (Dauelsberg 1983: 17; Santoro and Chacama 1982: 25;
Schiappacasse and Niemeyer 1984: 176).
2. Due to the lack of systematic archaeological survey
in ecological zones above 2,500 m, reconstructions of
settlement dynamics in these higher altitudes are based
upon very scant archaeological data. With the exception
of the work performed by Proyecto Arcaico in the Os-
more basin, the few high-elevation excavations undertaken
to date have focused on cave and rockshelter sites. "While
such sites are important because they tend to be well strati-
fied and thus provide insight into chronology, they offer
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
only one perspective on resource utilization due to special
aspects of preservation and the use of space. Furthermore,
those excavations that have been done have been small
scale, ranging from 1 to 6 m 2 (Nunez and Santoro 1987:
table 2). While potentially useful for chronology build-
ing, they are too small, even within rockshelters, to exam-
ine adequately variability in activity performance and the
use of space, key indicators used to define the place of sites.
3. Existing models have yet to use consistently a set of
material correlates that link the objects found in the ar-
chaeological record to the human beings that created them.
The results of middle-range research on foraging societ-
ies have not been integrated into these models. While terms
such as "residential camp," "territorially based hunters and
gatherers," and "semi-transhumant hunters" have been
used, for example, there has been no attempt to define the
archaeological correlates of these terms.
Three major models of high-elevation land use have
been proposed: Ravines (1967, 1972); Santoro and Nunez
(1987), Nunez and Santoro (1988), and Santoro (1989);
and Aldenderfer (1989b). While these models have sig-
nificant differences, each focuses upon the definition of
the range and seasonal variability of regional-scale mobil-
ity as the crucial feature of the model. In much of the
Andean world, the term "seasonal transhumance" has been
adopted to describe the structure of residential mobility.
The first archaeologist to use the term "transhumance" in
the study of Andean foragers was Thomas Lynch, who
applied it to his studies in the central Andes (Lynch 1967,
1971, 1973). In the central and south-central Andes, the
seasonal complementarity of the major ecological zones is
considered important. During the austral winter when the
highland valleys are dry, for example, large bofedales on
the puna remain attractive loci for resource procurement,
and the garua of the littoral often causes the lomas to bloom.
Since its introduction, "transhumance" has been applied
to other portions of the Andes, most prominently in the
western valleys of the south-central Andes, where two vari-
ants of the transhumance model have been developed:
those that postulate coastal resource utilization during the
austral winter (May-September) and high-elevation zone
resource use during the austral summer (October-April)
(Dauelsberg 1974, 1982; Ravines 1967, 1972), and those
that propose a more limited transhumance between adja-
cent altitudinal or ecological zones (Aldenderfer 1989b;
Munoz and Chacama 1982; Nunez 1983; Santoro and
Nunez 1987; Nunez and Santoro 1988; Santoro 1989;
Santoro and Chacama 1982).
Ravines (1967, 1972) postulates a littoral-high puna
53
scale of transhumance that was initiated as early as 9000
B.P. based on excavations at Toquepala Caves (ca. 2,800 m)
in the Locumba drainage, the results of testing at Caru
(2,500 m), a rockshelter in the Caplina drainage, and op-
portunistic surface collections from widely scattered sites
on the Arequipa and Moquegua littoral. Although not ex-
plicitly stated, residential bases would be located on the
littoral and the high puna. Toquepala, in the lower high
sierra, would have been occupied by foragers for brief pe-
riods at the end of the austral summer, most probably in
March and April as foragers moved to the coast to take
advantage of littoral resources, and again in October or
November at the start of the austral summer as they re-
turned to their high-puna base camps. Thus sites in the
sierra and puna rim would be either temporary camps oc-
cupied by all members of the foraging band or coresidential
group or possibly task-specific sites. The major weakness
with this model is that it simply lacks the detail of empiri-
cal evidence necessary to falsify it. At the time of its devel-
opment, no high-puna sites had been excavated or even
surface collected, nor had littoral sites been examined in
the detail necessary to test the model. Moreover, the model
had no clearly specified time frame and thus could not
accommodate the possibility ofchanges in settlement pat-
tern and mobility through time. In fairness to Ravines and
the model, it is probably best seen as a hypothesis, one
that has been essentially rejected by more recent studies,
although there are some aspects of the model that are valid,
at least as far as the Osmore basin is concerned.
Models of limited transhumance between adjacent eco-
logical zones on the whole have been more explicit in their
expectations about the seasonal structure of land use and
have been sensitive to questions about both the causes and
directionality of changes in these systems through time.
Santoro and Nunez (1987), Nunez and Santoro (1988),
and Santoro (1989) have developed one of the more so-
phisticated models yet presented. In this model, what I
call the high sierra is described as a low-elevation portion
of the puna. Although the puna rim is not explicitly dis-
cussed, it lies partially within their precordillera zone (3,000-
4,000 m) and their puna alta (4,000-5,000 m).
In the Early Archaic, they note that Las Cuevas and
Hakenasa, located near bofedales, could have been occu-
pied at any time during the year. They argue, however,
that it is most probable that these sites were occupied dur-
ing the austral winter (Nunez and Santoro 1988: 34),
whereas Patapatane, Tojo-Tojones, and other sites below
4,000 m were probably utilized during the austral sum-
mer. They base this argument in part on the assumption
54 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes
that elevations higher than 4,000 m would have been "in-
hospitable" during the austral winter, especially during the
early Holocene, and further buttress this claim with eth-
nographic analogies of modern Aymara pastoralists living
near Cariquima in northern Chile who move to sites on
the high puna at elevations above 4,000 m during the aus-
tral summer and descend to an elevation range of 3,700-
4,000 ill during the austral winter. \Vhile the bulk of the
available evidence suggests that the scale of mobility was
restricted to the lower high sierra and lower reaches of
the puna, the presence of small quantities of marine shell
at Patapatane and a shark's tooth at Las Cuevas suggests
to them the possibility of a littoral-puna scale of mobility,
possibly like that characteristic of the salt puna further to
the south (Santoro and Nunez 1987). The economy dur-
ing the Early Archaic was focused upon hunting large and
small mammals. Evidence for plant gathering is scant.
The highlands were apparently abandoned during the
Middle Archaic. Although a few of the sites, most notably
Hakenasa and Patapatane, have some traces of occupation,
the remains are sparse when compared to the Early Ar-
chaic levels of these sites. Santoro et a1. (1991) note that
residential bases during the Middle Archaic were prob-
ably moved to the littoral, or possibly the low intermedi-
ate valleys, and argue that the increased number of sites
discovered along the northern Chilean littoral is due to
the movement of these highlanders to the coast. \Vhile
the causes of this "abandonment" are obscure, they sug-
gest that the effects of extreme aridity due to the onset of
the Climatic Optimum may have had a major role as did,
at least locally near the sources of the Lluta and Azapa
drainages, volcanism (Santoro et a1. 1991).
The highlands were reoccupied during the Late Archaic
Hakenasa Phase, and Nunez and Santoro (1988) hypoth-
esize a more intensive utilization of ecological niches in
bottoms of the high valleys, the precordillera, and the high
puna during this period. They postulate climatic condi-
tions similar to those in the region today and argue that
with the exception of periods of drought, there was no
significant ecological determinant of or "pressure" on
settlement location aside from the availability of resources.
Settlement pattern consisted of a series of semipermanent
camps located in each of the major ecological zones. Mo-
bility was apparently restricted, however, to these three
zones. \Vhile coastal resources have been found at a few
of these highland sites, the authors argue that in the Late
Archaic, their presence represents contact with, rather than
the nlovement of people to, the littoral (Santoro 1989: 55).
In addition to these residential bases, they have also iden-
tified a series of small, temporary camps in the valley bot-
toms. They see little or no evidence for plant use, and the
economy was apparently focused upon specialized hunt-
ing of large mammals and continued, but diminished, uti-
lization of small mammals. They suggest that by the end
of the Archaic, at approximately 3500 B.P., camelids had
been domesticated on the high puna, but to date, the data
that support this claim, at least from the dry puna ofnorth-
ern Chile, have yet to be discovered. It appears this claim
is based upon the discovery of possibly domesticated
camelids in Late Archaic Puripica Phase sites (ca. 5000-
4000 B.P.), such as Tuhin and Puripica, in the salt puna
region of northern Chile (Nunez and Santoro 1988).
The major limitation of this model is that like Ravines's
hypothesis, too little empirical data exist to determine the
degree to which it is valid. Moreover, while the model is
highly plausible, scant attention has been paid to the de-
velopment of the archaeological correlates ofthe presumed
patterns of land use that characterize each of the major
time periods. For example, during the Late Archaic, a new
settlement type, the temporary camp, appears. Puxuma 1,
a small rockshelter dating to approximately 4100 B.P., is
one of these sites. The materials recovered from the site
include small quantities of bone, a few broken bifacial
pieces, a few morphological tools such as projectile points,
and pigments presumably used to paint figures of camelids
on the shelter's walls. In the words of the authors, "Los
escasos restos de este pequeno alero representarfan un
campamento temporal, para el aprovecharniento de recursos
localizados de caza, con grupos conectados probablemente
con algun campamento-base en el piso alto puna" (Nunez
and Santoro 1988: 44).
The concept of "temporary camp" in this discussion is
based upon the low diversity and small quantities of mate-
rials recovered from the site. \Vhile the interpretation is
not manifestly incorrect, it remains undemonstrated. For
instance, it is possible that Puxuma 1 is a logistical camp, a
field station, a hunting blind, or possibly an overnight,
briefly occupied camp. Without a more complete specifi-
cation of the archaeological correlates ofsettlement types,
the model remains untestable. Despite this problem, the
model remains one of the best available hypotheses of high-
land land use throughout the Archaic.
In 1989 I published a hypothetical model of high-si-
erra and high-puna settlement patterns in the Osmore-
Rio Chila basins based upon data available at the end of
the 1987 field season of Proyecto Arcaico (Aldenderfer
1989b). The organizational framework of this model was
the search for the Archaic Period equivalents ofvertical or
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
zonal complementarity, and there was explicit consider-
ation of each of the major ecological zones in the region
(Aldenderfer 1989a, 1989c). Further, the model sought to
demonstrate that the forms of complementarity in the re-
gion changed through time, from an emphasis in the Early
Archaic on high residential mobility as a means of coping
with periodic resource shortfalls and high environmental
unpredictability to balanced reciprocity involving signifi-
cantly reduced residential mobility, the avoidance of re-
source shortfall through the exchange of subsistence re-
sources, and by the end of the Late Archaic, the probable
use of domesticated camelids in the high-sierra-puna rim
environments. Perhaps the most important innovation of
the model, at least for the south-central Andes, was an
explicit concern with defining the archaeological corre-
lates of major settlement types expected in the high sierra,
particularly logistical camps and locations (Aldenderfer
1989b: 134-135; Thomas 1983a: 73-87). The model also
attempted to accommodate data obtained through system-
atic surface collection of selected areas in both the high
sierra and high puna and excavation through the use of
sophisticated methods of spatial analysis, most notably
kriging (Aldenderfer 1989b: 144-157).
This model postulated the existence of two different
but contemporaneous cultural traditions or populations
at the beginning of the Early Archaic: coastal foragers with
relatively low residential mobility and more mobile high-
altitude hunters who exploited puna grasslands from Oc-
tober through April and slightly lower elevational zones
in the high sierra from May through September (Aldender-
fer 1989b: 133). Like that ofNunez and Santoro, this model
recognized the importance ofbofedales as a major resource
pull. During the Early Archaic, regional population den-
sity was low, and in the highlands, residential bases were
probably located on the high puna. The high sierra lay
within the logistical radius of these high-puna foragers,
and foragers probably descended no further than the lower
high sierra. The economy was focused upon the hunting
of camelids, both vicuna and guanacos, as well as deer.
Small mammals and plant resources were used infrequently.
In the Middle Archaic, while residential bases persisted
on the high puna, new residential bases, such as Asana,
were also established. Thus while the scale and orienta-
tion of mobility remained the same, it appears that the
frequency of residential mobility decreased. At Asana,
small, circular houses with prepared clay floors were
present, and the artifact assemblage included evidence of
both male and female activities, suggesting that the entire
coresidential group, or "band," occupied the site. Both the
55
season and the duration of occupation were unknown, but
it is probable that Asana was occupied during the austral
summer, at the end ofwhich these groups returned to their
residential bases on the high puna.
By the Late Archaic, regional-scale population growth
resulted in the in-filling of the major ecological zones of
the region, and residential mobility as a solution to re-
source shortfall had been severely curtailed. In the high
sierra, for example, Asana had become a residential base
occupied for a significant part of the year, while logistical
camps, such as Cueva 4, Cueva Quellaveco, and Coscori,
were now occupied. A number of surface sites that prob-
ably functioned as locations during the Late Archaic are
found throughout much of the upper and lower high si-
erra. Niche width had increased, with plant resources such
as Chenopodium spp., which grows wild in the high-sierra
valleys, being intensively utilized. Hunting remained im-
portant, but the quantity of deer had decreased substan-
tially. The increased number of "tokens" found at Late
Archaic Asana suggests that some form of balanced reci-
procity had been initiated as a means of dealing with re-
duced settlement mobility in these risky and unpredict-
able environments (Aldenderfer 1989a: 149-150).
Not surprisingly, there are broad similarities between
the Nunez and Santoro model and my model despite dif-
ferences in phasing and timing. Both the axis and scale of
residential mobility in the Early Archaic are perceived as
essentially the same, as is the scenario of more increased
niche width and intensive utilization of new resources in
the Late Archaic. \Vhere the models diverge substantially
is in their characterization of the Middle Archaic utiliza-
tion of the highlands and the degree of residential mobil-
ity in the Late Archaic.
Despite the conceptual and methodological advances
of my model, its major weakness, like those of both Ra-
vines and Nunez and Santoro, is that there were insuffi-
cient data available to test its improved corpus of implica-
tions. It depended substantially on evidence from ecologi-
cal zones other than the high sierra but which at the time
was nonexistent. Another problem was that at the time,
the Early Archaic occupation at Asana was known only
from a 8-m2 area, and as subsequent'excavation has dem-
onstrated, this particular area was not remotely represen-
tative of activity performance at the site during this pe-
riod. Finally, there was not sufficient chronological con-
trol at the rockshelter sites tested, such as Cueva 4, Tala,
and Cueva Quellaveco.
Each of these models, to varying degrees, also suffers
the same shortcomings. None of the them has a compre-
56 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes
hensive or convincing discussion of the process of occu-
pation, often referred to as the "andinization" of the
Andean highlands (Nunez and Santoro 1988: 20). It is
highly probable that the constraints created by high-el-
evation environments affected the pace and content of
highland adaptations, the timing of permanent settlement,
and the rate of population growth in the region. Another
problem is the failure to initiate studies in all of the major
environmental zones of the western flanks' valleys. In
northern Chile, for example, virtually no work has been
done in the low intermediate valleys, high sierra, puna rim,
and high puna, while in the Osmore basin, no work has
been done in the low intermediate valleys. This means that
the structure of interaction, be it mobility or some form
of reciprocity, cannot be examined in full detail. Finally,
except for my model, there has been little consideration
of the causal forces that may have structured cultural
change in the region. That is, most models have remained
only descriptive and have tended to take on a teleological
perspective. Nunez (1983: 172), for example, has charac-
terized the Archaic Period cultures of northern Chile as
"transitional" or "experimental" societies that eventually
adopted various forms of sedentary life. The implication
of this argument is clear: the dynamic of cultural change
in the region is reduced to directed evolutionary change
or a kind of stimulus-response scenario in which the Ar-
chaic societies of the region respond to innovations or
population movements from beyond the south-central
Andes (Aldenderfer 1989a: 118).
Although the environment presents considerable chal-
lenges to a foraging adaptation, it is clear that a number of
different settlement systems are possible adaptive responses
to a combination of high-elevation stresses and pervasive
aridity. Lacking a definitive set of limiting factors that nec-
essarily structure these settlement systems, models of the
dynamics ofcultural change in the region must focus upon
other relevant criteria, such as what a risk-adverse forag-
ing adaptation would resemble, how the dynamic of mo-
bility and reciprocity would have been affected by such a
perspective, and how resource intensification and domes-
tication can be factored into this emerging scenario. These
issues, and the ways in which they are reflected in recon-
structions of cultural history in the Osmore basin, are ex-
plored in chapters 6 through 9.
History of High-Sierra-Puna Rim Research
in the Osmore Basin
Archaic Period research in the Osmore basin was initiated
after the discovery of Toquepala Cave, one of the most
important Archaic Period sites in the region (fig. 3.2). Al-
though the cave, located at approximately 2,800 m in the
high sierra of the nearby Rio Locumba, was well known
to locals, it gained nationwide fame after Southern Peru
Copper Corporation began operations at Toquepala and
agreed to help preserve the site and its spectacular rupestral
art. The site was first tested in 1963 by Jorge C. Muelle,
then director of the Museo Nacional de Antropologia y
Arqueologia. A set of radiocarbon samples was recovered
from the basal strata of the site and was published by
Rogger Ravines, who completed the excavation of the site
in 1965. In a series of publications, Ravines developed a
chronology of its occupation, assessed the stylistic prop-
erties of the bifacial artifacts recovered, and attempted to
place the site into a broader, regional perspective (Ravines
1967, 1972). As a part of this effort, Ravines apparently
conducted a brief reconnaissance along the Rio Asana ap-
proximately 5 km to the north of the site and collected
materials from the surface of a site he labeled Quellaveco.
Although it is difficult to accurately fix the exact locations
he collected, it is probable that he investigated a series of
river terraces ranging in elevation from 3,500 to 3,600 m.
Archaic Period research in the region lay dormant un-
til 1982, when Programa Contisuyo was organized. Charles
Stanish, then of the University of Chicago, discovered,
mapped, and systematically surface collected parts of
Titijones, an open-air site at 4,450 m near the source of
the Rio Torata, one of the major tributary streams of the
Osmore. In 1983 Paul Goldstein, also of the University of
Chicago, and Luis Watanabe, then of the Museo N acional
de las Ciencias de la Salud, discovered the rockshelter of
Coscori, found at an elevation of approximately 3,000 m
on the south slopes above the Rio Asana. They made a
grab sample of potentially diagnostic materials found on
the surface and also excavated a small test unit to ascertain
the stratigraphic sequence and depth of deposit. While
the results of the test were inconclusive, fragments of bi-
facially worked tools confirmed an Archaic Period utiliza-
tion of the shelter. This supposition was strengthened by
the discovery of rupestral art similar in form and style to
that found at Toquepala (Watanabe 1990).
In 1984 I initiated Proyecto Arcaico, a multiyear project
designed at the outset to address the following issues: de-
velop an Archaic Period chronology in all major environ-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 57

0 Yoro
I Corizol
10
00 2 Kilometro 4

~
3 Villa del Mar
4 Shell Ring
5 Pompa del Polo Middens
6 Toquepola
7 Coscor i
8 Tala
9 Cueva 4
N 10 Asana
II Quell aveco
12 EI Panteon
13 Cueva Son Agustin
14 Tit i jones
15 Tomuco
16 Quelcatoni
0 20 40 60
I I J I
KM

Fig. 3.2. Major Archaic Period sites in the Osmore drainage and surrounding streams.

mental zones ofthe Osmore drainage through stratigraphic
excavation; reconstruct Archaic Period settlement and sub-
sistence patterns; and build and evaluate testable models
of human land use throughout the Archaic Period that
include consideration of the scale of land use and degree
of residential mobility, changes in the scale of land use
that may be associated with the sedentarization process,
and the degree to which these changes are related to the
intensive use and possible domestication of plant and ani-
mal species. The 1984 field season was devoted primarily
to a littoral-to-puna evaluation of the nature of the Ar-
chaic Period data base. Although some work was conducted
along the littoral around 110, the majority of field effort
was directed at two sites: Titijones and Coscori. At
Titijones, the site was remapped, and an intensive surface
collection of all visible cultural material was made. Two 1
x 1 m test units were excavated to assess the nature of the
archaeological deposit. A similar system was implemented
at Coscori; the site was tested with a single 1 x 1 m unit,
and the surface ofthe site, including its talus, was collected.
The 1985 field season ofProyecto Arcaico was devoted
to a regional-scale survey of the Rio Asana from Tumilaca
Molina to Cueva Quellaveco and a minor tributary of the
Asana, Rio Charaque, from the village of Tala to a point
58 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes
near its origin on the puna rim (fig. 3.3; Aldenderfer
1989b). A linear distance of approximately 20 km was sur-
veyed using both "siteless" and opportunistic survey meth-
odologies, and 4.8 km 2 of valley floors and slopes were
investigated. Twenty-seven distinct components made up
of 119 densities were defined as a result of this survey (Al-
denderfer 1989b: 146-147, 154). In addition to six small
rockshelters, Asana was also discovered. Additional sur-
vey and testing at selected rockshelters and Asana began
in 1986. From 1987 to 1990, the bulk of the fieldwork of
Proyecto Arcaico focused upon excavations at Asana (see
chapter 4). The 1991 season focused upon survey and test-
ing in the puna rim environment. "Siteless" survey was
conducted in the upper reaches of the Rio Asana drainage,
including the Quebrada Panturane, and an additional 10.2
km 2 of terrain were examined. Three new rockshelters,
three large components (open-air sites), and 15 densities
~
{I ~;. ........ .....
,
1.".'1110.."1_
'000 ---'~--~
0,-,
Fig. 3.3. Areas surveyed in the Rio Asana drainage during the 1985 field season.
were identified and recorded. Testing was conducted at El
Panteon, one of the components, and at Cueva San
Agustin, one of the shelters.
Survey Procedures
Intensive surface survey and collection procedures were
employed in five areas of the high sierra and puna rim:
portions of the Rio Asana at elevations ofca. 3,200 to 4,500
m along the stream bottoms and lower slopes of the val-
ley; portions of the Rio Charaque at elevations of 3,600 to
3,900 m; portions of the Rio Coscori (west of the Rios
Asana-Charaque confluence) at elevations of2,900 to 3,200
m along the valley bottoms and lower slopes; the lower
slopes and bottoms of the Quebrada Huaillane between
4,000 and 4,300 m in elevation and the bottoms and lower
slopes of the Quebrada Panturane from its confluence with
the Rio Asana (ca. 4,260 m) to a point ca. 4,500 m in el-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
evation; and various small drainages and dry quebradas
tributary to the Rio Asana. A partial walkover of the Rio
Capillune was also made, but no formal survey of that
stream was undertaken at this time. In total, ca. 15 km2 of
terrain across a distance of ca. 45 linear km (Tumilaca to
Cerro Coraz6n) were surveyed.
Two types of survey procedure were employed: oppor-
tunistic survey of remnant terraces, point bars, rock out-
crops and suspected shelter locations, and "siteless" sur-
vey (Dunnell and Dancey 1983). Opportunistic survey was
conducted on both the bottoms and lower slopes of the
Rio Coscori and the Rio Asana as well as at areas high up
on the valley sides thought to have potential for caves and
shelters. Along both streams, the valley walls become very
narrow, and there is little terrace formation and generally
poorly developed bottom formation. In general, the bot-
toms have suffered extensive erosion through time at pe-
riodic intervals. Terrace remnants not destroyed by geo-
logical processes were identified on aerial photos, and these
areas were intensively surface surveyed and collected.
"Siteless" survey was used to investigate areas not heavily
disturbed by erosion and stream activity. Portions of the
Rios Asana and Charaque were divided into "blocks" of
varying sizes based upon natural topographic variation of
the landscape. Certain areas were excluded from survey:
areas with slope greater than 25% as measured on topo-
graphic maps; areas more than 100 m from the confluence
of quebradas with the major stream courses; areas on
stream or channel bottoms that consisted primarily ofsands
or sands and gravels, such as point bars; and areas identi-
fied in the field or through the use of aerial photography
that had been covered with heavy soil erosion or were ta-
lus slopes. Blocks were surveyed by means of parallel
transects along the long axis of the block; transects were
generally no more than 5 m apart, and one crew member
was assigned to each transect. Crew members walked each
transect in a zig-zag fashion and placed a wire flag beside
each artifact or suspected artifact or architectural feature.
No collection was permitted until the entire block had been
examined. The flagging procedure was modified when high
densities of artifacts were encountered. Here, high den-
sity is interpreted as more than five artifacts per 1 m of
linear distance in any direction surrounding an artifact find.
In practice, once an area of high artifact density was en-
countered or suspected, the surveyor informed the crew
chief and then placed a flag at the point at which the den-
sity seemed to change. The area ofhigh density was walked
through, and a flag was placed at the boundary if it was
found within the block. The flagging of individual arti-
59
facts beyond the high density locus continued until the
transect was finished. The crew chief was responsible for
inspecting the boundaries of the high-density locus and
for making a determination of its general size and extent.
Upon completion of all transects within the block, a
transit station was established, and the location of all flags
was shot relative to this station with a Brunton compass.
Distances to each artifact find were paced by crew mem-
bers whose pace was known. Each artifact find was labeled
separately with the block number and sequence number
for that block. Grid systems were established for each high-
density locus within the block, and artifacts were collected
from within these grids. Each grid node was shot into the
base map for the block. The size of each grid square was
25 m 2 Block and sequence numbers were assigned to these
grids; all artifacts found within a single grid received the
same sequence number. After all grids had been collected,
the margins of the high-density locus were walked in I-m
transects to insure that all artifacts were in fact collected.
The number of I-m transects varied depending on site
size and orientation, but no more than five were walked
around the boundaries of each locus.
The procedures used in this implementation of"siteless"
survey reflect a compromise between the fine-scale map-
ping of every artifact encountered and constraints on field
time and labor. The methods do permit a fairly objective
means of reconstructing the events that took place within
each block that left behind material residues and allow for
considerable interblock comparability.
In addition to the intensive survey of bottoms and ter-
races of the streams, an effort was made to locate
rockshelters and quarry sites. During walkover or surface
inspection, all slopes surrounding the valley bottoms were
scanned, often with binoculars. Aerial photos of the re-
gion were inspected for obvious shelters. Overhangs, out-
crops, and suspected shelter locations were then visited.
Quarry sites were searched for during survey operations
on the valley terraces and bottoms; geologists of Southern
Peru Copper Corporation were consulted about locations
likely to be the sources of major outcrops, and these were
examined in the field. Areas not systematically surveyed
for sites, such as high saddles well above the valley floors
or saddles and ridgelines, were investigated when suspected
rockshelter locations were visited. Nodules of suspected
raw material were also tested in the stream channels, but
such testing was not conducted on a systematic basis. It is
difficult to estimate the amount of terrain covered in
searching for these quarry sites; in addition to the 10.2
km 2 investigated during intensive survey, another 2-3 km2
60 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes
scattered throughout the drainage were also surveyed. The
search for quarries, then, cannot be considered exhaustive
or complete at this time.
Survey in the puna rim portion of the Rio Asana valley
from ca. 4,000 to 4,500 m was more traditional, in that
while the system was identical to that conducted in the
sierra, the "siteless" survey methodology was not used. In-
stead, survey procedures were designed to define sites by
identifying areas of high artifact concentrations and col-
lecting them in a series of transects separated by 3-m in-
tervals. Repeated walkover of the puna rim environment
suggests that artifact densities were in general much lower
than in the puna rim, and it appears that data recovery in
the puna rim is comparable to that further downstream.
Defining Components and Densities with Data from Suiface
Assemblages There is a significant problem in the use
of "siteless" survey data, and that is simply how to analyze
the data. In part, this survey strategy is employed to move
beyond the simplistic notion of "site" so commonly used
by many archaeologists toward a more behavioral defini-
tion of the activities performed in these concentrations of
material. To accomplish this, however, two problems must
be solved: one is methodological and is concerned with
pattern recognition in the broadest sense, and the other is
substantive and is concerned with how to interpret the
patterns obtained through analysis.
"How to aggregate the data" is a way to restate the
methodological problem. "Siteless" survey in one sense
allows the data to "speak for themselves" in that bound-
aries of "sites" are not imposed in the field but are instead
created through the analytic process. Methods that can be
used range from visual inspection of scatterplots to pat-
tern recognition techniques such as nearest neighbor analy-
sis to various spatial interpolation methods, and all ofthese
have been used by archaeologists at a number of different
spatial scales. While simpler statistics are generally pref-
erable to more complex ones (Whallon 1987), there are
times when more complex methods are appropriate. What
is required are methods that will search for pattern but
will not impose an inappropriate structure upon the data.
In this analysis, I have combined a visual inspection of the
artifact scatterplots with a spatial interpolation method-
kriging-to define the components and densities within
each survey block.
Kriging is commonly used in geography and geology
and has had some archaeological application (Zubrow and
Harbaugh 1978; Ripley 1981; Schieppati 1983). Kriging,
like many spatial interpolation methods, is designed to
estimate the values of a spatially distributed variable. Un-
like simpler interpolation methods like distance-weighted
averaging, however, kriging also estimates the error asso-
ciated with the estimation. It is thus able to generate more
accurate estimates of variables. Therefore, it can create
boundaries more effectively and accurately than other spa-
tial interpolation methods, such as trend surface analysis,
which only provides a sense of the directionality of the
distribution of a spatially distributed variable.
Kriging is based on the concept of regionalized vari-
ables and is also known as regionalized variable theory. A
regionalized variable is any numerical function with a spa-
tial distribution which varies from one place to another
with continuity, but the variation cannot be described with
any simple function (Davis 1986). Regionalized variables
have the following characteristics: localization, anistrophy,
and continuity. Localization simply means that a variable
is associated with a sample of specific size and shape. In
archaeology, typical units are points at which lithics are
taken from the ground surface or excavation units ofvary-
ing depth and shape. In the former, the regionalized vari-
able is the density of artifacts at or around the point, and
in the latter it is the density of artifacts per unit volume.
Anistrophy means that a variable may change in value due
to direction. Continuity, also described as average spatial
continuity, implies that the variable has a continuous spa-
tial distribution. While there may be higher or lower den-
sities, and for individual points the value of the variable is
zero, it nevertheless remains a useful operational assump-
tion that at some level of aggregation, the variable is con-
tinuously distributed.
Another significant aspect of kriging is the concept of
drift. As noted by Zubrow and Harbaugh (1978: 114), drift
is best seen as the "broad smooth changes (in value) over
the field of the regional variable." Drift is similar to the
more familiar concept of "trend," or directionality, from
trend-surface analysis. Unlike trend-surface analysis,
though, kriging not only estimates the trend but also de-
fines local variation in the distribution of the regionalized
variable. This ability to dissect or decompose local varia-
tion from regional trend is what makes kriging such a pow-
erful analytical tool. Readers with some mathematical back-
ground will notice that kriging is similar to time series
analysis moved into a spatial context (Ripley 1981: 29) and
that it is analogous to forms of Fourier analysis.
Universal kriging is the most useful type of analysis for
the archaeologist with "siteless" survey data. Whereas some
methods ofkriging require data collection based on a regu-
lar grid, universal kriging permits the use of irregularly
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
spaced data points. This also increases the computational
difficulty of the technique. The mathematics of kriging
are complex, and while a detailed explanation of them is
beyond the scope of this book, the reader is referred to an
excellent introduction and demonstration ofthe techniques
by Schieppati (1983) and Davis (1986).
The kriging software used is from the SURFACE III
spatial analysis package for Macintosh computers (Kansas
Geological Survey 1992). Universal kriging is one of the
options, and all important parameters used to krige are
included. Z values of sampled points consist of count data
of various artifact types. The surface is estimated through
a search procedure of the 10 nearest points to the sampled
point using the octant search method to estimate the dis-
tribution of the regionalized variable. To avoid edge ef-
fects, additional points with artifact counts of zero (since
nothing was found at them) were added to the data set for
each block. These points were placed on a regular grid
pattern. The program was allowed to select the original
contour interval; this interval was "played" with to develop
the clearest representation of pattern possible. This pro-
cess is further described in a later section of this chapter.
Components and Densities The term "component" has
a traditional meaning in archaeology, and it generally re-
fers to a discrete, observable "occupation" of a site. Com-
ponents may be defined stratigraphically through excava-
tion or spatially if differences in artifact distributions can
be recognized. Sites may thus be "single component" or
"multicomponent." In surface contexts, components are
often identified through the presence of culturally or chro-
nologically diagnostic artifacts. In this book, I use the term
"component" to refer solely to areas of relatively high ar-
tifact density when compared to areas of low density.
Densities are similar to components in that they are
areas of relatively high artifact density, but here I make an
effort to define them within an explicit behavioral con-
text. I have chosen to define densities based on reduction
by-products of chipped stone raw material types and other
artifact types. Once a density is defined, its contents can
be examined and inferences made as to the process that
created it. I can postulate three behavioral processes that
could create concentrations of reduction by-products: the
act of reduction itself leading to the creation of primary
refuse; the cleaning of a surface and the dumping of mate-
rials together, thus creating secondary refuse; and the pal-
impsest effect, which would represent repeated episodes
of either or both of these processes at the same place. Note
that the initial definition of densities by raw material type
61
makes no assumptions about which behavioral process is
responsible for the creation of that density.
Natural processes such as erosion, deflation, sheet wash,
trampling, and more can also destroy or compromise the
integrity of behaviorally created concentrations of mate-
rial. The most significant disturbance factor in this region
is likely to be wind erosion or deflation, which could cre-
ate palimpsests. Other erosional factors were observed, but
none of these had a significant impact on the distribution
of materials within the blocks. Most of the blocks are rela-
tively level, and although individual pieces have moved
somewhat, it is unlikely that large concentrations have done
so. Most pieces, while patinated through either desert var-
nish or wind scouring, show few or no signs of edge round-
ing or tumbling and thus have not been moved signifi-
cantly by water or heavy sheet erosion.
Interpreting Densities Three lines of evidence can be
used to develop behavioral interpretations of raw material
densities: the spatial relationships of densities, content, and
relative density. I begin with an assumed single act of lithic
reduction and further assume that a "Mask Site model" is
generally applicable to the amount and pattern of the use
of space by an individual (Binford 1978; see also Thomas
1983b: 431-432; Carr 1991). Among other features, the
model includes now-familiar concepts such as drop and
toss zones situated around hearths. Drop zones contain
primary refuse that immediately enters into the archaeo-
logical record the production or use process. The refuse
tends to be scattered around or near where an individual
or individuals sit. Although it is difficult to ascertain a valid
measure of the amount of space within a drop zone for an
individual, a roughly 3-m2 zone seems reasonable. Toss
zones normally contain larger artifacts and represent "pre-
ventive" site cleaning and should be found beyond the con-
centrated drop zones.
If a density reflects a single act of reduction, it should
then have a limited spatial extent, and it should contain
high proportions of relatively smaller reduction by-prod-
ucts. If more than one raw material type is worked during
the same behavioral "instant," they should be spatially
coterminous. If densities show lesser degrees of overlap,
this probably reflects a palimpsest effect and is probably
due to reoccupation and reutilization of the same space
later in time or the effects of wind erosion. In contrast,
toss zones should contain larger reduction by-products and
be more spatially dispersed.
Two aspects of density content are important: the kinds
of reduction by-products present and the range of tool
62 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes

and tool fragments present. Stages of reduction can be Table 3.1. Expectations of Assemblage Content
distinguished by the types and quantities of reduction by- for Logistical Camps, Locations, and Hunting Blinds
products. In a previous approach to this problem, I used a Using Lithic Data
coarse-grained method of debris classification (Aldender-
fer 1989b: 147-148). Since that time, however, I have re-
analyzed the lithic debris using the flake aggregate analy- Logistical camps Low assemblage diversity but some
sis approach so the survey data would be compatible with materials indicative of "domestic" or
food preparation activities, some gear
the materials excavated from Asana. The methods de-
maintenance
scribed in chapter 4 were used to classify debris and to
Late stage reduction by-products
characterize roughly the stage of reduction reflected at
present if bifaces are transported on
densities once they were defined through kriging. Bifacial site; low densities probable
tools recovered during survey were classified using a modi- Wider range of reduction by-products
fied version ofThomas's (1983b) system. For the purposes present if bifaces are not transported;
of this analysis-because tool use could not be objectively early through late present; densities
determined due to the effects of wind erosion and solar moderate
radiation on exposed tool surfaces-emphasis was placed Biface tips/midsections if present should
on identifying the stage ofbifacial reduction (early, middle, be middle/late stage and will be
late, and small-tool manufacture as defined later) and the production failures
kind of tool (bifacial or unifacial) or fragment represented Biface bases if present should be late
stage/finished, implying retooling
(whole, tip, base, midsection, end). Two types of tools have
been defined: projectile point and scraper (see chapter 4). Locations
Since the materials recovered from densities are exclu- Biface tip/midsections present
Butchery
sively chipped (and some ground) stone lithic materials, a Biface bases in low frequencies
set of criteria must be developed that will allow us to dis- Reduction by-products in low densities
tinguish-using solely lithics-Iogistical camps, locations, Late stage/retouch flakes
and hunting blinds. These expectations are summarized
Raw material Depending on staging, variety of
in table 3.1. It is obvious that these site types are difficult
procurement reduction by-products present;
to distinguish solely on the basis of lithics, and this situa- more cortical material; density
tion is worsened by the palimpsest effect. Therefore, some variable depending on intensity and
discussion of these issues is warranted. \Vhole finished staging
points might be present while being replaced during gear
Others Very low assemblage diversity
maintenance. Broken finished point fragments may be
Very low density of reduction by-
present because they were broken during production (in
products
which case reduction by-products of that process should Reduction by-products varied depending
be present), or they may have been discarded during point on task; minimal tool production
replacement. Depending on what was brought into the
site, then (anticipatory planning), reduction by-products Hunting blinds Low assemblage diversity in terms of
morphological tools or activities
mayor may not be present. Some consideration should be
performed
given as well to exactly what finished point fragments are
Gear maintenance
present. Experiments by Lavallee (1985) and Flenniken Minor retooling
(1985) have shown that in general, hafted projectile points Late stage reduction by-products
break in use longitudinally or laterally above the deepest predominate since reduction is
point of the haft. Thus tips are lost in the field, while dis- devoted to maintenance rather than
tal portions are retained in the haft. Presumably, these hafts production
are returned to the site for retooling, and these pieces Varied densities of reduction by-
would find their way into the archaeological record unless products
recycled and used to make a different tool form. If either
tips or midsections are present, it is more likely that they
reflect mistakes in gear maintenance or biface production.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 63

The relative density of artifacts found within densities can
also be used to interpret behavior. Depending on content
and overlap, high-density densities probably reflect in-
stances of reduction (and thus may have been formed by
either in situ production or secondary redeposition), while
those oflow density are most probably toss zones or former
high-density loci affected by natural blurring processes.
These procedures and definitions can be applied to a
single block to show the power of this approach and the
results obtained. For this example, I have chosen Block 1,
which is situated on the third terrace of the north side of
the Rio Asana (fig. 3.4). The first stage of the procedure is
to define components and densities. The data used in the
analysis are simply all reduction by-products of a single
raw material type collected at each sampled point (all raw
material types are defined in chapter 4). Only those raw
material types that had counts greater than 25 pieces per
block were used in the analysis. Those types with smaller
counts were visually inspected to determine if concentra-
tions could be observed. Density maps for each type have
been created for each block, and maps for Block 1 are pre-
sented in figure 3.5a-e. Each of these maps has been plot-
ted at the same scale and with the same contour interval to
insure comparability. The global pattern of all raw mate-
rial distributions within Block 1 is shown in figure 3.6.
This map is best interpreted as the total density of arti-
facts within the block and serves as the basis for the defini-
tion of four "hot spots," or components, following the
definitions used earlier.
Each of the components can be decomposed to reveal
densities. Component 1 has significant contributions of
Type 4 (cryptocrystalline chert), Type 7 (lower high-si-

Fig. 3.4. General vicinity of Block 1 on the north side of the Rio Asana. The block is near the center of the photograph.
64 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes

125.00 Type 4 a erra volcanic andesite), Type 9 (aplite), Type 11 (brown

volcanic andesite), and Type 21 (coarse gray rhyolite). In

~
0
contrast, Component 4 is composed of only Types 9 and
62.50
0 11 (fig. 3.7). The superimposed contours are those that
indicate the areas of highest artifact density from each of
the raw material density maps.
0
0 125.00 250.00 The distribution of tools and tool fragments can also
be superimposed across the global/local density maps (fig.
Ty pe 7 b 3.7). Diagnostic tools and tool fragments are relatively rare
125.00
in this block. Tool fragments, end pieces (usually small
0 fragments that could be either proximal or distal but which
62.50 \@) c::J cannot be identified with certainty), proximal pieces, dis-
tal pieces, and midsections are found in decreasing fre-
quency. Although some tools and tool fragments are found
0
0 125.00 250.00
directly within the high-density contours of individual raw
material types, such as within Component 4, most tool
Type 9 c fragments are found along the margins of the areas of
125.00
higher reduction by-product density.
() It is also interesting to examine the relationship between
the distribution of tools and tool fragments and the densi-
~
62.50
C>
ties defined by reduction by-products. In Component 4
(within the high density area), there are two whole ovoid
0 bifaces of Type 9 material and one of Type 11; over 95%
0 125.00 250.00
of the associated reduction by-products are of either Type
Type II d 9 or 11 (table 3.2). In general, though, there seems to be
125.00
little relationship with reduction debris and tools or tool
fragments. Finally, it is possible to estimate the relative
62.50 (<e:::=::
@ density of reduction by-product density for the distribu-
0

0
0 125.00
l? 250.00
tion of each raw material type. This has been done by es-
timating the area of the points of highest density for each
raw material concentration. As can be seen in table 3.2,
density values vary considerably.
Type 21 e How can these distributions be explained? Let me be-
125.00
gin with the simple and move to the complex. Compo-
nent 4 appears to be a single episode of biface manufac-
0

62.50
~ @ ture or reduction involving two raw material types-Types
9 and 11. Their distributions are tightly coterminous and
occupy a space of ca. 10 m 2 Given this tight overlap, it is
0 unlikely that this is a palimpsest occupation. Two differ-
0 125.00 250.00 ent reduction processes are indicated in this density. Type
9 raw material is represented by a very high proportion of
Fig. 3.5. Contour maps of density definitions by raw material
early stage reduction debris, much of it larger than 2 cm
type; interval = 5, with initial contour beginning at 2.
(table 3.2). The two whole bifaces of Type 9 material are
large and have been classified as early stage rough percus-
sion blanks. In contrast, Type 11 reduction by-products
are mostly middle-to-Iater stage, and within the density is
a Type 11 unfinished, fine percussion blank which exhib-
its lateral snap. No pressure flakes are present. No other
bifaces or broken tools are found within the density, but
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 65

125.00

62.50

C)

0--+-----,------,.-----......------...----.. . .- ----.----.. . .- --......

o 125.00 250.00

Fig. 3.6. Global pattern of densities within Block 1; interval = 5, with initial contour beginning at 2.

125.00

LA
LA

!if~
1Ir,- P/~P/M/E"2
E~'2~
62.50

~LA
E BE EF
2E P
E

Types 4,7, 11,21 E

B E
E
C)

0
0 125.00 250.00

Fig. 3.7. Raw material type and artifact distributions across the densities of Block 1.
66 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes

Table 3.2. Lithic Reduction By-products from Densities in Block 1

Primary/
Secondary a Tertiary
Percent
Primary
Component Density <2 >2 <2 >2 By-products Density/m 2

Type 4 2.15 .81 1.72 15 .92

Type 7 .68 2.45 0 1.43

Type 9 3.06 .64 2.94 17 .92

Type 11 (1) .62 0 1.00

Type 11 (2) .68 2.65 0 2.25

Type 21 0.30 1.65 .60 2.15 13 2.20

2 Type 4 .61 2.59 0 .37

Type 9 1.50 2.30 .81 1.35 64 .20

Type 11 .98 1.98 0 1.80

3 Type 7 .64 2.27 0 .15

Type 21 .67 2.41 0 .27

4 Type 9 1.26 1.43 .95 63 11.40

Type 11 .57 0 16.70

aFigures in columns of primary/secondary and tertiary reduction by-products in the weight/count ratio for each raw
material type and class of by-product. Ratios close to 0 suggest late stage reduction; larger values suggest earlier stages.

two end pieces of Types 34 and 98 are found within 10 m
of the density. In summary, Component 4 appears to rep-
resent a single behavioral "instant" of reduction of two
different raw material types with two different goals: rough
percussion work ofType 9 and midstage percussion ofType
11, which apparently ended in a production mistake and
the discard of the unfinished Type 11 percussion blank.
Component 3 is similar in structure to Component 4.
Two different raw material types are present-Types 7 and
21-and all of the reduction by-products present suggest
mid-to-Iate reduction stages. No bifaces or tools are found
within the densities, although two Type 21 unfinished
proximal fragments are located within 10 m of the Type
21 density. This pattern may represent production fail-
ures of Type 21 fine percussion bifaces.
Component 2 is again similar in structure to both Com-
ponents 3 and 4. Density values are very low, and sizes are
roughly equivalent. The component is composed of three
densities of Types 4,9, and 11. The reductions of Type 4
and Type 11 raw materials are almost identical in that there
are no early stage reduction by-products. Neither has any
bifaces of any type within its boundaries, but the Type 4
density contains three finished Type 4 proximal point frag-
ments. It seems clear that the Type 4 reduction was di-
rected at tool maintenance or replacement of these tips.
The Type 4 density is relatively large when compared to
other densities. The Type 9 reduction sequence, however,
is similar to that seen in Component 4, in which the pro-
cessing of rough percussion bifaces was observed. The
density is relatively low, and no bifaces or tool fragments
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
have been found within the density. These densities ap-
pear to be palimpsests; they are not strictly coterminous.
Component 1 exhibits the greatest complexity. There
are six overlapping densities, which strongly suggests that
there is a palimpsest occupation of this component. Three
of the densities-Types 7, 11(1), and 11(2)-are structur-
ally very similar. They are all small and are characterized
by moderately high densities, and reduction by-products
contained within them are generally small. Although there
are no bifaces or tool or point fragments within these small
densities, they are surrounded by a large number of end,
midsection, and proximal pieces ofpoints and bifaces. Most
of these tool fragments are found well outside the area of
highest artifact density, and their distribution strongly re-
sembles the expectations for a toss zone. Of the 28 point
and biface fragments found within this suspected toss zone,
43% are made of raw materials not represented as densi-
ties by reduction by-products within this component. This,
together with the presence and content of the toss zone,
suggests that retooling was a significant activity at these
densities. Three of the other densities-Types 4, 9, and
21-are similar to one another, and they appear to repre-
sent early-to-mid stage reduction of percussion bifaces.
Ofthe six diagnostic projectile points found in the block,
only one, a Late Archaic stemmed point, was found within
the boundaries of any density. This point is in the Type 4
density of Component 1. Two other Late Archaic points
of the same style are located in the toss zone of this com-
ponent as well. The other points are scattered throughout
the block, and none of them are associated with either
components or densities. Half ofall ofthe diagnostic points
are broken, and most are distal fragments. The concen-
tration of Late Archaic points surrounding Component 1
supports the inference that at least one of the densities-
probably the Type 4 density-dates to the Late Archaic
Period. None of the other components or densities can be
dated through this associational manner.
Thus in Block 1 there are 13 densities in four compo-
nents, some of which are single behavioral "instants" of
reduction while others are clearly palimpsests. None of
the densities appear to have been created through the sec-
ondary disposal of refuse, but some blurring of bound-
aries, especially in the larger Type 4 densities in Compo-
nents 1 and 2, may be due to site clearing through palimp-
sest reoccupation of the same spatial location or through
wind erosion. The activities represented in these compo-
nents and densities are remarkably homogeneous and pri-
marily involve the reduction of different raw material types
to make various types of bifaces (mostly rough and fine
67
percussion blanks) and the replacement and retooling of
broken points. No strong evidence of gear replacement
has been discovered.
How does site content match up against the expecta-
tions presented in table 3.1? Since the expectations are
themselves overlapping, it is no surprise that the Block 1
data exhibit no clear, consistent pattern. In general, these
densities resemble hunting blinds and locations devoted
to opportunistic early stage biface reduction more than
they do logistical camps. Of the 13 densities in the block,
5 (or ca. 38 %) are devoted to early stage reduction, while
the others are characterized by later stage reduction and
retooling. None of these densities have tool forms other
than projectile points, and further, none have ground stone
or other tool types indicative of a broader range of activity
performance. This interpretation of these sites as hunting
blinds is generally consistent with their location in both
the Rio Asana and Rio Charaque valleys.
Activities and Distribution ofDensities Generally speak-
ing' the densities discovered in the survey blocks show a
remarkable homogeneity (table 3.3). Most are broadly simi-
lar to those found in Block 1 but vary somewhat in size,
relative density, and raw materials worked. The primary
activity performed at almost every density is the middle-
to-late stage reduction ofbifaces made of local raw mate-
rials. Some finer work is found, but it is relatively rare.
Two densities, both in Block 32, contained scraping tools
and possible utilized flakes. One of these had a large, hand-
held scraping tool with steep edge retouch, while the other
contained two small hafted scrapers made of local raw
materials. Since these tools have been wind scoured and
modified by desert varnish, it is impossible to determine
their function objectively. Lithic reduction at these two
densities, however, is similar to that found at the others in
Block 32: rough percussion bifaces and reduction by-prod-
ucts are found at both, and there is no evidence at either
to suggest the pressure flaking or finishing of finer bifaces.
No diagnostic artifacts are found either within the densi-
ties or their associated toss zones. The presence of these
scrapers can be explained by a number of processes: pos-
sible activity differentiation (site occupation to process
wood or some resistant material) or, more likely, longer
duration of site utilization which led to the discard of the
tool. If the latter interpretation is accurate, this suggests
that wood processing probably occurred at other densities
and that the duration of occupation at them was shorter
or that retooling was not necessary. In any case, the pres-
ence of these scrapers is consistent with the low-intensity
68 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes

Table 3.3. Components and Densities in the Rio Asana them. All other diagnostic points are found as stray finds
and Charaque Valleys or in the toss zones of palimpsest densities at distances too
great to assign confidently to any single density.
Some of the densities, particularly those in Blocks 1,
Block Components Densities Terrace 32, and 33, are found near and between large boulders in
large fields on the terraces ofthe Rio Asana. Most are found
on the eastern sides of the boulders. Since wind direction
Asana
is generally from the west-southwest, it seems reasonable
4 13 T3 to conclude that the boulders were being used as shelters.
2 trace Other densities and components, however, are found in
the open. Most are found on slight elevations on the ter-
3 trace
races, however, which provide an improved view and
6 trace slightly better drainage than do the surrounding locations.
7
The components that have the largest number of palimp-
trace
sest densities are on the highest of these rises, indicating
13 6 15 T3 that these locations were preferred and repeatedly reoc-
15 12 T3 cupied. Approximately 60% of the densities are found on
the third terrace and 40% on the second. In fact, only one
16 11 T3
density is found on the first terrace, and it appears to post-
17 trace date the Archaic based on the tool blanks and raw materi-
21/23 17 T2 als used. All of the Early and Middle Archaic densities are
on the third terrace, while the Late Archaic densities are
25 trace evenly distributed between the second and third terraces.
30 5 T2 The densities found in Block 1 of the Charaque drain-
age exhibit a slightly different pattern than those found
31 2 4 T2
along the Asana (fig. 3.3). These are found at the highest
32 2 8 T3 elevation of any of the densities (ca. 4,000 m) and have a
33 4 16 T2 spectacular view of the rim of the surrounding puna and
of the bottoms of the Charaque as it flows to the west.
Charaque
This is an ideal location to watch for game. Density con-
2 3 n/a tent is very light, and the activities performed are similar
to those found along the bottoms of the Asana. These den-
2 2 7 n/a
sities, however, were lightly and sporadically used. The
3 4 n/a densities found in Blocks 2 and 3 of the Charaque are simi-
Puna rim lar to the Asana densities in terms of relative size and den-
sity of cultural materials. However, none of the Charaque
2 3 15 n/a
densities can be dated.
The picture that emerges from the analysis of the sur-
face data is one of continuous but low-intensity use of
slightly elevated rises on the second and third terraces of
the Asana as logistical camps. The densities showing the
gear maintenance that would be expected at a logistical most intensive palimpsest reoccupation are located near a
camp or field camp. major confluence of the Asana just below a large concen-
Few of the densities can be securely dated. None have tration of bofedales to the east (Blocks 1, 32, 33) or near
Early Archaic point styles directly within their boundaries, large quebradas that descend to the Asana from the north
but three components have points of this date in their toss (Blocks 13, 15, 16,21/23; see fig. 3.3). The nature of ac-
zones. One density has a single-shouldered Middle Ar- tivity performance at these densities does not change
chaic point, and eight densities have Late Archaic points through time, nor is there any trend toward densities in-
either within their boundaries or immediately adjacent to creasing in size or relative artifact density through time. If
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 69

the number of densities that can be assigned to a chrono-
logical period is any indication of the intensity of use of
the sierra, there are more palimpsests dating to the Late
Archaic than to the other major chronological periods. The
large number of Early Archaic points suggests that the si-
erra was hunted but that open-air hunting blinds or logis-
tical camps were not common or were not part ofthe hunt-
ing technology of Early Archaic peoples.
Testing at Rockshelters and Open-Air Sites
Work was conducted at nine rockshelters and one large
open-air site in the Rio Asana valley (table 3.4; fig. 3.2).
Each of the nine shelters was surface collected, and six of
them were tested. Only one of the open-air sites in the
valley aside from Asana was tested.
Although this project evolved over eight years, I de-
cided from the start to make all collection and testing pro-
cedures as compatible as possible, so that data recovered
from these sites would be as comparable as possible. Each
rockshelter was mapped and systematically collected. For
the most part, this meant that collection focused on the
talus slopes of these shelters since each of them had a sub-
stantial cap of animal dung that covered the naturally de-
rived soils within them. Talus transects were oriented par-
allel to the long axis of the shelter and extended 10 m be-
yond each end of the shelter. The interval between
transects was 3 m. All artifacts within a single transect were
bagged together and assigned a single collection number.
Testing at these sites followed a vertical strategy, and
priority was given to the establishment of a stratigraphic
column that was carefully excavated and profiled. Since
there were no surface indicators to assist in unit place-
ment, the units were uniformly located approximately
midway between the back wall of the shelter and the edge
of the talus slope. Testing began with a single 1 x 1 m unit
excavated in arbitrary 5-em levels. All soil was screened
through 1/16-inch hardware cloth, and feature prove-
niences were kept segregated from general proveniences.
Horizontal provenience was maintained through the ex-
cavation of 50-em blocks within the 1 x 1 m unit (see chap-
ter 4). Flotation, radiocarbon, and other samples were col-
lected as encountered. Additional excavation units were

Table 3.4. Rockshelters and Open-Air Site Collected or Tested

Size

Site Elevation In Out Total Art Area Tested

Rockshelters
Coscori 2,760 m 45 22 67 yes 2

Apacheta Chica 3,300 m 28 22 50 no not tested

Cueva 4 3,400 m 61 96 157 no

Tala 1 3,250 m 5 5 yes

Tala 2 3,250 m 9 9 no

Quellaveco 3,800 m 333 333 yes 7

Cueva San Agustin 4,430 m 35 35 no 6

Jarsitiya 4,410 m 120 120 no not tested

Pampa Corazon 4,530 m 20 20 no not tested

Open-Air Site

El Panteon 4,250 m ca. 0.2 ha no 9

70 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes
added at a number of sites to explore features or better
define stratigraphy and occupational sequence. Finally, a
decapage style of excavation strategy was employed at EI
Panteon due to a unique combination of factors that al-
lowed us to excavate a relatively large block while simulta-
neously maintaining precise vertical control essential to
the establishment ofchronology. Artifact analyses were also
consistent with the procedures employed at Asana. In a
few instances, such as at Coscori, Cueva 4, Tala, and
Quellaveco, the lithic and faunal assemblages were reex-
amined to insure compatible results with the subsequent
work conducted at Asana.
Rockshelters Rockshelters in the Rio Asana valley are
found primarily on the south side of the river eroding from
a conglomerate ridge (Cueva 4, Tala 1 and 2) or beneath
very large boulders that have rolled from the crumbling
ridgetops above (Coscori, Apacheta Chica). Further up-
stream approaching the puna rim, shelters are found in
eroded features of sheer rock faces (Quellaveco,Jarsitiya,
Fig. 3.8. Coscori.
Pampa Coraz6n, San Agustin). Except for Quellaveco,
which is ca. 20 m above the valley floor, these shelters are
found from 50 to more than 150 m above the river or
stream bottoms. Today, most are connected to modem trail
systems that link them with villages or other sites both
up- and downstream, and each one of them is used for
some activity, such as overnight trail stops, lookouts used
on a daily basis for monitoring goat or camelid herds, or
residential bases of pastoralists using a portion of the val-
ley on a seasonal basis.
Coscori is a moderately sized rockshelter located on
the south side of the Rio Asana valley ca. 17 km west (down-
stream) from Asana at an elevation of 2,760 m (fig. 3.8).
The site is composed of three very large boulders that have
rolled together to form two distinct overhangs. The over-
hang used as the habitation locus faces to the north and
west, while the other, smaller overhang faces to the east
and contains a small amount of rupestral art. The east-
facing overhang has been filled over the years with collu-
vial rocks, gravels, and sands that have washed downslope
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 71

from above. Based on surface examination and testing, it ter composed of large volcanic boulders that have fallen
appears that only the west-facing overhang was used as a together to produce a small sheltered area that faces north.
residence in the past. Unlike many of the shelters in the While there was some cultural material on the talus, it
valley, Coscori has a relatively large, flat terrace to the west was not tested, and since none of the material was diag-
before the very steep talus slope that drops to the river nostic, the use of Apacheta Chica cannot be determined.
bottom is encountered. Cueva 4 is one of the larger rockshelters in the high sierra
Eight distinct stratigraphic levels were defined in TV (fig. 3.10). It sits almost 100 m above the bottoms of the
1. At its deepest point, the archaeological deposit was ca. Asana, and the shelter has a northerly exposure. The sur-
60 cm in depth, and bedrock was encountered at 35 cm rounding slopes are very steep, and deep but narrow
below the surface at the western end of the unit. At least quebradas are found in the vicinity of the site. Cueva 4 is
four major occupations can be observed in the profiles of one of five smaller shelters that are presently eroding out
TU 1. None of these occupations had ceramic materials
present, and the basal level of the site-Level 8, which
was the initial occupation of the site-has been dated to
7610 130 B.P. (Beta-18922; Aldenderfer 1989b: 128).
Typical Middle and Late Archaic projectile point fragments
were also recovered from the surface and talus of the site,
but no diagnostic materials were encountered in any of
the excavated levels. It is probable that the other three
occupations date to the Late Archaic. Virtually all of the
chipped stone lithic materials from the Middle Archaic
layers of the site are of high-sierra origin (95%), with the
remainder of the assemblage from the lower high sierra
(4.3%) and puna (0.7%). Assemblage diversity is low, and
the only morphological tools recovered from the site are
broken Stage IIIlII percussion bifaces. Both of the identi-
fiable projectile points recovered from the site are broken
and are made of high-sierra raw materials. Likewise, no
ground stone tools were recovered, and there is no evi-
dence of structural remains or special facilities. The fau-
nal assemblage is highly fragmented, and there are virtu-
TALA HUACANANE
ally no identifiable skeletal elements. Most of the bone is
unburned. Based on the small size of the site and low as-
semblage diversity, I have interpreted the site as a small
logistical camp (Aldenderfer 1986).
Two motifs dominate the rupestral art at Coscori-the
anthropomorphic line-up and drawings of individual
camelids (Watanabe 1990). In style and execution, the
drawings are very similar to those found at Toquepala,
which appear to date to the Archaic. The line-up is a row
of human figures with spread arms and legs. None of the
figures can be seen to carry any items, and there are no
clear indications as to their sex. They are of similar size
within each line-up. At Coscori there are three such line-
ups composed of four, six, and seven individuals (fig. 3.9).
Apacheta Chica, Cueva 4, and Tala 1 and 2 are a series QUELCATANI
of rockshelters found within 10 Ian of Asana. They range
in elevation from 3,200 to 3,400 m and are found well Fig. 3.9. The line-up motif of rupestral art recovered from
above the valley floor. Apacheta Chica is a very small shel- Coscori, Tala, Huacanane, and Quelcatani.
72 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes
Fig. 3.10. Cueva 4.
of conglomerate bedrock in this portion of the valley. The
other shelters all have southerly exposures, and none ap-
pear to have a significant archaeological deposit. Neither
do they have artifact accumulations on the talus slopes
immediately below them.
Cueva 4 has an interior, sheltered space of ca. 61 m2
and a flat, almost level terrace 96 m 2 in size. The average
height of the rockshelter today is 1.7 m. The surface of
both the interior and the terrace is covered with a cap of
animal dung (mostly goat and sheep) to a depth of 15-20
cm. The depth of the archaeological deposit not includ-
ing this dung cap is ca. 1.0-1.1 m. Site stratigraphy is not
complex and is composed of a series of layers of dusty,
aeolian soils, rockfall, gravels, and silty, organically stained
soils of increasing humidity near the bottom of the de-
posit, which terminates at bedrock.
Cueva 4 was tested with a single 1 x 1 m unit placed
within the dripline and roughly halfway between the
dripline and the back wall of the shelter. If Thomas's
(l983b) exogene model of shelter/cave use is valid in an
Andean context, one would expect to find small to moder-
ate amounts of small lithic and bone debris that would
have been near or within drop zones associated with cook-
ing hearths located closer to the dripline of the shelter.
Although none of the strata at Cueva 4 have been
chronometrically dated, a Qhuna PhaselLate Archaic point
blade was found in Level 9 (Lot 351-10,80-85 em below
surface). This level is the first cultural stratum found after
an extensive rockfall that probably covered most of the
shelter floor. Another diagnostic blade of this point style
was found on the talus slope.
Tala 1 and 2 are only two of a series of very small
rockshelters found in the conglomerate ridge on the south
side of the Rio Asana. These two small shelters face to the
north and west, while even smaller shelters face to the east
and west. Tala 1 and 2 are found at the confluence of the
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 3.11. Quellaveco.
Rios Asana and Charaque, and both have an excellent view
of the river bottoms. Despite their small size, both Tala 1
and 2 had significant archaeological deposits that unfor-
tunately had no diagnostic cultural materials, neither ce-
ramics nor lithics. After the upper layers of recent camelid
dung were removed, the deposit at Tala 1 reached a depth
of 35 cm, while that of Tala 2 reached 75 cm. The only
material recovered from either of these two sites was lithic
debris indicative of the early-to-mid stages of reduction
of raw materials exclusively of high-sierra origin.
Despite its small size, Tala 1 has a rich corpus of
rupestral art similar in content and style to that found at
both Toquepala and Coscori. It is composed of single
camelids, single anthropomorphs or line-ups of no more
than two individuals, and blotches of color that have ei-
ther been erased or faded through the passage of time.
Therefore, it is probable that the site is of Archaic date.
Of all of the high-sierra rockshelters, Quellaveco, at
73
3,800 m, is the most intriguing and most disappointing
(fig. 3.11). As can be seen in table 3.4, the site is immense.
While it has almost no terrace, the interior is almost five
times as large as the next largest shelter, Cueva 4. At its
highest, the roof of the cave is 10m. The rockshelter has a
northern exposure, and today the westernmost portion of
the site is used as a seasonal residential base by a family of
goat pastoralists. The cave is found directly above the larg-
est bofedal in the high-sierra environment. Given the size
of the site, I had very high expectations of its likely place
within the Archaic settlement and subsistence systems of
the Rio Asana valley; however, surface indications of an
Archaic occupation were meager. The site was tested with
a combination of trenches and test units, and these dem-
onstrated clearly that my expectations were not to be met.
The first impediment was the extremely thick layer of
camelid and goat dung, which reached depths of up to 1.5
m. The dung was extremely compact, and excavation was
74 The Archaic Period Archaeology ofthe Western Flanks ofthe South-Central Andes
very difficult, not to mention unpleasant. Further, the
depth of the archaeological deposit below the dung was
incommensurate with the grandeur of the cave itself. A
test unit ca. 4 m from the cave's back wall reached bedrock
in less than 20 cm. This test, as did others, revealed that
bedrock throughout the cave rose sharply to the back of
the cave and to its eastern extension and that no actual
earlier occupation of the site was present. This meant that
in terms of actually used space, the site may well have been
only a third to a quarter as large as the estimate based on
observed floor area today.
Yet another problem was the use of the cave by its pas-
toral inhabitants. As Kuznar (1995: 77-79) discusses,
Quellaveco today is known as Cueva Chivo (Goat Cave).
The people who use the cave have built a stone hut, kitchen,
and ramada complex in the western and southern extremes
of the cave over the area I believe is likely to have been the
place at which the natural soils of the cave were deepest.
Testing nearby indicated that bedrock sloped to the west;
however, I was not about to ask the family to leave so we
could continue our work. Therefore, I made do with a
single test unit of 1 x 2 m located within 4 m of the mod-
ern habitation. The archaeological deposit below the ac-
cumulated dung was approximately 50 em in depth and
unfortunately did not contain diagnostic cultural materi-
als. Features, mostly small fire hearths, were encountered
in a number of levels, but none of them contained suffi-
cient carbon for dating. Lithic material recovered from
the unit was mostly early-to-middle stage reduction by-
products, and the majority of it was from high-sierra
sources. A very small amount, less than 5%, was of puna
and puna rim origin.
There are a few examples of rupestral art scattered along
the back wall of the cave, well away from the zone ofhabi-
tation. There are a few figures painted in black depicting
mounted figures and a number of single camelids, some of
them measuring over 15 em in maximum dimension. The
camelids are quite distinct in both execution and size from
those seen at Coscori and Tala but are similar to a number
of examples of large, single camelids from Toquepala.
While the mounted figures are obviously recent, it is prob-
able that the camelids were drawn in Archaic times.
Cueva San Agustin, found at an elevation of 4,430 ill,
lies on the northern side of the Rio Asana in the escarp-
ment that forms part of the valley wall. The shelter sits
more than 50 m above the valley floor, and the path to it is
very steep, consisting of a series of switchbacks that even-
tually reach the summit of the ridge. The shelter is rela-
tively small, with only 35m2 of covered floor area. Local
informants say that the shelter was used in the recent past
as a not-so-convenient herd monitoring station. Their
reluctance to use the shelter stems from the steep ascent
and its southern exposure, which keeps it out of the sun
for all but a few hours in the morning. It is, however, shel-
tered from most of the prevailing winds in the valley. The
site lies 20.7 km above Asana.
The site was tested in 1991 with a 4-m2 test unit that
was expanded to a 6-m 2 unit as a larger part of the site's
talus slope was exposed. The site was dug in natural strati-
graphic units, and 28 cultural levels were identified. A car-
bon sample recovered from a hearth in the basal layer of
the site has provided a date of3460 160 B.P. (Beta-52329).
No diagnostic cultural materials were recovered from any
of the basal levels, but fiber-tempered ceramics were found
in the levels immediately superior to the basal levels. Lithic
raw materials presumably dating to the Awati Phase/Late
Archaic were overwhelmingly of puna rim and puna ori-
gin, with low frequencies of high-sierra materials.
Open-air Sites No systematic attempt was made to test
the very large number of components discovered during
the survey phase of this project. However, at least 15 of
the largest and densest had shovel and auger probes placed
within them to evaluate their stratigraphic integrity. In
every instance, while cultural material was discovered, the
deposits proved to be very shallow, none reaching a depth
of greater than 5 cm. It is quite probable that the compo-
nents have been severely damaged by wind erosion, and
consequently I decided that an extensive program of test-
ing at these sites would not produce significant new data.
Two sites, however, Asana and EI PanteGn, proved to
be worth the effort of additional excavation. The discov-
ery of Asana has been chronicled earlier, and what was
found there comprises the bulk of this book. El PanteGn
was first discovered in 1990 in a bank profile that had been
exposed by the cutting action of the Quebrada Panturane,
and it was excavated in 1991. The site is found at 4,260 m
at the confluence of the Rio Asana and the Quebrada
Panturane in the modern comunidad of Azana. It rests on
the eastern side of a small knoll, which serves to shelter it
from the prevailing winds from the west, and it is immedi-
ately adjacent to and above a small bofedal that currently
supports a small herd of llamas ofa single family (fig. 3.12).
The site is 16.95 km above Asana.
The 1991 excavations at EI PanteGn exposed a single,
contiguous excavation block of 9 m 2 The site was dug in
natural stratigraphic layers using methods and recording
procedures identical to those employed at Asana and other
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 3.12. El Panteon.
sites in the valley. Middle and Late Archaic projectile points
were found on the surface of the site, although extensive
excavations revealed no buried Middle Archaic Period
component. Twenty-six cultural levels were discovered, and
a carbon sample from a hearth in the basal layer of the site
(Level XXVI) produced a radiocarbon date of 3320 80
B.P. (Beta-523 30/CAMS- 3209). This date just barely over-
laps at two standard deviations with the radiocarbon date
from Level II Asana of3640 80 B.P. (Beta-23 364), a point
75
that will be discussed at greater length later. Levels XIX
through XXVI have no ceramics in them and thus appear
to fall into an as yet undefined period or phase between
Awati PhaselLate Archaic times and what is generally la-
beled the Formative Period in this region. Level XVIII of
the site has a fiber-tempered ceramic that is similar to ce-
ramics dated to 3660 60 B.P. recovered from Quelcatani,
a rockshelter in the Rio Chila drainage approximately 85
km northeast of 1 Pante6n (Aldenderfer 1991 b).
Field and Analytical Methods
This chapter describes the excavation procedures and the
two primary analytical strategies employed in the analysis
of the cultural materials discovered at Asana: artifact and
distributional analyses. Although botanical materials, as
well as very small quantities of minerals, were recovered
from some levels of the site, they did not appear with suf-
ficient abundance to warrant extensive discussion of the
analytical procedures used to examine them and will in-
stead be discussed when individual levels or phases are dis-
cussed. The strategies described herein are both comple-
mentary and hierarchical; artifact feature analyses are di-
rected primarily at the reconstruction of activities per-
formed, while the distributional analysis is concerned with
a reconstruction of site structure and the ways in which
the activities performed at the site were distributed in space.
I do not assume, however, that these activities and their
locations in space are reflections of "frozen" behavior. In-
stead, I recognize that artifact and distributional analyses
can be used to determine the essential contemporaneity
of cultural features and site furniture, identify palimpsest
reoccupations and postdepositional disturbances, and more
generally, reveal site formation processes.
Excavation Strategy and History at Asana
Asana presents a classic example of deep-site archaeology
and its problems. It has become increasingly apparent that
horizontal excavations of relatively large site areas are nec-
essary in order to understand the full range of activity per-
formance and social arrangements at the open-air sites of
mobile foragers (Gamble 1991) and on that basis to define
the site's place in a regional settlement and subsistence
system. Both the 1986 testing and the examination of the
original bank profile ofAsana demonstrated that there was
at least 2 m ofintact archaeological deposit, and ifthe land-
slide debris was included, the depth of the deposit in some
portions of the site exceeded 5 m. Another complicating
factor was the observation that many of the site's natural
soil strata, as revealed by the 1986 test excavation, were
very thin, in some cases no more than 2 cm in thickness,
and moreover, there were at least 75 discrete natural strata.
While not all of these strata contained cultural material,
the large number that did meant that a comprehensive ex-
cavation strategy to expose a large, contiguous, horizontal
area would prove both time-consuming and expensive. In
part, it was possible to avoid some of these problems by
the removal of the landslide debris in a large block, using
bulldozers and backhoes provided by Southern Peru Cop-
per Corporation. The first effort, in 1987, cleared an area
of approximately 150 m 2, and a second clearing in 1989
opened an additional 350 m 2 Using the stratigraphy of
the 1986 test as a guide, the overburden was removed to
within 15-20 cm of the top of the first cultural stratum in
the site. Further excavation at the site, including the re-
moval of the remnants of the landslide debris, was accom-
plished using hand tools.
From the outset, the goals of the excavation strategy at
Asana were to open large, contiguous blocks in the decapage
style of excavation and whenever possible to excavate in
natural or cultural strata so as to avoid problems of strati-
graphic mixing; to provide a reasonably fine grain of con-
trol of the horizontal provenience of artifacts within cul-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
tural or natural strata while keeping the costs of record-
ing, labeling, and mapping to a minimum so that large
areas of the site could be opened; and to sample off-site
locations around the boundaries of the site as defined
through the excavation blocks.
In decapage, the goal of excavation is to open large, con-
tiguous blocks of site area simultaneously. It is generally
successful when the stratigraphy of the site is clear and
when the strata themselves can be easily followed across
the site. In this method, soil layers are shaved or skimmed
from the surface until the top of the preceding layer is
reached. Although potentially time-consuming, this
method is very useful for the discovery and definition of
palimpsest reoccupations of stratigraphically defined lev-
els. Palimpsests are frequently unobservable in the strati-
graphic column and are usually identified by subtle changes
in soil texture, color, and content. This excavation style
has proved to be especially successful in the excavation of
AA
t---11--+--+---+-----+-_+_ --r---t-----t--+---+---+-----+---+--+-------I E AS T
w
v
U
T
R WEST BLOCK
Q
t--r----l--+---+-+--+--+--+-_+_-+---
o
N
'DTest
H
G
F DTest
E v------~ ________
o -
Fig. 4.1. The excavation block at Asana showing the location of two of the blocks and the off-site testing locations.
77
rockshelters and cave sites and has an Andean precedent
in the excavation of the rockshelter of Telarmachay in
Junin. One of its major limitations, however, is that unless
baulks are left, it is not possible to maintain stratigraphic
profiles in the central portion of the excavation block.
At Asana, a modified form of decapage was used in that
excavation proceeded in three major blocks: West, Cen-
tral, and East (figs. 4.1, 4.2). The West Block was expanded
from the original TV 1 and was excavated in each of the
field seasons starting in 1987, while the Central Block was
excavated only in 1987. The East Block was begun in 1989
and was completed in the 1990 field season. The Central
Block consisted of a total of 8 m 2, whereas the other two
varied in size depending on the year excavated and the
level in question. Excavation within each of these blocks
proceeded independently of the others. For the West
Block, the stratigraphy of TV 1 was used as a guide to
excavation, whereas in both the Central and East Blocks
7
Extent of Cleared Area
I
B L 0 CK
I I I I
I I I I
I
I I
j
-+ - I
--11~--+---+ _. u +-._-- . . .--+--h
I --------- ---
o
I ,
10
34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52
78 Field and Analytical Methods

Fig. 4.2. The excavation block at Asana, 1989 field season.

no single guide was used. At the end of the 1990 season, a

series of trenches was cut through the site to connect the a b
blocks and to establish basic relationships between the
stratigraphies of the three blocks.
Horizontal control at the site was maintained through
the establishment of a grid across the area in which the
overburden had been cleared (fig. 4.1). Capital letters in
the grid ran east-west, while Arabic numerals ran north-
south. The origin of the grid was arbitrarily placed 20 m
east of the southeast corner ofTU 1 and 5 m south of its
c
~
southern wall. The basic unit of provenience was the 1 x 1
m square defined by the letter-number combination. Each G29d- f I
of the 1 x 1 m units was further divided into four 50 x 50
cm squares labeled a-d (fig. 4.3), and these were the pri-

G29c-f20
G29c- f I

mary units ofexcavation within each level. Thus at a mini- ef2b

mum, each 1 x 1 m unit had four distinct provenience des-
ef2c
ignations but could have more depending on the number
of features found within its boundaries. Features were al- G
ways mapped and excavated separately from the general 29
proveniences within the 50 x 50 cm squares (see fig. 4.3). oI
The maximum number of proveniences within each 50 x
Meters
50 cm square, then, depended on the number of discrete
features observed within it. The use of this system of hori- Fig. 4.3. Schematic view of provenience system for
zontal provenience control was seen as a solution to the excavation at Asana.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
second excavation goal. The system represents a compro-
mise between aggregating data at an excessively large scale
(the 1 x 1 m grid or even larger ones) and the significant
expense of point proveniencing all artifacts discovered
across large excavation areas.
Vertical control was achieved through the use of a da-
tum system in all years except 1986, in which the ground
surface at the southeast corner of TU 1 was used as the
reference point. A permanent datum point was established
atop a large boulder along the extreme southern bound-
ary of the site in what is TV C28. All depths of levels, unit
corners, and features at the site were taken using a the-
odolite and stadia rod. The elevation at the datum point
was fixed arbitrarily at 100 m, and consequently, all mea-
surements are expressed in meters below datum. This sys-
tem provides a universal referent for establishing correla-
tions of levels in different blocks.
Level designations were made in two ways. Cultural
levels (i.e., those containing some evidence of human ac-
tivity) were labeled with the prefix CL and enumerated
with Roman numerals beginning with CL I, which was at
the top of the archaeological deposit. Each recognized
natural soil stratum in the stratigraphic column was also
given an additional prefix, NL, which indicates natural
level. Arabic numerals were assigned to each of these lev-
els, beginning with 1 at the top of the deposit. The desig-
nation of level number was again made within excavation
blocks. Thus cultural levels (CLs) in the West Block had
no additional prefix (e.g., CL XVI), those in the Central
Block used the letter C (e.g., CL CXI), and the East Block
used the letter P (for provisional; e.g., CL PXVIII). Gen-
erally, the CL is dropped when discussing levels in this
book. Natural levels (NLs) also used this system; the NL,
however, is not dropped so as to avoid confusion in differ-
entiating between numbering systems.
Palimpsests proved to be very common at Asana. Pal-
impsests, of course, are surfaces or "occupations" that are
not readily visible in the stratigraphic column. Although
it is possible, indeed, preferable, to define palimpsests us-
ing microstratigraphic methods, at Asana they were rec-
ognized through excavation itself by subtle changes in soil
texture, hardness, and feature content. "When recognized,
palimpsests were designated with lowercase letters. Thus
IXa denotes the first palimpsest layer discovered in the IX
stratum of the West Block. In some cases, especially for
CLs IX, XVI, and XVII, a number of distinct palimpsest
layers were recognized. "Whenever possible, the vertical
boundaries of these layers were drawn on the wall profiles
and were used to guide further excavation. This led in a
79
number of instances to the definition of additional pal-
impsest layers within them. These palimpsests within pal-
impsests were labeled with Arabic numerals beginning with
1. Thus XVIa-l denotes the first palimpsest layer in XVIa,
which itself denotes the first palimpsest excavated within
CL XVI of the West Block.
All deposits, with the exception of obvious landslide,
intrusive, or colluvially derived soils, were screened
through 1/16-inch hardware cloth. This is consistent with
all excavations conducted by Proyecto Arcaico at other sites
during all years of excavation. The standard use of this
size of mesh greatly facilitates making comparisons of ar-
tifact sizes across sites.
Features, here defined as nonmovable facilities and their
artifact associations, were excavated, screened, labeled, and
analyzed separately from general proveniences. Features
within each level were given distinct feature numbers, and
these were reconciled following the mapping of the sur-
face, creating a sequence of feature numbers per cultural
level ranging from 1 to N. Exactly what defines a feature
is a matter ofexperience. Some features, like hearths, house
floors, and pits, are easy to distinguish in the field. Others,
however, like ash dumps or lenses that may vary only
slightly in texture and color from the surrounding matrix,
are more problematical. Field supervisors in charge of
mapping and provenience control were instructed to be
liberal in creating feature designations and furthermore
were asked to label these features while in the field. Upon
analysis, these decisions were reviewed and corrected or
modified when necessary.
Various samples were recovered from both feature and
nonfeature contexts. Radiocarbon samples were taken
when warranted. Effort was routinely made to select
samples from secure archaeological contexts in which the
conditions of disturbance and modification were reason-
ably well understood. In general, this meant a bias in favor
of selecting samples from those features that did not pen-
etrate through a number of distinct cultural strata and were
not disturbed by other features. This general rule was sus-
pended when it was clear that there was no overlap in fea-
ture location between levels and thus relatively little like-
lihood of contamination. Insofar as was possible, samples
were recovered from "point" sources, that is, discrete, rela-
tively small locations, such as the contents of hearths, posts
burned in situ, or chunks of carbon found in middens.
Occasionally, when suitable point sources did not exist,
samples were taken from the screening of larger prove-
nience units. This frequently occurred with midden de-
posits. In no case, however, was a radiocarbon sample ever
80 Field and Analytical Methods
taken from a provenience greater than the screened con-
tents of a 2 x 2 m square area. Carbonized wood was pre-
ferred over other sorts of materials, although soils rich in
small particles ofcarbon were sometimes taken when point
sources were not available or were not suitable. All samples
submitted for radiocarbon assay were of carbonized wood.
Soil and flotation samples were recovered from a num-
ber of contexts. Soil samples were taken from soils of un-
known or unexpected type and from each of the natural
soil levels defined for each excavation block. Many of these
samples were submitted to chemical and particle-size analy-
sis to determine their pH, composition, and source of ori-
gin. Flotation samples were taken from feature contexts,
such as hearths, middens, and ash lenses, when deemed
appropriate. Although an effort was made to take a stan-
dard size of sample from each feature, significant variabil-
ity in feature size and constraints on processing time and
storage facilities made it difficult to achieve this goal. Rela-
tively small, discrete features, such as hearths and ash
lenses, are the most comparable in terms of sample size
and sampling procedure. A minimum of 1 I of soil was
collected from each such feature. The feature was exca-
vated by appropriate provenience, and the sample was col-
lected in proportion to the amount of deposit within the
provenience as estimated in the field. The maximum
amount of soil removed from any discrete, small feature
was 2 1. The proportion of the feature thus sampled ranged
from almost 100% to less than 20%. Middens, both sheet
and deep, were sampled more opportunistically. Again de-
pending on their estimated size, a minimum of 2 I and a
maximum of 8 I of soil were removed from these more
extensive features. This process led to the recovery ofpro-
portionately smaller samples, ranging from 20% to 5% of
the deposit in question. These larger features were not
systematically sampled. House floors, unless they had dis-
crete features on them, and general proveniences without
features were not sampled at all.
Off-site testing was conducted in the 1987, 1989, and
1990 field seasons in three separate locations (fig. 4.1). In
1987 a 1 x 1 m test unit was placed beyond the southern
boundary of the West Block in All in the boulder field.
The goal of the test was to determine whether cultural
deposits extended further to the south. The test, dug in
arbitrary 10-cm levels, demonstrated that the cultural de-
posit did not extend this far south. The goal of the second
off-site testing program in 1989 was to ascertain the east-
ern boundary of the site. Two 1 x 1 m test units were exca-
vated to the east of the West Block at 110 and N10. Both
were dug in arbitrary 10-cm levels, and again no cultural
materials were discovered. In 1990 a 2 x 2 m unit was
opened on the south bank of the Rio Asana in an area with
apparently organically stained soils. The north wall of the
exposed bank profile was used as a guide to excavation,
and this unit was excavated in natural stratigraphic levels
until sterile alluvial sands, gravels, and cobbles were en-
countered. Once again, no cultural materials were found,
showing that occupation at Asana did not extend to this
portion of the basin. No off-site testing was conducted to
the north and east of the site. Approximately 5 m north of
the East Block, the depth of the landslide deposit is al-
most 15 m. The removal of even a small amount of this
overburden would have been prohibitively expensive. Ap-
proximately 7 m east of the eastern edge of the East Block,
the landslide cut through the existing soil levels down to
the level of the alluvial sands, cobbles, and gravels of the
bed of the Rio Asana, effectively destroying any archaeo-
logical deposit that once might have existed there. Surviv-
ing bank profiles further to the east were cleaned and care-
fully examined, but no additional archaeological deposit
was discovered (see chapter 5). Given the success of these
tests, it is reasonable to conclude that the boundaries of
the remaining portion of the site, with the exception of its
northern limits, have been successfully defined.
Goals and Methods of Artifact Analysis
Three major artifact classes were recovered from the ex-
cavations at Asana: chipped stone lithics, ground stone
tools, and faunal remains. Although materials such as min-
erals, shell, soils, and other types of stone (such as fire-
cracked rock) were also recovered, no special analytical
procedures were employed to examine them at this time
beyond basic identification.
Chipped Stone Lithics
The goals and analytical strategies employed to study the
chipped stone lithics from Asana are presented in table
4.1 and are described in detail in the following sections.
Raw Material Types The identification of the zone of
origin of raw materials is crucial for determining the scale
and range of mobility of a group of foragers or the exist-
ence and areal extent of trade and exchange relationships
between different groups of foragers. Distinguishing be-
tween these alternatives is difficult and depends on the
complex interaction of a number of factors, such as the
place of a site in its regional settlement system, planning
depth as inferred through the staging of production and
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 81

Table 4.1. Goals and Methods of Analysis Table 4.2. Lithic Raw Materials and Their Zones of Origin
of Chipped Stone Lithics

High sierra
Identification of raw material types Variable white/gray cherts
Identification of zone of origin (Types 4 and 42)
Location of and distance to specific quarry locations or Trachyite
zone of origin (Type 5)
Aplite
Definition of reduction strategies
(Type 9)
"Staging" of production of both bifacial and unifacial tools
Purple-brown volcanic andesites
Assessment of retooling strategies and planning depth
(Types 11 and 40)
Identification of variability in reduction strategies of
Two varieties of highly siliceous volcanic andesites
different raw material types
(Types 16 and 17)
Microwear analysis Four relatively rare varieties of coarser volcanic andesites
Identification of activities performed (Types 12, 13, 14, and 15)

Refitting Lower high sierra

Assessment of the contemporaneity of horizontally Five varieties of red/pink volcanic andesites
distributed artifacts or reduction by-products (Types 7, 31, 32, 33, and 34)
Assessment of degree of vertical displacement of cultural
Puna rim
materials within cultural levels
Two types of coarse red volcanic andesites
Typological studies of bifacial and unifacial tools (Types 18 and 19)
Chronological markers Basaltic andesite
Identification of exchange or mobility through (Type 1)
identification of exotic or nonlocal styles Three varieties of fine-grained, highly siliceous quartzes
In combination with microwear analysis, assessment of tool (Types 2, 3, and 27)
design and tool function and the relative complexity of the Two varieties of siliceous cherts
tool assemblage (Types 23 and 25)
Puna
Three varieties of gray/blue chert
retooling, the availability of desirable local raw materials (Types 20, 26, and 27)
that could be used as functional substitutes, the degree to Brown "chalk" flint
which finished chipped stone tools may have served as (Type 24)
markers ofsocial relationships, and whether lithic procure- Brown chert
ment was embedded within subsistence procurement strat- (Type 41)
egies, among other things. Green cryptocrystalline quartz
In the Osmore basin, raw material types are vertically (Type 28)
Jasper
stratified by elevation, and we have had good success in
(Type 7a)
identifying the zone of origin of almost all of the lithic
materials found at Asana and surrounding sites, and in some Coast
instances we have also discovered quarries or point sources Translucent to opaque chalcedony
of the material. Thirty-five different raw materials have (Types 10 and 29)
been identified (table 4.2) and can be placed into five envi-
ronmental zones: the high sierra, lower high sierra, puna
rim, puna, and coast. A very small number of materials some overlap ofsome types, particularly the volcanic andes-
could not be identified as to their zone of origin. Small ites of the high sierra. However, since all of these raw
amounts of obsidian were recovered, and while they have material types are confined to distinct elevational zones,
not been sourced, they are either from the cordillera of the problem of cross-zone misidentification is minimized.
Arequipa or Puno. These material types can be easily dis- Although only a small number of quarries were discov-
tinguished by eye, although it is clear there is probably ered during survey operations in the valley (Aldenderfer
82 Field and Analytical Methods

1989b: 139-140), it is nevertheless possible to derive the
minimum linear distance from Asana to the zone of origin
of these materials (table 4.3). It is important to remember
that these are linear distances and that they probably un-
derestilnate actual travel distances and times.
Almost all high-sierra materials are readily found within
8 km ofAsana. Type 4 materials are found primarily along
the valley floor and appear as nodules and cobbles exposed
by stream action and erosion. In contrast, the volcanic
andesites, rhyolites, and trachyites are found primarily on
high saddles and the slopes above the valley floors. These,
too, are found in cobble form but are exposed primarily
by sheet wash and wind deflation. Although some Type 11
materials are concentrated in quarries, many of them can
be found scattered across the slopes. Importantly, the ma-
jority of higher quality high-sierra raw material types, in-
cluding Types 4,9, 11, 16, and 17, are generally available
downstream from (below) Asana. Only coarse volcanic
andesites can be found upstream.
All lower high-sierra types are found at a minimum of
25 km downstream. The only known quarry site is located
on the slopes of Cerro Mejia, ca. 45 km southwest ofAsana
on the southern side of the Rio Torata drainage and in an
elevation range from 2,300 to 2,500 m. Like the other
volcanic andesites, these types appear in nodule form and
have been exposed by a combination of erosion and defla-
tion. From a geological perspective, it is probable that simi-
lar outcrops of these andesites are found in the Rio Asana
drainage in a similar elevation range.
Puna rim raw material types range from 10 to 25 km
above Asana. Types 18 and 19 appear in outcrop form in a
cliff face ca. 10 km above the site directly above the river
bottom, while Type 1 is found beyond the cordillera that
defines the puna rim. Type 1 is also found well into the
puna itself. It typically appears as a nodule found eroding
from the ground surface or exposed through erosion. The
other puna rim types are found no closer than 25 km above
Asana, but in contrast to Type 1, they do not appear to be
commonly found on the puna itself.
Puna raw materials are far more distant from Asana.
Types 20 and 26 are commonly found around the margins
of Lago Lorisccota and its drainages, which eventually flow
into Lake Titicaca, and it is likely that these materials are
no closer than 50 km to Asana, although specific quarries
or point sources have yet to be identified. Likewise, Types
7a and 24 are distant puna types and are found at a mini-
mum of 60-80 km away from the site.
The coastal chalcedonies are found in a number of lo-
cations at a minimum of 90 km downstream from Asana
but still along the lower reaches of the Rio Osmore. The

Table 4.3. Minimum Distance from Asana to Zone of Origin

of Lithic Raw Material Types

High sierra
16 km downstream: one quarry of Type 16
8 kIn downstream: two quarries of Type 11
4 km upstream: one quarry of Type 14
all other materials available within 5 km upstream or 15-20 km downstream

Lower high sierra

25 km downstream: major quarry of Types 7,31,32,33, and 34
Puna rirn
10 km upstream: one quarry/outcrop of Types 18 and 19
20 kIn upstream: zone of availability of Type 1
25 kIn upstream: zone of availability of Types 2,23,25,27, and 33

Puna
ca. 50 km upstream: zone of availability of Types 20, 26, and 27
60-80 km upstream: zone of availability of Type 24

Coast
90 km downstream: zone of availability of Types 10 and 29
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
nearest known quarry or outcrop location is found ca. 30
km east of the coastal town ofIlo on the slopes well above
the valley bottoms. Similar raw materials can be found in
nodule form down to the edge of the modern littoral in
such drainages as the Quebrada Carizal.
Each of these raw material types can be ranked as to its
quality, which is here defined on the basis of the coarse-
ness or fineness of its grain size, the size and frequency of
mineral inclusions, the existence of obvious fracture planes,
and its general "knappability" as determined through ex-
perimentation. In the analysis of tools and reduction by-
products, three states of the quality variable were defined:
good, average, and coarse. Although such judgments are
subjective, error and variability have been minimized be-
cause only three individuals were responsible for the analy-
sis of the lithics from Asana and the other sites described
in this volume. While each raw material type varies across
a continuum of quality, some material types have a higher
modal quality than do others (table 4.4), which can be
operationally defined as those raw material types that have
at least 60% of their examples classified as either good or
average across all assemblages. Coastal, puna, and lower
high-sierra raw materials in general are of much higher
quality than most high-sierra or puna rim materials.
Reduction Strategies Recently, detailed analyses of re-
duction strategies have become commonplace in the study
of assemblages of lithic materials from foraging societies,
and a number of competing methodologies have been de-
veloped over the past 20 years. Among other things, the
analysis ofreduction strategies via the examination of both
tools and reduction by-products can provide insight into
regional or temporal variability in the staging ofstone tool
production (Bamforth 1991), technological organization
(Binford 1982; Nelson 1990), and frequency of retooling
as related to situation tool use and anticipatory planning
(Keeley 1982, 1991; Kimball 1989). The analysis of re-
duction by-products in turn can be directed at reconstruct-
ing patterns of settlement mobility and regional land use
and the definition of site types.
The methodology employed in the analysis of reduc-
tion by-products in this study is a variant of the flake ag-
gregate approach (FAA) developed by Ahler (1989) and
his associates. FAA was designed to study large quantities
of reduction by-products rapidly and objectively and is
based upon the analysis ofvariability in the size-grade dis-
tribution of all categories of debris, not simply individual
flakes (Ahler 1989: 112). Theoretical studies based on ex-
tensive experimentation have demonstrated that it is pos-
83
Table 4.4. Modal Quality of Known Raw Material Types
in the Osmore Drainage
High sierra
Higher modal quality: Types 4, 9, 11, 16, 17
Lower modal quality: Types 5, 12, 13, 14, 15,40
Lower high sierra
Higher modal quality: all types
Puna rim
Higher modal quality: Types 2, 3,23,25,27
Lower modal quality: Types 1, 18, 19
Puna
Higher modal quality: all types with exception of Type 1
Coast
Higher modal quality: all types
sible to distinguish different technological trajectories-
including different stages of biface reduction and small-
tool production, different types of reduction, such as free-
hand percussion and bipolar core production, and differ-
ent stages of these reduction strategies-on the basis of
the weight and size distribution of reduction debris and
the number of cortical by-products across these size and
weight grades (Stahle and Dunn 1982; Ahler 1989).
Ahler (1989: 98-101) outlines the methodological steps
of this process. First, the collections (segregated by pro-
venience unit) are sorted by separating tools and core frag-
ments from all other forms of reduction debris. Next, the
reduction debris is size-sorted, either by passing the de-
bris through a series of nested screens of fixed dimension
(especially for large samples) or by determining the maxi-
mum dimension by a template for smaller samples. The
latter strategy was used in the analysis of the collections
from Asana. The definition of size grades is extremely
important; Ahler (1989: table 4) shows two different size
grades based upon differences in sieve cloth or hardware
cloth dimensions. In both cases, however, there is a maxi-
mum of five size grades. Table 4.5 shows the relationships
between Ahler's size grades and those used in the analysis
for this project. Although the size grades used herein are
slightly larger than Ahler's, there is significant overlap. I
do not, however, have an equivalent to Ahler's Grade 5,
but fortunately this category is seldom used in the analysis
of archaeological assemblages.
Finally, after size grading, three variables are computed
84 Field and Analytical Methods
Table 4.5. Comparison of Size Grades
Used in Flake Aggregate Analysis
Dimensions ofAhler's Dimensions Used in
Grade System a This Project
~ 18-< 35.9 ~ 20-< 40
2 > 8.01-< 18 ~ 10-< 20
3 > 3.59- < 8.01 ~ 5-< 10
4 > 1.67- < 3.59 <5
5 < 1.67 not used
aAll measurements in millimeters.
for the collections from each grade: total debris weight,
total debris counts, and total count ofcortical debris. Given
these variables, a number of different analytical paths can
be pursued. In this study, the primary path involves plot-
ting the percentage of Grade 4 cortical flakes against the
Grade 4 to Grades 1-3 count ratio (Abler 1989: 111-112).
Using Abler's experimental data, these ratios can be used
to reconstruct the stage of biface reduction present, the
existence of early stages of the reductive process, and
whether small-tool production was a part of the activity
repertoire of a given provenience.
One potential limitation of this approach is the lack of
detailed experimental data on the reduction of different
chert types common in the Osmore basin. While Abler
(1989: 112-113) notes that adequate experimental results
of the reduction of a variety of lithic raw materials are nec-
essary for the examination of archaeological samples, he
nevertheless suggests that the published data of his accu-
mulated experiments can be used as a reasonable guide to
the interpretation of these samples.
Another consideration is the nature of the aggregates
(or samples) to be studied. The issue here is analogous to
that raised by Grayson (1984) in his critique of faunal stud-
ies. The uncritical aggregation of proveniences contain-
ing faunal materials can significantly influence the calcu-
lation of standard indices such as minimum number of
individuals (MNI), minimum number of elements (MNE),
and number of identified specimens (NISP) and should
similarly affect these lithic indices. Unfortunately, this is a
problem of archaeological interpretation and cannot be
solved by the routine application ofa formula. Unless oth-
erwise noted, lithic data will be first aggregated by level,
and only raw materials with counts greater than fifty will
be examined through the FAA approach. Ifsignificant, dis-
crete concentrations of lithic materials are recognized
within levels, they will be examined separately since they
may represent separate behavioral or depositional events.
Archaeologists have long been concerned with the de-
velopment of objective measures of the stage of biface
manufacture. Historically, biface manufacture has been
categorized into a tripartite system: blank-preform-prod-
uct (see Thomas 1983b: 212 for a discussion of this his-
tory). It has become increasingly apparent, however, that
this system does not adequately capture the potential com-
plexity of biface manufacture and use, in part because it
assumes that the analyst is capable of determining the in-
tent of manufacture. Thus a "preform" is an unfinished
tool and necessarily reflects an intermediate stage of pro-
duction. Kelly (1988), however, has argued that under con-
ditions of high residential mobility, it is perhaps more ap-
propriate to consider an "unfinished" biface as a highly
flexible object that can be transformed into a tool, used as
a tool, or used as a source of raw material to make other
tool forms. It therefore becomes necessary to develop more
sophisticated descriptions of bifaces and to connect these
descriptions to other relevant categories of data, such as
the kinds of reduction by-products found on site.
A system of biface "stage" classification that has gained
increasing attention is one developed by Callahan (1979)
that was first used to describe the process of making Paleo-
Indian projectile points. Since then, it has been used in a
number of settings, such as at Gatecliff Shelter (Thomas
1983b: 212-221). This system has been modified for use
at Asana, and its characteristics are presented in table 4.6.
Microwear Analysis Microwear analysis of the chipped
stone lithics provides the archaeologist with an indepen-
dent, objective means of determining tool function. Al-
though microwear studies of stone tool assemblages of
foraging peoples have become commonplace in Europe
and in North America, there are published reports of mi-
crowear studies from only two South American Archaic
or Preceramic sites: Telarmachay (Vaughn 1985) and Los
Toldos (Mansur-Franchomme 1984).
The basic datum obtained from microwear analysis is
the activity performed, which is a composite judgment of
tool use based upon the location and distribution of
microtraces on a tool, the kinds of microtraces present,
the inferred kinematics of tool use (tool motions), and the
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Table 4.6. Descriptive Attributes for Biface Classification
Stage I roughouts
Irregular, deep flake scars
Low width/thickness ratios
Ovate/generally asymmetrical form
Stage II rough percussion blanks
Moderate variability in flake scar size, depth, and orientation
Low to moderate width/thickness ratios
Minor asymmetry
Stage III fine percussion blanks
Low to moderate variabilty in flake scar size, depth, and
orientation
Moderate width/thickness ratios
Straight margins, generally symmetric
Stage IV pressure flaked bifaces
Low variability in flake scar size, depth, and orientation
Straight margins, symmetrical form
High to moderate width/thickness ratios
Stage V finished products
Similar to Stage IV but now in "final" form
mode of prehension (Aldenderfer 1990b; van Gijn 1991).
Statements about such judgments typically take the form
of "a hafted tool used to saw wood" or a "hand-held tool
used to scrape dry hide." Only under unusual circumstances
is it possible to infer the functional context of tool use;
that is, the actual purpose of tool use: "a hafted drill used to
make shell beads." The ability to make such a statement
depends not only upon the quality of empirical data de-
rived from microwear analyses but also upon the context
of discovery, such as associated artifacts and waste or resi-
due from artifact manufacture that is consistent with the
microtraces observed on the stone tools, and analogies
derived from ethnography or experimentation that seek
either to build a case for a production or use trajectory or
to eliminate alternative trajectories. Regardless of these
limitations, however, data obtained from microwear stud-
ies are invaluable for the development of activity perfor-
mance profiles. When the data are used with a full aware-
ness of the broader context of these tools and other lines
ofevidence, it may be possible to distinguish between gear-
ing-up and maintenance tasks, the construction of on-site
facilities, the degree of curation of different tool designs,
and estimates of tool use-life (Keeley 1991: 259-260).
The procedures used in this analysis are consistent with
85
the standards of high-power microwear analysis currently
practiced in North America and Europe (Aldenderfer,
Kimball, and Sievert 1989; Kimball 1989; Plisson 1985).
The three principal stages of analysis in the laboratory are
initial scanning of the piece, cleaning, and identification
of microtraces and registration. Initial scanning involves a
visual inspection of each piece with a lOx loupe and in
some cases a binocular microscope with magnifications up
to SOx. The goal is to identify any residues adhering to the
surface of the tool and to obtain a general assessment of
its condition and modification, especially patination or
postdepositional abrasion or damage.
Tools were then cleaned in a two-step procedure: each
was washed in a detergent solution in an ultrasonic clean-
ing tank to remove grease and dirt and then placed in a
warm bath of 10% hydrochloric acid for five minutes to
remove some mineral residues and concretions. If organic
residues were identified or suspected, tools were only rinsed
with distilled water and not placed in the acid bath.
Artifacts were analyzed using an Olympus BH or Nikon
incident light metallurgical microscope at magnifications
ranging from SOx to 400x. Artifacts were generally scanned
at lower magnifications, and when suspected microtraces
were discovered, higher magnifications, usually ranging
from 200x to 400x, were employed to interpret the
microtrace. Registration consisted oflocating all suspected
microtraces in a quadrant system for both dorsal and ven-
tral surfaces and, when appropriate, edges. Microtrace
characteristics were then coded onto forms and drawings
of their locations made (Sievert 1991). While the identifi-
cation and interpretation of polishes have been empha-
sized in this study and are based mainly on the published
microtrace descriptions of Keeley (1980), Kimball (1989),
Plisson (1985), van Gijn (1991), and Vaughan (1985),
among others, as well as on two extensive collections of
experimental tools, one of limestone cherts (Aldenderfer,
Kimball, and Sievert 1989) and one a variety of lithic raw
materials commonly found in the Osmore basin, all other
microtraces such as edge damage and rounding and stria-
tions were routinely recorded as well.
A total of 335 tools and reduction by-products was
sampled for this analysis (table 4.7). An initial sample of
220 tools was examined by Sievert (1991), and the ratio-
nale behind the sampling was to select morphological tools
across the entire occupation span at Asana. Since there are
more shaped tools in the earlier (ca. 10,000-8000 B.P.) levels
of the site, the sample is heavily biased toward these lev-
els. Subsequently, three additional samples of morphologi-
cal tools were selected from Asana VIlQhuna Phase levels
86 Field and Analytical Methods

Table 4.7. Characteristics of the Chipped Stone Tool
Assemblage Selected for Microwear Analysis
Phase Total Tools Examined
Puruma/Asana I
Levels PXXX-PXXXIII; XXXI-XXXVI 13 (76%)a
KhitufialAsana II
Levels PXX-PXXIX; XXVII-XXIX 118 (56%)
] ilafialAsana III
Levels PVII-PXIX; XXIV-XXVI 43 (61 %)
Muruq'uta/Asana IV
Levels PI-PVI; XIV-XXIII 77 (36%)
Pisi Mara/ Asana V
Levels X-XIII Ob
Qhuna Phase/Asana VI
Levels V-IXc 23 (56%)
Awati/Asana VII
Levels I-IV 4 (25%)
apercentage values indicate the proportion of the assemblage of all
recognized morphological tools examined.
bOnly four tools were recovered from the levels of this phase.
(CLs V-IX; N = 21), Asana IV/Muruq'uta Phase levels
(CLs XVIIa-XVIIc; N = 21), and Asana IIlJilafia Phase
levels (CLs PXXIV-PXXV; N = 16). To determine the
degree to which reduction by-products were also used at
the site, fifty-seven "usable" flakes were selected for analy-
sis. Usability is here subjectively defined as a relatively large
flake, usually greater than 2 cm in maximum dimension,
that had a straight, thin edge (possibly used to cut or
whittle), a projection that could have been used to grave,
bore, or pierce, or a notch of steep edge that could have
been used to scrape or plane. The primary criterion, how-
ever, is size, and it must be stressed that this sampling is
pragmatic, not systematic, and therefore is biased toward
these larger reduction by-products. Despite these limita-
tions, this is one of the largest sample of tools from a South
American Archaic Period site studied to date, as well as
the first from the south-central Andes.
In general, most of the tools discovered from excava-
tion contexts at Asana and other sites in the region were
deemed to be suitable for microwear studies from a tech-
nical perspective. Plisson (1985) and Plisson and Mauger
(1988) have shown that microtraces, especially polishes,
can be altered by extremely basic (pH> 12.0) depositional
environments or destroyed by extremely acidic (pH < 4.0)
soils. Abrasive processes, such as trampling, soil movement,
or aeolian processes, and the development of different kinds
of patinas (van Gijn 1991) can obscure or alter microtraces
as well. All soils at Asana ranged in pH from 6.5 to 8.5,
and it is thus unlikely that the polishes present on these
tools have been chemically altered. Tools found to be
heavily abraded or patinated (a small minority of the as-
semblage) were excluded from the sampling process.
Refitting Like microwear analyses, refitting is becom-
ing increasingly common in the analysis of stone tool as-
semblages. Although refitting is most commonly seen as a
method of assessing the vertical integrity of archaeologi-
cal deposits (see, for example, Villa 1982), refits across
horizontal exposures have the potential of identifying
subtle aspects of refuse disposal behavior (Carr 1991),
movement of individuals between hearths, and the "min-
ing" or recycling of discarded tools or other reduction
products (Cahen and Keeley 1980). The spatial scale at
which refitting has been most successful is relatively small,
and hearth-centered refitting programs have demonstrated
archaeologically the importance they have been observed
to have by ethnographers and ethnoarchaeologists as fo-
cal points for social interaction and maintenance and gear-
ing-up activities, among others (Gamble 1991: 16-17).
From a technical perspective, refitting has the greatest
opportunity to produce useful information when reduc-
tion strategies are well structured, such as in blade-core
production, or when the technological process of tool pro-
duction produces unambiguous reduction by-products,
such as the spalls created by making burins. Unfortunately,
most of the assemblages at Asana are not suitable for ex-
tensive refitting analyses. There are virtually no cores, core
fragments, or large biface fragments in any level at Asana,
and the vast majority of the debitage is less than 2 cm in
maximum dimension. Furthermore, there are no truly dis-
tinctive tool production strategies that leave behind char-
acteristic debitage. Test programs for refitting in two lev-
els-PXIX and XVIIb-proved disappointing, with only
two refits in the former and one in the latter securely made.
Likewise, refitting programs between levels also produced
few refits. This appears to support the contention that the
levels of the site as defined through excavation are verti-
cally homogeneous, although the problematic nature of
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
the Asana debitage makes this conclusion far from cer-
tain. Useful data from refitting, then, are limited and are
discussed later when appropriate.
Typological Studies Although studies ofthe formal varia-
tion of projectile point and tool morphology have been
largely surpassed by microwear and more behaviorally
oriented lithic analyses, they nevertheless can be used to
develop chronologies and examine questions of long-dis-
tance exchange or mobility. Aside from the analyses of
Ravines (1967, 1972), however, there have been almost no
typological studies of the formal variation of projectile
point and tool morphology in the south-central Andes. In
part this sterns from the limited scale of work performed
in the region and the tendency to borrow typological
schema from the central Andean region, where compre-
hensive typologies have been developed (Lavallee 1985;
Rick 1980). VVhile such borrowing is not objectionable
per se, its widespread practice in the region has retarded
the development of region-specific typologies that could
help to better integrate surface finds into a chronological
framework. Publications by Santoro (1989) and Santoro
and Nunez (1987) have improved this situation, but their
studies remain primarily illustrative and not analytical.
In 1985 I developed an analytical framework to describe
the morphological variation of formal tools and projectile
points from the Osmore basin (Aldenderfer 1986). The
goal of this analysis was to develop a secure chronological
foundation of finished biface or projectile point style that
could be used to date the surface components discovered
during the 1985 field season ofProyecto Arcaico. I subse-
quently revised this framework on the basis of Santoro
and Nunez's (1987) paper (Aldenderfer 1989b: 140-144).
For this volume, while I have made minor changes in the
1989 framework, I have been able to more firmly ground
formal or stylistic variation in biface morphology in re-
gional stratigraphic sequences from a number of sites, in-
cluding Asana, Las Cuevas, Hakenasa, and Patapatane, and
to make tentative correlations of these morphologies with
others known in the central Andean region. The total num-
ber ofbifaces found at Asana that can be easily assigned to
a chronological period is surprisingly small, however, and
the implication of this finding as well as the connections
that can be made with other Andean regions will be ex-
plored in subsequent chapters that deal directly with the
levels and materials found within them.
Sievert (1991), as a part of the first microwear analysis
of the tools from Asana, also made a preliminary study of
the formal variation in unifacial and ad hoc tools, particu-
87
larly scrapers. VVhile this typology lacks a quantitative foun-
dation, it nevertheless captures most of the formal varia-
tion in these tools (fig. 4.4, table 4.8). Perhaps of more
importance, however, is the demonstration that tool mor-
phology is no consistent guide to actual tool use. VVhile
the majority of the scrapers in the six scraper types she
defined were used to scrape and process hides, each cat-
egory shows internal variability in the material worked and
in some cases tool motion itself (fig. 4.5). Likewise, a num-
ber of artifacts found at Asana that would be labeled as
projectile points in traditional typological schema turn out
to have microtraces consistent with their use to cut grassy
plants (i.e., classic silica gloss or polish). VVhile the pres-
ence of silica gloss does not mean that these tools could
not have been also used as projectile points, it does mean
that morphology cannot unambiguously inform us of the
activity performed. VVhat this demonstrates is that tool
morphology cannot be used to "read" tool function of
unstudied examples, and therefore only data obtained from
microwear analysis will be used to construct activity pro-
files that involve tool function in the following discussion.
Raw Material Diversity and Sample Size While it may
be intuitively obvious, it is now well known that there is a
"sample size effect" when considering the nature of as-
semblage structure and diversity (Thomas 1989). Simply
put, the larger a sample of artifacts, the greater the prob-
ability that a larger number of artifact classes are present
in the assemblage. This interpretation of diversity equates
it with richness (the number of artifact classes), but there
are a number of other aspects to the concept of diversity
including evenness (the relative proportions of each arti-
fact class within an assemblage) and heterogeneity (mea-
sures of assemblage diversity based upon a combined con-
sideration of richness and evenness). Kintigh (1984) and
Leonard and Jones (1989), among many others, have ex-
plored the varied meanings of diversity, its different com-
ponents, and its interpretation in a number of archaeo-
logical contexts. Fundamentally, however, the question
frequently asked ofa diversity analysis is whether the num-
ber of artifact types present within a particular set of as-
semblages is predictable by sample size alone or whether
other factors contribute to the number of types present.
Despite the intuitive plausibility of the concept, there
are a number of complications that make the interpreta-
tion ofdiversity ofarchaeological assemblages often prob-
lematic. Dunnell (1989) has argued that the question fre-
quently asked of diversity analysis is often not appropri-
ate, and further, any answer to the question may be mis-
88 Field and Analytical Methods

~
I

~
I
~
I

~
~
I

C~

Fig. 4.4. The major scraper types at Asana. a: Type 1; b: Type 2; c: Type 3;
d: Type 4; e: Type 5; f: Type 6.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 89

Table 4.8. Definition of Scraper Types

Type 1 Thumbnail Generally small, mean maximum dimension 2.1 cm; round to ovate in form; usually made on a thin tertiary
flake; base of flake used as working edge; most show evidence of hafting. Some marginal thinning. Ventral
surface sometimes concave.

Type 2 Shovel Variable in size, thickness, and weight. Range in maximum dimension from 2.3 to 4.2 cm; made on a variety
of platforms, ranging from thick tertiary flakes through chunky reduction by-products. Base of flake is
working edge and expands in a semicircle. All were likely to be hafted, and a defining characterisic is the
tapering hafting element which shows marginal retouch and thinning. Ventral surface is generally flat to
slightly concave.

Type 3 Circular Usually round and plano-convex in cross section. Mean diameter is 3.45 cm, with range from 2.7 to 4 cm.
Made on a variety of platforms, ranging from thick, chunky flakes to chunky reduction debris. Show marginal
shaping and retouch along working edge as well as tool margins. Some were hafted, but many are unclear.

Type 4 Ovoid Large, lanceolate unifaces with retouched margins. Range in size from 5.5 to 7 cm in maximum dimension.
Generally thin and made on lanceolate flakes. Working edge tends to be more acute than in other forms.

Type 5 End Parallel sided with one end with steep retouch. Range from 3.5 to 4.7 cm in maximum dimension. Plano-
convex in cross section and working edge angle very steep. Made on a variety of platforms. Some were
hafted, but many are unclear.

Type 6 Rectangular Relatively large, straight margins; both sides were used as the working edge. Retouch for both tool
resharpening and shaping. Range from 4 to 7 cm in maximum dimension. Made on a number of platforms
and exhibit some variability in the steepness of the working edge. Some were hafted, but many were unclear.

leading since there is very frequently little thought given
to providing a sound anthropological context for the in-
terpretation of the results of the analysis. There are both
theoretical and methodological aspects to this problem,
and while these are obviously intertwined, I will discuss
them separately. Methodological problems are abundant:
incomplete samples generated by different field and exca-
vation methods, different typological schemes that can lead
to the artificial inflation or deflation of the number of ar-
tifact classes present in an assemblage, and other, more
subtle biases in technique and classification. It is often
impossible to overcome many ofthese problems, especially
when dealing with collections or classifications made by
different investigators.
In many ways, however, theoretical problems are at
present the most difficult to overcome. Dunnell (1989)
claims that archaeologists in general have failed to pro-
vide a coherent anthropological context for the interpre-
tation of diversity. Just what does it mean when there are
more artifacts in one assemblage than in another? One
interpretation has suggested that more artifact classes are
present in residential bases than in logistical camps. While
there is some validity to this argument, it is clear that the
duration and seasonality of occupation also affect assem-
blage composition. Furthermore, how many types are nec-
essary for there to be a residential camp? Instead of arti-
fact types, perhaps it would be better to base a diversity
analysis upon the number of activities present, as some
investigators have argued, but how precisely does one ob-
tain a useful and valid assessment of the number and range
of activities performed when many activities, if not most,
have not left residues in the archaeological record? As
Dunnell (1989: 145) argues, unless there is some theoreti-
cal assurance that the categories used in a diversity analy-
sis are in fact measuring a phenomenon of interest, the
results of the analysis will be misleading at best and incor-
rect at worst. Dunnell's argument can be placed into a
broader context of quantitative thinking in archaeology,
namely the search for "congruence" between theory, re-
search question, method, sample, and data (see also Al-
denderfer 1987; Read 1987).
What Dunnell (1989) is trying to get us to think about
is that given our incomplete theoretical knowledge about
appropriate ways in which to interpret the concept of di-
versity, our use of diversity analyses should be limited to
unambiguous empirical questions in which the population,
90 Field and Analytical Methods

while a number smaller than predicted by sample size sug-

gests that mobility or exchange is limited in scope. A more
Type 6
Rectangular restrictive approach to this problem is to focus upon only
those material types that have counts greater than 50 re-
duction by-products, which will identify those assemblages
Type 5 that have greater or fewer numbers ofintensely used types.
E ndscraper The analysis of these relationships is straightforward.
For each assemblage, here aggregated by cultural level, I
w computed Pearson's r between the number of raw mate-
a. Type 4
r rial types with counts greater than 50 and the log of the
Ovoid
f- sample size for the assemblage (the total number of re-
er: duction by-products present). This value was logged so as
w
a. Ty pe 3 to reduce the effect of substantial variation in sample size
Circular across the assemblages, 95% confidence intervals were
er:
u computed, and each assemblage was plotted around the
(f)
regression line. In this case, the independent variable (x)
Type 2 was logged sample size, while the dependent variable (y)
Shovel
was the number oftypes or the number of types with counts
greater than 50. The results of these analyses are presented
Type I
in figure 4.6. The correlation between the logged sample
Thumbnail size and the number of types is moderate, suggesting that
other factors may have some significant influence on the

a 100

..
~
~
PERCENTAGE

Bone
Hide
8,-----------------,.---,
7

5
~ Fresh Hide
CII

[=:J Dry Hide >4

CII
....l

Fig. 4.5. Uses of scrapers by type at Asana.

2
sample, or universe being described and analyzed is well
understood. Using this dictum as a guide, I do not pro- .4
pose to perform an exhaustive series of diversity analyses
on the lithic assemblages at Asana. I do, however, propose o-l----.... --r-"-------.--------!
2 3 4
to examine an important question in greater detail: are
Log of Sample Size
there greater or fewer raw material types than would be
expected in the lithic assemblages from Asana given sample Correlotion of Sample Size and
size alone? As I have argued earlier, the zone of raw mate- Number of Row Material Types

rial origin provides some basis for interpreting the rela- Number of all types r=0.743 r2 = 0.552
tive utilization of these environmental zones by foraging Number of types
with counts> 50 r=0.810 r2 = 0.656
peopJes either through direct mobility or exchange. A to-
tal number of types greater than expected by sample size Fig. 4.6. Correlation of sample size and number of raw
suggests wide-ranging mobility or exchange relationships, material types at Asana.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 91

relationship between sample size and number of types Table 4.9. Major Categories of Functional Attributes
present. Regarding the number of types present, PXXIX Used in Ground Stone Classification
has more material types than expected, while Levels II and
XIX have fewer. All others have numbers of types consis-
tent with sample size. The causes of these relationships Material type
will be explored in subsequent chapters. Volcanic/colluvial
Riverine
Ground Stone Tools Nonlocal

The goal of the ground stone tool analysis was to describe Type of utilization
these artifacts from a functional, and not strictly typologi- Use-related burnishing or polish
cal, perspective. This is consistent with the approach em- Crushing/battering/striking
phasized in this study-to build activity profiles for each Grinding
Push-pull
of the major phases. Determining ground stone tool func-
Rotational
tion, however, is often problematic and is frequently based
Complex motions
upon shifting combinations of morphological, as well as Passive use
functionally derived, criteria, such as use-related abrasive Bases for crushing/striking
wear, polishing, and battering. Five major function-related Bases for grinding
attributes have been developed: material type, type of uti- Kitchen rocks
lization, evidence of material worked, evidence of inten- Palettes
tional shaping, and intensity of use (table 4.9). Pebbles

Evidence of material worked

Material Type Although it is possible to classify ground
stone tools into specific rock types, it is more useful to
consider their source of origin: colluvial, riverine, or
nonlocal. Colluvial rocks are generally of volcanic origin
and are found littering the slopes ofthe region's hills. Most
of these rocks are coarsely textured and relatively hard.
They vary considerably in quality, size, and shape, rang-
ing in size from pebbles to massive boulders and in shape
from ovoids to irregular, multifaceted forms. Riverine
rocks, of course, are found in the region's quebradas and
streams, most notably the Rio Asana. These rocks tend to
be smoothed through water action and are extremely hard
and fine-grained. Although there are a number of glacially
deposited boulders in the vicinity of the site, the majority
ofriverine rocks are large cobbles, generally ovoid in form.
"While both rock types are local and abundant, there is
some preference for colluvial rocks for certain kinds of
activity types and contexts.
Type of Utilization The functional category type ofuti-
lization is based primarily upon an assessment of tool
morphology, type identification and location ofuse-related
wear, morphology of the used face or surface, and the size
of the artifact. Three categories of "active" uses are rec-
ognized: burnishing or polishing, crushing or pounding,
and grinding. Polishing is recognized by the presence of a
reflective, well-developed sheen on the artifact's surface
(fig. 4.7a). Most of the tools from Asana that exhibit evi-
Bone fragments or splinters
Resins or organic residues
Ochre/pigments
Hide
Evidence of intentional shaping
Ad hoc/unmodified
Modification, including pecking, grinding, polishing, etc.
Intensity of use
Light to intensive
dence of polish are ovate, elongate, or rectangular-shaped
hand tools with pronounced edge rounding and polish de-
velopment on that edge. In cross section, they are gener-
ally bi-convex but are also frequently rectangular in form
(fig. 4.7b). "While none of these tools have residues indica-
tive of function, it is probable they were used to smooth
and burnish hides.
Crushing or pounding is recognized by the presence of
impact fractures, faceting, flake scars, and a "crushing" of
the surface of the artifact. This wear tends to be found in
relatively small, discrete locations, areas, or "patches" on
the tool, although in some cases it is difficult to distin-
guish crushing wear related to use from the intentional
shaping of the surface by pecking or grinding. At Asana,
pounding tools are typically spherical to ovate in form (fig.
92 Field and Analytical Methods
b
eM
Fig. 4.7. Tools with polish used to burnish or smooth.
a: M29d-7, XXI, Asana IV/Muruq'uta Phase, ca. 7200 B.P.;
note the well-developed polish on the edge of the tool.
b: K29d-2, XII, Asana V/Pisi Mara Phase, ca. 5200 B.P.,
wedge-shaped tool with polish on both faces.
4.8a, b), have an average weight of 510 g, and range in
weight from 200 to 1,000 g. In maximum dimension, they
average 9.8 cm and range from 7 to 14 cm.
Grinding wear includes the typical smoothing and
flattening of a large surface area on the face of a tool. This
is usually considered to be push-pull wear, although rota-
tion, rocking, or more complex motions may also be indi-
cated in some situations. Grinding, of course, tends to be
associated with tools labeled as manos, or hand stones. At
Asana, hand stones are ovate (fig. 4.9a) to circular (fig. 4.9b)
in form. Their average weight is 469 g, with a range from
60 to 1,300 g. In maximum dimension, they average 9.6
cm and range from 5 to 13 cm.
Passive tool uses are varied, and it is important to dis-
tinguish the potential range of passive tool uses as well as
the significant problems ofsuccessful identification ofthese
tools. In many foraging societies, for instance, unmodi-
fied rocks are often used to weight the skin walls of tents
or anchor the brush surrounding windbreaks (Yellen 1977),
to hold the skins securely while processing or drying them
b
OM
Fig. 4.8. Stone pounders or hammerstones. a: Q37a-l0,
PXXVl, Asana IIJKhituna Phase, ca. 8800 B.P.j b: Q37d-9,
PXXIV; Asana IIJKhituna Phase, ca. 8700 B.P., tool used to
pound or crush ochre.
(Binford 1983: 133), or simply as "plates" or "tables" to
keep materials off the ground. Unfortunately, many pas-
sively used tools are unmodified, and thus many may go
unrecognized. Context may in some circumstances be a
useful guide to the identification of passive tools.
Some easily recognized passive tools are platforms (of-
ten called anvils) used to crush or strike some other sub-
stance (fig. 4.10) or used as a grinding base (the classic
batan, or metatej fig. 4.11). While some of these tools were
not intentionally shaped (fig. 4.12), most were shaped by
flaking, grinding, or pecking. Kitchen rocks, originally
defined by Binford (1983: 179) as table rocks, are gener-
ally large, relatively flat stones placed near a cooking hearth
or other activity area (fig. 4.13). Containers or foodstuffs
are placed directly upon them instead of on the floor sur-
face. At Asana, kitchen rocks were defined primarily
through their location since only a small minority of them
showed any modification. Palettes, while similar in size
and shape to kitchen rocks, differ in their use: they have
evidence of ochre or other pigments on their surfaces and
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 93

eM

Fig. 4.9. Manos or hand stones. a: S36c-ll, PXXX, Asana

I1Puruma Phase, ca. 9500 B.P.; b: K21d-3, VIII, Asana VII
Qhuna Phase, ca. 4500 B.P.

-=-
Fig. 4.10. Large anvil and associated pounding tool,
Central Block, PXXXI, Asana I1Puruma Phase, 9580 B.P.
94 Field and Analytical Methods

eM eM
Fig. 4.11. Batan, H24d-9, VIII, Asana VI/Qhuna Phase, Fig. 4.12. Small, unmodifed batan, W41c-9, PXVII, Asana
ca. 4500 B.P. IIII]ilafia Phase, ca. 8200 B.P.

Fig. 4.13. Kitchen rock in situ within a domestic structure, pxxrv, Asana IIIIKhitufia Phase,
ca. 8700 B.P. Note the cached or discarded hand stone near the bottom left-center of the photograph.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
in some cases show signs of being used as ad hoc grinding
supports. MacNeish et al. (1980: 294-295) illustrate simi-
lar artifacts they call "paint palettes."
A final, more problematic category of passive tools is
labeled simply as "pebbles." As shown elsewhere, the natu-
ral matrix ofthe site is composed oflayers of colluvial grav-
els and sands and some alluvial sands, silts, and clays. Aside
from the basal layers of the site associated with its initial
occupation, there are no deposits of alluvially derived grav-
els, pebbles, or coarse sands associated with any utiliza-
tion of the site. Most of these smooth, water-worn stones
were probably introduced to the site through human
agency. Pebbles show very little or no intentional modifi-
cation, such as pecking or grinding, or use-related dam-
age, such as impact fractures or scars, facets from use as a
striking or pounding tool, polish from use as a smoothing
or burnishing tool, or pyroclastic damage from heating,
boiling, or burning.
These pebbles can be cross-classified by shape, size, and
weight (table 4.10; fig. 4.14). The majority range in size
from 1 to 4 em in maximum dimension, and most are
spherical or ovoid in form. It is probable, but unverifiable,
that all but the triangular pebbles were used as sling pro-
jectiles. Median weights are relatively similar, and the dis-
tribution ofweight values is reasonably homogeneous (fig.
4.15). The median weight for triangular pebbles, however,
is much lower than the others, suggesting a different func-
tion. Slings are used today by highland peoples, and their
frequent illustration on ceramic vessels and other formats
from a variety of time periods and locations suggests they
have a long antiquity in the Andean world. There are few
descriptions of sling projectiles, however, in the archaeo-
logical record of the Archaic. Although Lynch (1980: 223)
suggests that a few of the similarly shaped pebbles found
Table 4.10. Pebble Size by Shape, All Phases
Flat
Size Ovoid Spherical Triangular
<1 em 11.40 36.40
>1 em-<4 em 82.10 63.60 100.00
>4 em 7.50
Mean weight 14.08 9.54
95
at Guitarrero Cave may have been sling projectiles, it is
more probable that they served as bola stones since they
are comparatively large and heavy, with an average weight
of 65 g, far heavier than the median weight of the pebbles
from Asana. Rick (1980: 177) notes that a few small spheri-
cal pebbles were recovered from Pachamachay but declines
to propose a function, while MacNeish et al. (1980: 292,
295) describe similar artifacts they label as "pebble ham-
mers." In some instances, such as near houses on the
PXXIV surface, a number of these pebbles were cached,
suggesting that they were in fact valuable artifacts.
A cached set of pebbles from CL IIIb, however, ap-
pears to have a different function. Ten small pebbles were
found cached just outside the kitchen area of a domestic
residence in this level. Although of three different types-
flattened ovoids, spheres, and irregulars-each was less
than 1 cm in maximum dimension, and all but two weighed
less than 1 g, with the other two weighing 1.5 and 2.65 g.
The excavator, an elderly Aymara from the southern high-
lands in Puno, immediately exclaimed that he had discov-
ered a set of "counting stones." Other highlanders con-
firmed this identification and explained that stones such
as these are still used today by pastoralists attempting to
keep track of the number of animals in their possession. I
independently confirmed this assertion by asking two dis-
tinct groups of pastoralists-one in the puna rim commu-
nity ofAzana and the other on the puna near Quelcatani-
if they could identify the use of these stones. In both in-
stances, elder males said that they recalled using stones
like this to count their animals.
Evidence ofMaterial Worked Ground stone tools gener-
ally do not form diagnostic polishes as do chipped stone
lithics; nonetheless there are several profitable routes to
Flat
Sphere Ovoid Irregular
9.10 14.30
100.00 90.90 76.20
9.50
3.91 14.62 11.29 11.41
96 Field and Analytical Methods

eM

Fig. 4.14. Major pebble types defined.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
MM
45
30
15
o
TI T2 13 T4 T5
Fig. 4.15. Boxplots showing medians and distribution of
values of pebble weights.
the independent identification of tool function that go
beyond the use of morphological criteria. While only a
limited range of functions can be so identified, some suc-
cess in this effort will help to expand the range of empiri-
cally verified activities at the site. Two distinct approaches
were used: the identification of organic and nonorganic
residues trapped in the microtopography of tool surfaces
and the identification of hide-working hand stones.
To discover microscopic fragments or traces of residues
trapped in the microscars of the surface of the tool, each
ground stone tool was examined under a binocular micro-
scope at magnifications of up to 80x. While no attempt
was made to chemically identify residues so discovered, it
is probable that the visual identifications made are accu-
rate. In many cases residues were visible to the naked eye.
Three residues were observed: bone fragments, resins, and
ochre or other pigments. Bone fragments, which at a mi-
croscopic scale appear as white columnar fragments, were
found only on tools identified through their morphology
as pounding or crushing tools. A number ofgrinding tools
(fig. 4.16) were probably used to process a black resin ex-
tracted from the burned stems ofyareta (Azorella compacta).
This activity was verified experimentally. Finally, ochre or
other red and orange pigments were commonly encoun-
tered. While most pigments were found on grinding tools,
a few were found on pounding or crushing tools.
While hide-processing ground stone tools are known
from the ethnographic record, there have been few at-
tempts to identify them in archaeological contexts. One
of the best efforts has been by Adams (1988), who made a
comparative study of hand grinding stones used for pro-
cessing corn (generally referred to as manos) and those
used to process hides. The surfaces of manos show con-
siderable crushing, shearing, truncation, and abrasive wear
of individual grains on the working surface (Adams 1988:
307-308). The surface is flattened, and striations are com-
97
eM
Fig. 4.16. Hand stone used to grind resin identified as
burned sap from Azorella compacta. The dark patches on the
surface of the tool are thick patches of resin. D30a-5, XIX,
Asana IV/Muruq'uta Phase, ca. 7000 B.P.
mon, generally forming in the direction of work. In con-
trast, hide-working stones show very little true abrasive
wear and instead exhibit adhesive wear, which tends to
polish individual grains on the working surface of the tool,
making them smooth, shiny, and distinct (Adams 1988:
313-314). This "polish" tends to flow between grains as
well. Although additional experimental work is clearly re-
quired, it appears that coarser stones are more appropri-
ate for hide working, and the limited ethnographic data
suggest that hide-working stones are used in a rotational
motion to apply the braining solution used to tan or cure
hides (fig. 4.17). When compared to chipped stone tools,
ground stone hide-working tools are apparently less effi-
cient in cleaning or defleshing hides (Adams 1988: 313).
The differential patterns of wear, however, appear to be
robust, and they were applied to the ground stone tool
assemblage from Asana.
Although most of the hand stones found at Asana were
used for grinding, significant numbers of them were used
to process hides, resins, and ochre (fig. 4.18). Moreover,
there appears to be chronological variability in empirically
verified tool functions. From 10,500 to 6000 B.P., the rela-
tive frequency of hide-working ground stone tools ranged
from 24% to 40% of hand stone tool uses. From 6000 to
98 Field and Analytical Methods

Awali

Qhuna

Pisi Mara

Muruq'ula

Jilana

Khiluna

Puruma

eM o 20 40 60 80 100

Fig. 4.17. Hand stone used to process hides. The surface

of the tool is very coarse, but the individual grains are
smoothed and polished. D30d, XNa, Asana IV/Muruq'uta
II Hide

Phase, ca. 6000 B.P. EB Och re

Resin

4000 B.P., however, hide-working stones disappear from Gr inding

the assemblage, suggesting that in the later phases of the

Pounding
occupation, hide processing at Asana was not part of the
activity profile. The disappearance of these tools is paral- Fig. 4.18. Mano use through time at Asana.
leled by the disappearance of chipped stone tools used to
process hides as well and will be discussed at greater length
in subsequent chapters.

Intentional Shaping and Intensity of Use Used in combi-
nation, intentional shaping and intensity of use are vari-
ables that can provide insight into the degree to which
ground stone tools were either curated or used in an expe-
dient fashion. Under circumstances of raw material abun-
dance and correspondingly low procurement costs, and
little or no time stress on activity performance, tools tend
to be used in an expedient fashion, meaning that the effort
used to make or repair a tool will be limited solely to that
which is required to get the tool in a condition to serve its
function (Nelson 1990; Torrence 1989). We can also ex-
pect expedient tools to be discarded well before the prac-
tical end of their use-lives. In contrast, curated tools show
more elaborate or careful production and maintenance and
may frequently be used to exhaustion. Curated ground
stone tools, especially large, heavy artifacts such as batanes,
are often cached in anticipation of reuse.
The majority ofground stone tools found at Asana show
little intentional shaping or production, and few show signs
of extensive, heavy utilization and wear (table 4.11). This
is consistent with the plentiful supply of raw material used
to make these tools in the vicinity of the site. The only
tool categories that are consistently modified with a com-
bination of techniques are batanes and large pounding or
crushing hand stones. While raw material for batan pro-
duction is plentiful at the site, these artifacts are generally
large and appear to be stored within house floors. They
are apparently not discarded because site reuse is antici-
pated. This pattern occurs in the early levels of the site, in
which the batanes are used primarily as pounding supports,
as well as in the later levels of the site, in which they are
used as grinding supports. The large pounding stones that
are used with these early batanes are often found beside or
near them in an archaeological context (fig. 4.19).
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 99

Table 4.11. Intensity of Ground Stone Tool Use

by Type of Use, All Phases

Intensity Pounding Grinding Passive

Light 42.3 33.3 1.8

Moderate 30.8 39.8 18.6

Heavy 11.5 24.2 14.8

Indeterminate 15.4 2.7 64.8

Degree ofShaping

Minor 46.2 58.6 25.9

Moderate 26.9 29.0 37.0
Extensive 1.0 3.7
Indeterminate 26.9 11.4 11.1

Fig. 4.19. Batan and associated kitchen rocks in situ within a domestic structure, CL V,
Asana VIlQhuna Phase, ca. 4500 B.P. A large kitchen rock with two associated hand stones
can be seen along the left-center edge of the photograph.
100 Field and Analytical Methods

fragmentary, it is generally composed of small fragments

Faunal Remains
as well. For instance, 67% of the identifiable elements are
Faunal remains can be used to address a wide range of less than 2 cm in maximum dimension. In combination,
archaeological problems, but the most prominent field for these two factors seriously limit the range of analyses pos-
analysis is their use in subsistence studies (Lyman 1982). sible with the assemblage and especially affect the calcula-
A vast literature has blossomed over the past two decades, tion of the MNE as well as the resultant MNI or mini-
much of it concerned with the development of quantita- mum animal units present (MAU).
tive methods of faunal analysis appropriate to the research Further, these two factors have made it extremely diffi-
questions posed, the quality and characteristics of the fau- cult to distinguish different species. As most students of
nal sample under analysis, and the ways in which the fau- the Andean world know, it is very difficult to differentiate
nal remains have been aggregated either through excava- guanacos, vicuna, llamas, and alpaca on the basis of their
tion or subsequent laboratory processing (Grayson 1984). skeletal remains. The most reliable indicators appear to
be tooth characteristics and the robustness and size ofskel-
Structure ofthe Asana Faunal Assemblage In the case of etal elements (Wheeler 1982; \Vheeler and Reitz 1987).
the faunal materials from Asana, it is important to con- Neither of these criteria, however, is of great value with
sider first the characteristics of the sample. Looked at in an extremely fragmentary assemblage. The condition of
the aggregate across all phases, the assemblage is almost the assemblage also affects our ability to differentiate
wholly composed of unidentifiable fragments, cancellous camelids from taruca. \Vhile there are significant skeletal
fragments, and small shaft splinters (table 4.12). Slightly differences between these genera, the small size of many
more than 10% of the assemblage can be identified as to of the bones recovered from the site renders them of com-
element, and there does not appear to be any significant parably little value in efforts to distinguish these species.
chronological variation in this. Not only is the assemblage Many routine analyses, then, are not appropriately used
on the faunal assemblage from Asana.
Another potential problem is the degree of taphonomic
Table 4.12. Element Fragmentation and Size at Asana modification of the assemblage. Postdepositional distur-
bance factors are myriad, but one of the most significant is
density-mediated bone destruction. In an important se-
Fragmentationa
ries of publications, Lyman (1984,1985,1992,1994) has
100,711/112,322 87.9% demonstrated that certain skeletal elements are more prone
to postdepositional loss than others due to their differen-
Fragmentation by phase
tial density. That is, all things being equal, low bulk den-
Asana I1Puruma 93.8% sity bones, such as cervical vertebrae, atlas and axis, and
Asana IIJKhituna 91.8% rib midsections and distal ends, tend to "disappear" from
faunal assemblages more rapidly than do high bulk den-
Asana 1111]ilana 90.0%
sity bones, such as midsections of the humerus and radius,
Asana IV/Muruq'uta 94.3% most of the metatarsal and metacarpal, and the astragalus
87.2%
(Lyman 1984: table 6). If density-mediated processes are
Asana VIPisi Mara
not taken into consideration, it is possible to make a vari-
Asana VIlQhuna 90.4% ety of errors in analysis, such as interpreting empirically
Asana VIIIAwati 84.2% observed reverse utility curves as being of human origin
when in fact it appears that bone loss is a more parsimoni-
Element size b
ous explanation. Further, Lyman (1992) has demonstrated
7,814/11,611 67.3% that for all species for which utility indices have been com-
puted, there is an inverse relationship between element
density and utility. That is, elements of greater utility are
3Total number of specimens (NSP) classified as unknown,
more likely to disappear from faunal assemblages due to
unidentifiable splinters, or unidentifiable cancellous fragments.
Total NSP.
density-mediated processes because of their low bulk den-
b'fotal number of identifiable elements (NISP) less than 2 cm in sity alone and not necessarily because of human transport
maximum dimension. Total NISP. decisions. As Lyman (1992: 20) points out, while the ex-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 101

istence of a reverse utility curve in a faunal assemblage is Table 4.13. Relationship of Bone Survivorship
not necessarily presumptive evidence for density-mediated and Bone Density at Asana
bone loss, it is often the most plausible explanation for the
shape of the curve.
Level N Element Classesa Rho Signijicance b
The magnitude of density-mediated bone loss varies in
the levels examined at Asana. I have used Lyman's (1984:
282-293) methodology for establishing the relationship II 4 -.26 .60 (ns)
between bone element survivorship and bulk density, us-
VIII 9 -.37 .60 (ns)
ing volume density measure (VD). Using the element clas-
sification developed for this project and the values ofVD XII 3 .82 .22
for specific scan sites (Lyman 1984: table 10), it is possible XIV 9 .03 .60 (ns)
to calculate Spearman's rho, a rank-order correlation co-
XVIlb 12 -.20 .51 (ns)
efficient, to determine the strength of the relationship of
bone element survivorship-here represented by the NISP XVIIc 12 -.39 .22
for each element observed-and the value ofVD for that XVIII 5 .33 .52 (ns)
element of the faunal assemblage for each level of the site. .30 .47 (ns)
XIX 8
Values of rho near + 1.0 suggest that bone density has a
strong influence on survivorship. As can be seen in table PXIV 15 -.13 .65 (ns)
4.13, only Level XII has a very strong positive relation- PXVII 10 -.27 .45 (ns)
ship, indicating that this assemblage has probably lost ele- PXX 6 .41 .36
ments to density-mediated processes, and therefore any
PXXIV 13 -.64 .48
subsequent analysis ofthe assemblage must be viewed with
caution. However, since the number of element classes is PXXIX 14 -.40 .16
small, the result is not statistically significant, thus tem- PXXX 7 .41 .36
pering this interpretation. There are three levels-PXX:,
PXXXII 3 .50 .66 (ns)
PXXX, and PXXXll-that have moderate positive values
of rho that are statistically significant. While the relation-
ship is not very strong, it does suggest that the analyses of aNumber of element classes are those for which Lyman (1984:
these three levels be carefully evaluated. The remaining table 10) has published bone density data. For most levels there
levels of the site show relationships that are not statisti- are more elements present.
cally significant, show no trend, or are negative, indicat- bValues listed are for .05 level of significance. Absolute value of
ing that density-mediated processes probably did not have rho must exceed table value for significance at this level.
a significant influence on the faunal assemblage structure.
Another taphonomic problem to be considered is the
degree to which the assemblage has been disturbed or that carnivore ravaging has not affected the composition
modified by carnivore ravaging. Ethnoarchaeology has of the assemblage significantly. This conclusion, however,
demonstrated that dogs and other carnivores routinely must be tempered by recalling that the size of individual
scavenge bones from archaeological sites (Hudson 1993), fragments is small, and therefore evidence for gnawing may
removing them from archaeological context and thus hav- not be well preserved.
ing a potentially negative effect on the interpretation of Since carnivores tend to take bones off site or often to
the faunal assemblage. Unlike density-mediated processes, site margins, it is useful to determine whether any skeletal
however, there are relatively few direct ways in which to elements appear to be underrepresented. Since density-
measure the effect ofcarnivore attrition on an assemblage, mediated attrition has not substantially affected the assem-
and as Hudson has pointed out, archaeologists are not yet blage, skeletal elements present are likely to reflect the
in a position to develop a reliable measure of precarnivore combined effects of human transport decisions, methods
skeletal element frequency. Tabulation of gnawing marks ofprocessing, human removal ofskeletal elements through
on bones is an obvious method; the more an assemblage is group mobility or exchange, and carnivore removal.
gnawed, the more it is likely to have been disturbed. Only Hudson (1993: 320), based upon her ethnoarchaeological
0.1 % of the bones at Asana have been gnawed, suggesting research with the Aka, suggests that carnivore-ravaged as-
102 Field and Analytical Methods

semblages are generally likely to demonstrate the follow- Table 4.14. Relative Frequencies ofNISP
ing characteristics based on an ordinal scale of measure- in Levels Examined a
ment: "preferential survival of heads, the loss of articular
ends of limb bones, and of carpals, tarsals, phalanges, and
the underrepresentation of vertebrae and ribs." As aggre- Mean, median, and standard deviations of relative frequency of
gated by level and measured by relative frequency ofNISP skull/head parts: .064, .07, .02
95% confidence interval: .076 < .064 < .052
for each element (i.e., NISP divided by the total NISP
from a specific provenience), it is possible to get some sense Mean, median, and standard deviations of relative frequency of
of the degree to which an assemblage may have been af- high loss parts: .360, .37, .09
fected by carnivores. Since there is no absolute standard 95% confidence interval: .41 < .36 < .31
against which the degree of ravaging can be determined Mean, median, and standard deviations of relative frequency of
because the original structure of the assemblage cannot articulating ends: .227, .22, .14
be known, it is necessary to develop other criteria that can 95% confidence interval: .30 < .23 < .15 h
perhaps serve as proxy measures.
One such measure is to compare the relative frequency
of each of Hudson's categories in each provenience against High Loss Articulating
Level Skull/Head c Parts d Ends e
the mean value of that category across all levels. The de-
gree to which any level deviates in a statistically signifi-
cant manner can be evaluated by computing 95% confi- II .09 .18 .06 (.264)
dence intervals for each category. In this instance, I am
looking for levels that satisfy the following conditions: a VIII .07 .36 .02 (.141)
high relative frequency of skull/head parts, low relative XIV .11 .44 .15 (.387)
frequencies of parts subject to greater probabilities of loss
XVIIb .07 .23 .05 (.223)
from carnivore ravaging, and low relative frequencies of
articulating ends of long bones. This is operationalized as XVIIc .07 .44 .02 (.141)
follows: carnivore-ravaged assemblages should have rela- XVIII .00 .51 .00 (.000)
tive frequencies greater than expected of skull/head parts
while simultaneously having lower than expected frequen-
XIX .07 .38 .00 (.000)
cies of "loss" parts and articulating ends. PXIV .05 .37 .11 (.331)
Means and standard deviations, as well as medians, were
PXVII .08 .32 .18 (.424)
calculated for each category and 95% confidence intervals
computed (table 4.14). The frequency distributions of PXX .09 .42 .05 (.223)
skull/head parts and high "loss" parts showed good cen- PXXIV .03 .37 .12 (.346)
tral tendency and did not require a transformation to re-
PXXIX .03 .47 .10 (.316)
move skewness. The means and medians of these distri-
butions are very similar. The distribution of articulating PXXX .08 .28 .03 (.173)
ends, however, was skewed to the left, and thus a square
root transformation was employed to make it more sym-
aTable excludes Levels XII and XXXII due to small sample sizes;
metrical. The table values used are the square roots of the
values in bold conform to expectations of carnivore damaged bone
original data values, and 95% confidence intervals were assemblages.
computed on the transformed variables. As can be seen in bValues of relative frequency are square root transformations of
table 4.14, most of the assemblages show some probable the original data values performed to remove skewness from the
effect of carnivore ravaging. Nine of the 13 levels have at distribution.
least one expectation for such an assemblage met, and 2 clncludes cranial parts, mandibles, and maxillae.
dHigh loss parts, as defined by Hudson (1993), include vertebrae,
levels-II and PXXX-have two of three met. These re-
ribs, carpals, tarsals, and phalanges.
sults suggest that the faunal assemblages of these two lev- elncludes the summed frequencies of the articulating ends of
els must be interpreted with some caution. radius, ulna, humerus, femur, and metapodials. The quantity in
In summary, taking into account both density-medi- parentheses is the square root of the summed relative frequency.
ated loss and the effects of carnivore ravaging, two faunal
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
assemblages-PXX and PXXX-may have suffered sig-
nificant postdepositional disturbance. These effects must
be carefully weighed when interpreting the two assem-
blages' structure. These results also suggest that some form
of taphonomic process has affected in some fashion al-
most every assemblage subsequently discussed. Unfortu-
nately, the severity of these effects on other assemblages
cannot be easily measured.
Quantitative Measures Employed and Methods ofAggregation
Because ofthe fragmentation ofthe faunal assemblage from
Asana, the primary quantitative measure to be employed
is NISP per taxon or an aggregate oftaxa (table 4.15). NISP
has a number of problems as a quantitative measure of
faunal assemblages, the most difficult being the unknown
degree ofinterdependence ofthe counted skeletal elements
(Lyman 1982: 359; Grayson 1984). It may also overrepre-
sent the number of large animals in a faunal assemblage
(Hudson 1993). However, NISP can be highly correlated
with the actual number of individuals per taxon (Grayson
1984: 49-67). In a study of ethnographically observed fau-
nal assemblages of Aka foragers, Hudson (1993) was able
to show that the correlation between NISP and the actual
number ofindividuals present was greater than +0.95 prior
to carnivore-ravaging and size-related losses. However,
Table 4.15. Animal Taxa and Aggregation
in the Asana Faunal Assemblage
Avian aggregate
Snnalinnannnnal taxa
Canid (Canidae indet.)
Rodents
Vizcacha (Lagidium viscacia)
Mice (various)
Snnall nnammal aggregate
Small mammal, unknown
Large nnamnnal taxa
Guanaco/llama (Lama guanicoelLama glama)
Vicuna/alpaca (Lama vicugnalLama pacos)
Taruca (Hippocamelus sp.)
Large nnamnnal aggregate
Cervid
Camelid
Large nnammal, unknown
103
NISP is not a good predictor of actual numbers of indi-
viduals present with small sample sizes (Hudson 1993).
While it is always preferable to calculate NISP within
individual taxa, the characteristics of the assemblages found
at Asana make that difficult in most instances. Conse-
quently, the three taxa aggregates used most extensively in
the faunal analyses described later will be the tripartite
division of the large mammal aggregate-cervid, camelid,
and unknown. MNI for each taxon will be calculated when-
ever possible using the formula developed by Grayson
(1984), and MNI values will be compared to NISP to in-
sure that the relative abundance of NISP values can be
interpreted in a meaningful manner (Lyman 1982: 360).
It should be stressed that calculated MNI values from Asana
are likely to be very poor indicators of actual MNI present
in the assemblage, and it has been shown that MNI may
also underrepresent the actual. number of individuals
present if the taxa under examination are of small size and
due to the inherent limits of the way in which MNI actu-
ally counts bones (Hudson 1993).
The archaeological aggregates of the faunal analysis
must also be considered. As Grayson (1984) has observed,
how one aggregates faunal samples determines in great
part the values ofNISP or MNI that can be calculated and
may even affect the ordinal scale ranking of the relative
abundance of skeletal elements present. It would be ideal
to be able to examine aggregates that reflect a single be-
havioral process, such as hone dumps derived from food
consumption, concentrations of faunal remains derived
from marrow cracking or bone grease processing, and
butchery, or even single "instants" or events in the past.
For instance, Thomas and Meyer (1983: 355) discuss the
degree to which concentrations found on the "living" sur-
face of Horizon 2 at Gatecliff Shelter have an episodic or
accretional origin, and while they note that it is impos-
sible to verify the origin with certainty, they claim it is
probable that the Horizon 2 materials were deposited in a
single behavioral event. Based on their reading of stratig-
raphy, especially when compared to other depositional
contexts at Gatecliff Shelter, their argument is reasonable.
Unfortunately, situations like that at Horizon 2 at
Gatecliff Shelter are relatively rare at most archaeological
sites, including Asana. While the site was excavated by "liv-
ing" floors, it is clear that most of these floors, with a num-
ber ofprominent exceptions such as the dumping ofa num-
ber of disarticulated camelids below a rock overhang on
the PXXVI floor or the occupational surface of CL VIIb,
are palimpsest occupations and reoccupations, and the
"true" amount of time any level was occupied and the de-
104 Field and Analytical Methods
gree to which refuse generated during these invisible
reoccupations of the site has been mixed with other be-
havioral events cannot be estimated with any certainty.
Most living surfaces have been carefully cleaned and refuse
redeposited in a variety of middens and dumps, and there-
fore the concentrations of faunal remains found at Asana
are best thought of as accretions. While not ideal, the ba-
sic unit of aggregation used in this study is the level, which
in most instances is a reasonable compromise between
specific behavioral events and sets ofredundant events that
occurred over an unspecified time frame. This position is
consistent with Lyman's (1982: 346) assertion that it is of-
ten more useful to aggregate faunal assemblages by a more
behaviorally relevant unit, such as a house floor, midden,
or other feature. Obviously, the key issue that must be
considered here is the degree to which activity performance
can be said to be redundant within these levels. This is
discussed at length for each of the levels studied in detail.
Utility, Transport, and "Behavioral" Aggregation ofthe Asana
Fauna It has become commonplace to study faunal re-
mains in terms of their overall utility as food products and
to relate this measure of economic uti~ity to transport de-
cisions made by prehistoric foragers. Much of this has been
stimulated by Binford's (1978) Nunamiut Ethnoarchaeology,
a landmark study that developed a multitude of method-
ological tools useful in the analysis of faunal remains of
large mammals. Of the many measures he proposed, per-
haps the most valuable is the modified general utility in-
dex (MGUI), which is a measure of the relative economic
importance of skeletal elements based upon an ordering
ofthe proportions ofmeat, grease, marrow, and other prod-
ucts associated with them (Binford 1978: 72-75; Thomas
and Meyer 1983: 367). The quantitative estimation of eco-
nomic utility permits the archaeologist to develop and test
empirically models of transport decisions made by forag-
ers by comparing the identified skeletal elements (usually
aggregated by MAD or percent of MAD) at an archaeo-
logical site to their economic utility. This can be done
graphically, and it has been observed that the shape of the
distribution ofskeletal elements plotted against MGUI can
be compared to a number of theoretically defined trans-
port strategies, including bulk, gourmet, unbiased, or re-
verse utility (Binford 1978; Metcalfe andJones 1988: 496;
Thomas and Meyer 1983: 368).
A number of useful modifications have been made to
Binford's MGUI, the most important being Metcalfe and
Jones's (1988) simplification of Binford's very complex for-
mula for calculating MGUI and the consequent introduc-
tion of the food utility index (FUI). As Metcalfe and Jones
(1988: 490-494) point out, not only is the FUI highly cor-
related with Binford's MGUI estimates for caribou skel-
etal part utility (Pearson's r = 0.99, P < 0.000 1), it is far
simpler to calculate because it is based upon a series of
easily obtained measures, thus making the measure broadly
applicable to any large mammal species.
The utility of each skeletal element must be derived
empirically. Although there are broad similarities in the
utility ofskeletal elements between animal species of com-
parable size, it is preferable to have utility estimates based
upon empirical analyses of the species under examination.
Fortunately, utility indices for the llama and guanaco have
been calculated (Borrero 1990; Mengoni 1991; table 4.16).
The use of the FUI is straightforward: given a set of
processing and transportation costs, which are themselves
dependent upon a myriad of factors, such as the number
of animals killed, the sex of the prey, the distance to the
site, whether caching can be employed, and the amount of
meat and bones that can be transported, the skeletal ele-
ments with the highest FUI will be selected first for re-
turn to the site, followed in order by the other skeletal
elements. As Metcalfe and Jones (1988: 495) point out,
the best representation of the choices made by foragers as
to which elements to return to the site is best described as
a threshold function in which all skeletal elements above a
certain utility will be selected for return to the site and all
of the lower ranking elements will remain in place. Em-
pirically, however, they note that the patterns of bones
taken from or remaining at kill sites appear to be probabi-
listic in form, meaning that the value of the FUI for any
element is an imperfect, but still valuable, predictor con-
ditioned by these situational factors that cause the animal
to be butchered in parts or sections. Ethnographically,
animals are not evaluated strictly by individual skeletal el-
ements and their associated value but as packets or sec-
tions of the body (Binford 1978: 60). For instance, lower
limb elements, often described as "riders" (Metcalfe and
Jones 1988: 497) and characterized by low FUI values and
anatomical proximity to some higher ranked part, are nev-
ertheless often removed from a kill site not because they
are valuable per se but because the cost to remove them is
too great at the moment, they facilitate transport, there is
no significant transport cost associated with leaving them
attached, or some other factor. To deal with this problem,
Metcalfe andJones (1988: 499) advocate a more intensive
investigation of the contexts of animal kills and subsequent
butchery with an emphasis upon the time or energy costs
associated with different combinations of situational fac-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 105

Table 4.16. Llama and Guanaco Utility Indices tors. One part of this analysis necessarily involves a deeper
knowledge about the parts or sections into which animals
are generally divided. In one sense, these are situational,
Skeletal Element Llama Guanaco behavioral aggregates of skeletal elements that can facili-
tate subsequent analysis.
Mengoni (1991) describes two distinct approaches to
Skull 14.8 10.0
the butchery ofllamas that result in slightly different pack-
Mandible ets produced (table 4.17). One approach simply involves
w/tongue 9.9 5.7 the butchery of the animal for the calculation of the MUII
w/out tongue 5.6 FUI for the llama, while the second is Miller's (1979)
Atlas/axis 8.6 8.8 ethnoarchaeological observation of the butchery of llamas
by Andean pastoralists. While neither of these two permit
Vertebrae
the estimation of energy or time costs associated with the
Cervical 64.2 51.3
butchering process, they are valuable as guides to the po-
Thoracic 61.8 22.1
Lumbar/sacral 77.9 44.9 tential range of behavioral aggregates or packets and their
associated skeletal elements. It should be stressed that both
Ribs 100.0 100.0
Sternum 99.4 8.5
(8.5)
Table 4.17. Alternative Practices for Butchering Llamas
Scapula 41.7 38.4
Humerus 36.7
proximal 38.4 Mengoni (1991: table 1)
distal 23.8
Head (skull and mandible)
Femur 75.9 83.2
Chest (sternum)
Radius 23.0
Forequarters (scapula, humerus, radioulna, and carpals)
proximal 15.8
distal 7.8 Hindquarters (femur, tibia, tarsals, pelvises)
Ulna 23.0 Ribs
proximal 19.8
Neck (cervical vertebrae)
distal 7.8
Anterior column (thoracic vertebrae)
Tibia 43.0
proximal 57.2 Posterior column (lumbar vertebrae, sacrum, coccyx)
distal 21.3
Feet (metapodials and phalanges)
Pelvis 40.2 40.2
Miller (1979)
Metacarpals 6.5
Head (skull and mandible)
proximal 2.6
distal 2.4 Chest (sternum)
Metatarsals 11.5 Forequarters (2d-llth ribs, scapula, humerus, radioulna,
proximal 6.6 carpals)
distal 4.4
Hindquarters (innominates, femur, tibia, tarsals)
Carpals 11.8
Neck (cervical vertebrae, 1st rib, 1st thoracic vertebra)
Tarsals 21.9
Spinal column (two parts; 2d-ll th thoracic vertebrae; 12th
Phalanges 4.8 2.1 vertebra, 12th rib, lumbar vertebrae, sacrum, coccyx)
Feet (metapodials and phalanges)
106 Field and Analytical Methods

of these examples are from sedentary contexts in which Table 4.18. Skeletal Element Partitions and
transport decisions are not directly relevant to the butch- Utility Estimates for the Guanaco and the Taruca
ery process. Interestingly, they are very similar to Binford's
(1978: 60) description of the way in which the Nunamiut
partition caribou. The major difference appears to be the Utility
way in which the ribs are treated. In the ethnographic case
observed by Miller, the 2d through 11 th ribs are treated as Partition and Element Guanaco Taruca a
a portion of the front quarters of the animal, while the
Nunamiut treat the ribs as a separate entity. The differen-
tial treatment of the ribs may be due to transport consid- Head/neck
erations as well as to overall size and weight differences Skull 10.0 12.9
between the llama and the caribou. Axis/atlas 8.8 18.7
The behavioral aggregate of the fauna employed in the Mandible 5.7 14.1
Antler
present analysis is a compromise between the detail of the
ethnographic case studies and the structure of the faunal Summed Utility 24.5 45.7
assemblage from Asana. Instead of the seven to nine parti-
Forelimb
tions presented in table 4.17, I will use only five: head, Cervical vertebrae 51.3 55.3
ribs, proximal and distal sections, and lumbar/sacral sec- Humerus 38.4 28.2
tion (fig. 4.20). Associated skeletal elements are presented Radius/ulna 7.8-19.3 14.1
in table 4.18 along with a rank ordering of the economic Metacarpals 2.6 4.7
utility of each partition calculated very simply by summing
Summed Utility 100.1-116.1 102.3
the FUl for each skeletal element in the partition using
Lyman's (1992: table 1) modification of Borrero's (1990) Trunk
calculation of guanaco utility. This aggregation, while Ribs 100.0 100.0
broadly similar to the ethnographic descriptions, is more Pelvis 41.5 81.3
Scapula 38.4 44.9
sensitive to the problems of the Asana faunal assemblage.
Thoracic vertebrae 22.1 46.5
As noted previously, it is probable that MNI values for
Sternum 8.5
each level aggregate have been underestimated due to ex-
treme fragmentation, and therefore NISP will be used as Summed Utility 209.2 272.7
the primary measure of skeletal element quantities. Un- Hindlimb
fortunately, reliable MNI estimates are necessary for the Femur 83.2 78.2
empirical derivation of butchery strategies, and NISP, since Tibia 21.3-52.2 20.8
it may overcount skeletal elements present, cannot be used Metatarsals 4.4-6.6 6.4
as a substitute. To obtain a reasonable description of pos-
Summed Utility 108.9-142.0 105.4
sible butchery strategies, NISP counts per partition will
be made for each level or provenience aggregation. While End
coarse grained, this procedure will nevertheless provide Lumbar vertebrae 44.8 38.9
an estimate of the relative contribution of each behavioral Summed Utility 44.8 38.9
partition for a given level or provenience unit. This pro-
cedure assumes that the bones from each behavioral parti-
tion are equally fragmented and that the potential quanti- aTaruca estimates based on Binford's (1978: table 1.5) estimates for
sheep meat utility. Sternum excluded from taruca trunk packet due
ties of fragments from each partition are roughly equal in
to differences in butchery practice when compared to guanaco
proportion. Given the few whole skeletal elements or ele- trunk packet.
ments greater than 5 cm in maximum dimension found in
the assemblage, these assumptions are reasonable.

Differences in Utility between Species Some differences

exist between llamas and guanacos in terms of the eco-
nomic utility of the same body parts (table 4.16). There is
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
A Head/Neck
B Forelimb
C Trunk
o Hindlimb
E End
Fig. 4.20. Packets and skeletal elements of the behavioral
aggregate used in this study.
a high correlation between the values of llama utility us-
ing the Metcalfe and Jones (1988) FUI formula and gua-
naco utility using Binford's (1978) Mill and Lyman's (1992:
table 1) modification of Borrero's (1990) original data to
differentiate proximal radius, ulna, humerus, femur, and
metatarsals (Pearson's r, +0.914, p < 0.001; Spearman's rho,
+0.882, P < 0.01). This calculation modifies the role of the
sternum in the calculation of both llama and guanaco util-
ity. As Mengoni notes, since the sternum should be con-
sidered as a special cut, it should be removed from the
calculation owing to the very distinctive way in which this
skeletal part is cut up by Andean pastoralists (Mengoni
1991; Miller 1979). Following this advice, I have set gua-
naco sternum utility equal to that of the llama. Removing
the sternum entirely does not change the correlation.
The vertebral column of the guanaco in general has a
somewhat lower utility than that of the llama, especially
the thoracic and lumbar vertebrae (Mengoni 1991: fig. 1).
This difference appears to be based upon the smaller quan-
tities of meat associated with these bones on the guanaco
in relation to the weight of the vertebrae. Mengoni (1991)
speculates that while differences in body weight may not
be determinative, this difference can instead be attributed
to greater fat deposition or greater muscle mass in this
area of the llama. Llamas are a domesticated species, and
for at least the past 2,000 years in the Andean world they
have been used primarily for transport. The greater muscle
mass of the llama is best explained by selection for larger
animals capable of carrying heavier loads.
107
There are no estimates of the economic utility of ei-
ther the taruca or the vicuna, and since both are endan-
gered species, it is unlikely that robust quantitative esti-
mates of their skeletal utility will be generated in the fu-
ture. I will therefore assume that the vicuna has a relative
skeletal utility equivalent to that of the guanaco. This is
probably acceptable, within limits, since these animals are
of the same genus. The greatest difference between these
species with regard to utility is that the vicuna is likely to
have lower meat weights per skeletal element or packet
when compared to the guanaco, and thus any differences
are in terms of amounts and weights of usable products
rather than utility per see
This is not the situation, however, when comparing the
taruca to the guanaco. As Binford (1978: 23) has shown,
while there is substantial agreement between the utility
indices of the sheep and caribou, there are major and im-
portant differences between these species when the utility
of chest and thigh are compared. Sheep, with shorter,
smaller hindquarters, show a much lower meat utility for
their femurs (78.24) than do caribou (100.0). In contrast,
since meat is more evenly distributed about the body, par-
ticularly considering the chest or trunk (represented by
the ribs), the meat utility of the sheep (100.0) is higher
than that of the caribou (51.6). Given the differences not
only in weight but in the scaling of body proportions be-
tween the guanaco and the taruca, it seems more reason-
able to use sheep utility indices as a rough guide to packet
utility for the taruca (see table 4.18).
Moving beyond utility indices, yet another comparison
of these different species is to look at their average meat
weights. That is, given the evisceration of kills in the field
and minimal field butchery and disarticulation of these
animals in the field, how much meat is returned to the
residential base? An answer to the question is useful if in
fact whole animals of all species are returned; if not, an
examination of the actual packets present makes better
analytical sense. Looking strictly at size, the guanaco has
the largest amount of meat: assuming a dressing percent-
age of 55% (that is, the weight of meat only, excluding
bones, internal organs, and skin), average meat weight for
this species is 50-66 kg, assuming a weight range of 100-
129 kg/animal. Vicuna and taruca are roughly equivalent
and given similar assumptions have meat weights of 27.5-
30.25 kg and 24.75-27.5 kg, respectively. These values are
significantly smaller than those for the guanaco.
108 Field and Analytical Methods
Beyond Butchery: Identifying Other Processing Techniques
Much has been made of the fragmentation of the faunal
assemblage from Asana, but so far there has been little
consideration of the processes that fragmented the bones.
Ground stone bone pounding and crushing tools have been
identified empirically in all periods of occupation at the
site, and it is likely that most of the bones were fragmented
during marrow extraction. There are a number of ques-
tions, however, that must be addressed to define the tim-
ing of the processing events as well as the possibility that
other types of processing technologies, such as the prepa-
ration of bone juice or grease, were practiced at the site.
Binford (1978: 152-167) has shown that marrow pro-
cessing and extraction and the preparation of bone juice
or bone grease are situational processes, dependent on the
season, availability of fresh meat, the quality and quantity
of dried or frozen meat available, and the number of con-
sumers present at the meal. While most of these factors
are not directly observable in the archaeological record, it
is possible, using faunal evidence, to determine the degree
to which marrow cracking is part of the immediate con-
sumption of the meat off the bones or is a mass processing
event. Enloe (1993) has developed a model useful in dif-
ferentiating these processes and has argued that mass pro-
cessing of bones for marrow may be indicated in a faunal
assemblage by concentrations of skeletal elements with
high marrow utility that show consistency in size and break-
age pattern. That is, the assumption is that there will be
standardization of the process of breaking the bones so
that each bone is struck in the same location resulting in
relatively long fragments. In contrast, incidental breakage
of bones for marrow during immediate consumption
should result in an assemblage characterized by skeletal
elements of high meat utility and highly variable breakage
patterns with shorter, smaller bone fragments. Further,
mass-processing dumps should contain more metapodial
fragments relative to either upper limb or unidentified
splinters than middens created by immediate food con-
sumption. Enloe (1993), using three ethnographically
known assemblages from the Nunamiut, has confirmed
the general expectations of the model, finding that bones
broken in mass processing tend to be longer and show less
variation in length (as measured by the coefficient ofvaria-
tion) than do bones broken through food consumption.
Bone juice and bone grease processing also leave dis-
tinctive residues in the archaeological record, but to date
no formal model of such processes has been developed.
Consequently, we must rely upon Binford's (1978: 152-
167) observations ofNunamiut bone grease and juice mak-
ing. Making bone grease is a time-consuming process that
involves the crushing and pounding of stored bones, usu-
ally metapodials and articulating ends oflong bones. Other
bones, however, may also be used, and it appears there is a
strong situational component in bone selection. Since suf-
ficient numbers of bones must be accumulated to make
the process worthwhile, environmental conditions must
be appropriate for storage. For the Nunamiut, bones are
often accumulated over the winter for making grease in
the spring, although Binford (1978: 159) also observes that
bones may be hoarded for shorter periods of time. As
Binford (1978: 158) notes, the bone is pulverized into small
fragments, and in appearance the processed bone resembles
bone meal (Binford 1978: 159). To make the grease, the
pulverized bone is immersed in boiling water to separate
the grease from the bone. Binford (1978: 159) observed a
stone boiling technique, and the most distinctive residue
of the process was the large number of discarded, broken,
and hoarded stones used in the boiling process. The next
most distinctive residue was the discrete heap of discarded
tiny bone fragments.
In contrast, bone juice making is a simpler process, in-
volving the pounding, crushing, and boiling of bones and
the subsequent consumption of the grease-saturated wa-
ter. As Binford (1978: 164-165) has observed of the
Nunamiut, bone juice processing occurs in two distinct
circumstances, both consistent with high or frequent resi-
dential mobility: in residential camps when fresh meat is
available but there is a low probability of sufficient accu-
mulation of articulator ends for the preparation of bone
grease and in logistical camps, such as hunting camps, trail
stops, or butchering locations, when the juice is seen as a
casual addition to the meal. At residential bases, females
are responsible for making bone juice, whereas in logisti-
cal camps, males do the work.
Bone juice processing residues at residential bases in-
clude concentrations of pulverized or crushed bone, al-
though whole or recognizable bone fragments may be used
as well. When making bone juice under these circum-
stances, any bone fragments will do, and thus bone juice
dumps should be characterized by large quantities of small
fragments of a variety of bones and many unidentifiable
fragments. Of great interest is the large quantity of can-
cellous fragments in these dumps (Binford 1978: table 4.8).
In contrast, bone juice dumps at Nunamiut logistical camps
are dominated by rib fragments, obtained either as trail
foods or fresh kills. Since processing is for the individual
only, the quantity of residue is likely to be much smaller.
The residues expected for these processing techniques
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
and the way in which such residues can be implemented as
a model for the interpretation of the faunal remains from
Asana are presented in table 4.19. To determine size varia-
tion, since exact measures of individual bone fragments
were not taken due to the size of the assemblage, onlyor-
dinal scale measures of bone size will be compared. It is
important to note that these residues must also be recog-
nized as discrete dumps and described in spatial terms.
That is, the spatial distribution of these residues must be
examined at sites, and the residues must not be viewed
simply as a level- or provenience-wide aggregation of
materials. The problem of how these dumps are recog-
nized spatially will be discussed later.
Goals and Methods ofDistributional Analyses
Distributional analyses, also known as intrasite spatial
analyses, are designed to identify patterning in the spatial
distribution of artifacts and site facilities in an effort to
reconstruct site structure (Binford 1983: 172). Interpret-
ing site structure can help to identify the range ofsite func-
tions, the size and composition of the group resident at
the site, and the length of occupation, all ofwhich are nec-
essary for the definition of the "place" of a site in its re-
gional settlement and subsistence system (Binford 1982).
Table 4.19. Assemblage Characteristics of
Bone-Processing Practices
Marrow cracking/food consumption
Assemblage characterized by large number of small fragments
Pulverized or massively crushed bone not expected
All major bone categories presenta
Mass marrow cracking
Assemblages with large relative frequencies oflarge fragments
Higher relative frequencies ofmetapodial fragments compared
to splinters from other long bones or unidentified fragments
Bone grease
Concentrations of pulverized bone
Low assemblage frequencies of articulator ends
Feature associations characteristic of bone grease making
Bone juice (residential sites)
Assemblages characterized by a combination oflarge and small
fragments
Large quantities of small cancellous bone
aAssuming the return of whole animals to the site.
109
Intrasite analysis has become increasingly important to
students of foraging societies over the past ten years, and
both ethnoarchaeological (Gamble and Boismier 1991;
Kroll and Price 1991) and computational (Whallon 1984;
Blankholm 1991) approaches have been emphasized. In-
creasingly, there is the recognition that the two are comple-
mentary and that true progress in our ability to interpret
site structure will come when quantitative approaches are
combined with ethnoarcheologically derived models with
a clear understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of
the method employed and the data identified as appropri-
ate for the solution of the problem at hand (Carr 1991).
The determinants of the organization of space at the
camps of foraging peoples are many, but the most impor-
tant include: intensity of use, site population (including
the numbers of people present as well as their social rela-
tionships), the range of activity performance, anticipated
length of stay, seasonality of occupation, the characteris-
tics of the space itself, and the use of structures (Bartram,
Kroll, and Bunn 1991; Binford 1983; Hitchcock 1982: 338;
O'Connell, Hawkes, and Jones 1991). Each of these fac-
tors creates a complex web of relationships that conditions
the location ofactivity performance, the locations ofrefuse
disposal, the kinds of refuse deposits created, and the ways
in which interior space, ifpresent, is used. Postdepositional
factors, such as scuffing and trampling, carnivore ravag-
ing, and human scavenging for potentially useful materi-
als, frequently blur behaviorally generated patterns, al-
though at least under some circumstances these patterns
are robust and can be recaptured with the appropriate ana-
lytical strategies (Gregg, Kintigh, and Whallon 1991).
One principle useful in discussing the organization of
space is the degree to which activities are space consum-
ing or space conserving. Binford (1983: 165-172) makes a
similar distinction in his definition of extensive activity
areas. While phrased in spatial terms, it is clear that there
is also a temporal component to the organization ofspace.
Space-consuming activities are those that use more space
and tend to limit the potential range of activities that can
be performed within that space. Hide preparation, for ex-
ample, is a space-consuming activity. Not only does it re-
quire large amounts ofspace, it also tends to exclude other
kinds of activities from taking place near it. Roasting
hearths and associated food preparation areas are also space
consuming, in that these activities become spatially fixed
and again tend to exclude other activities. In contrast,
space-conserving activities or uses of space tend to be spa-
tially limited and are frequently characterized by variety
in the range ofactivities performed in them. A classic space-
110 Field and Analytical Methods
conserving feature is the exterior hearth which is variously
used for cooking, food preparation, socializing, and heat-
ing and warming. In terms of their spatial field, space-con-
serving activities may thus be performed simultaneously
within the same "boundaries."
The space-consuming-space-conserving continuum can
vary across a spatial scale as well. Some space-consuming
activities may have a limited spatial scale, such as special-
purpose dumps ofspecific kinds ofrefuse. In this case, while
individual dumps are relatively small, they are used only
for a single purpose. At a larger spatial scale, the relative
degree of the packing of structures and their associated
facilities within a camp can also be described with this con-
tinuum. For instance, the camp layout of the !Kung San as
described by Yellen (1977) and Gould and Yellen (1987)
would be space conserving, in that the distances between
structures are relatively small. In contrast, camp layouts
of the Alyawara and other Australian groups as defined by
O'Connell (1987) and Gargett and Hayden (1991) would
be space consuming, in that they are spatially dispersed.
It is important to stress that this continuum is designed
not to overclassify activities into discrete types but instead
to look at the dynamic relationship between different kinds
of activities and the possible ways in which they can struc-
ture the organization of space. The assessment of the
changing locations and ranges of space-consuming versus
space-conserving activities can provide useful insights into
definitions of the place of a site and how it varies or re-
mains the same through time.
Organizational Contexts ofIntrasite Spatial Analysis The
three organizational contexts for the analysis of the use of
space at Asana are disposal, the use of exterior space, and
the use of interior space. In thinking about disposal be-
havior, three analytical categories can be considered: types,
contents, and locations. Attributes that can be examined
or measured for each are presented in table 4.20. Regard-
ing types, archaeologists usually attempt to distinguish
primary from secondary deposits (Schiffer 1987). Primary
refuse is said to be a direct reflection of activity perfor-
mance in that it is left in place and is not swept away, col-
lected, or redeposited. Trash or waste may be left in situ
and thus may be of a variety of sizes and types depending
upon the kind of activity performed, or it may be a part of
what Binford (1983: 153) has called the drop zone, an area
around a hearth or within a structure in which small resi-
dues from eating, manufacturing, or some other activity
simply drop to the ground around the individual.
Secondary refuse is trash or other waste that has been
Table 4.20. Disposal Behaviors
Types
Primary refuse
In situ refuse
Drop zones
Secondary
Temporary, situational dumps
Discrete, relatively small dumps
Mixed dumps or middens
Contents
Relative sizes of materials
Kinds of materials represented
Locations
Proximity to structures
Nearlbetween
Found at site margins
Proximity to "spaces"
collected and disposed of away from the locus of activity
performance. A number of secondary refuse deposits are
situational, in that they are loci in which trash is accumu-
lated over a short term and is then collected and disposed
ofin larger, more permanent dumps. So-called door dumps
are good examples of such secondary disposal, as is refuse
accumulated during food production that is swept or
pushed into piles and disposed ofat some convenient time.
Some secondary dumps can be described as discrete, mean-
ing that they are relatively small in size and composed of
refuse derived from a single type of activity performance.
They may also be spatially discrete, in that they may be
taken to site margins or other areas in which they will not
be contaminated by other refuse disposal behaviors. The
discrete dumps generated by bone grease or bone juice
making in Nunamiut society are good examples of this
sort of secondary deposit (Binford 1978: 152-167). Dan-
gerous, hazardous, or simply objectionable materials, such
as reduction debris or broken large bones, may be col-
lected and taken to special dumps to keep them out of the
way and to reduce their potential impact on other activity
performance. In addition, there are large, generalized
refuse dumps, or middens, in which refuse from a variety
of activities is accumulated over a longer period of time.
There should be considerable mixing of artifact types as
well as artifact sizes in middens.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Finally, it is possible to discuss the location of different
refuse deposits and their spatial relationships to structures
and "spaces" at archaeological sites. Refuse can frequently
be found between or spatially proximate to structures, or
it may instead be found on the site margins well away from
domestic or residential activity. While the degree to which
this refuse is a direct reflection of activity performance
close to the structure or space is an empirical question,
Boismier (1991) has shown that using ethnographic data
from the Ingalik, it was possible to test a number ofpropo-
sitions about midden contents, structure utilization, and
the sexual division of labor at an archaeological site of that
culture. Further, the relationship between refuse disposal
and seemingly unused spaces at sites may be of interest.
Use ofExterior Space The archaeological thought on
the use of exterior space not already used as refuse dis-
posal zones has been dominated by activity area and hearth-
based activity and seating models (table 4.21). As many
authors have noted, early intrasite spatial analysis focused
on the search for activity areas, which were originally per-
ceived to be spaces or locations with direct indications of
activity performed and were frequently defined on the basis
of the spatial autocorrelation or co-occurrence of specific
artifact types thought to have been used in some activity
(see, for example, MacNeish et al. 1980). More than two
decades ofethnoarchaeological research has demonstrated
that while "activity areas" do in fact exist, they are difficult
to locate and define in the archaeological record.
The space-conserving-space-consuming continuum is
a useful way in which to think about activity performance
(table 4.21). It is important to stress, however, that activ-
ity areas per se can only be recognized through primary
refuse deposits, especially if cleaning or preventative main-
tenance is commonly practiced. In this case, activity per-
formance may be monitored by concentrations of small,
size-sorted debris that has been pushed or ground into the
soil matrix (Gamble 1991: 18). Yet another circumstance
in which the spatial distribution ofresidues may inform us
of activity performance is a "last use" of the site in which
its occupants anticipate leaving shortly, and therefore nor-
mal site maintenance and cleaning are suspended. It may
also be valuable to examine the contents ofsecondary refuse
deposits that are spatially proximate to suspected activity
areas or "empty" spaces much in the way Boismier (1991)
examined the relationship between midden contents and
the spatial proximity to structures.
Empty spaces must also be considered. In some circum-
stances, the physical space available for habitation and ac-
111
Table 4.21. Behavioral Correlations of Measures
of Activity Performance
Activity performance
Space consuming
Hide preparation, especially early stages
Butchery of large mammals
Roasting pits/hearths
Animal pens/corrals
Storage facilities such as meat drying racks
Space conserving
Gear maintenance or production
Lithic reduction
Domestic food preparation
Empty space
At a large scale, possibly space-consuming activity
performance
Truly unused space
Hearth-based models
Interhearth distances
Hearth location vis-a.-vis structures
Hearths and nature of drop zone residues
Hearth type and contents
Constraints on secondary refuse disposal (i.e., toss zones)
generated around hearths
Structure and space packing
Spatially dispersed, contemporaneous structures
Spatially concentrated, contemporaneous structures
tivity performance at a site is limited, and seemingly empty
spaces may be the loci of space-consuming activities that
leave few material residues behind. Further, they may not
be used as refuse dumps because they were in use at the
time of occupation or are anticipated to be used in the
not-too-distant future. This "negative" information may
be of considerable value in thinking about the overall pat-
tern in the organization of space at a site. However, such
spaces may also be truly empty or only situationally used,
and therefore they should be interpreted with caution.
Hearth-based or hearth-centered models of the use of
exterior space have become increasingly important in the
analysis of hunter-gatherer camps (Gamble 1991: 10-13).
Hearths are often durable while associated structures fre-
quently are not, and ethnoarchaeological studies in a num-
ber ofcontexts have demonstrated the hearth's importance
112 Field and Analytical Methods
as an organizational focus in foraging societies. Among
the issues to be considered in the analysis of hearths are
interhearth spacing, the location of hearths vis-a.-vis ac-
tual or so-called latent structures (Gamble 1991: 11) or
empty spaces, the extent and content of hearth-associated
drop zones, hearth type and contents, and constraints on
secondary refuse disposal (i.e., toss zones) generated by
hearth-based activity models (table 4.21). Based on both
archaeological and ethnoarchaeological observation, a
number of regularities are beginning to emerge regarding
hearth spacing. Sleeping hearths, for example, have an
average center-to-center distance of 2 m, whereas cook-
ing hearths tend to average 3 m (Gamble 1991: 12). Drop
zones generated by hearth-related activities range in their
radius from the center of the hearth from 2 to 6 m, with
the smaller distances apparently constrained by the pres-
ence of nearby structures, activity areas, or even other
hearths, whereas the larger distances are generally more
consistent with unconstrained, open-air hearth use pro-
posed by Binford (1983: 153). While these figures must
not be used uncritically, it is clear that they have great value
in helping to interpret more responsibly the kinds of pat-
terning generated by simple quantitative techniques.
Finally, it is useful to determine the degree to which
structures and their associated activity areas are either spa-
tially dispersed or tightly packed. Gould and Yellen (1987)
have argued that predator pressures are the reasons for
the apparent difference in spacing between !Kung San
camps, which are tightly packed, versus Australian aborigi-
nal camps, which are not. However, Gargett and Hayden
(1991) have argued that social arrangements, particularly
the emphasis a foraging group places on the sharing of
resources among members of the coresident group, is a
more probable explanation. The !Kung San strongly em-
phasize sharing, whereas many Australian groups do not.
This focus upon sharing has been confirmed in part by
Whitelaw (1991), who has shown in a cross-cultural sur-
vey of foraging societies that the greater the reliance upon
sharing, the more closely spaced are contemporaneous resi-
dential structures. Binford (1991 b) offers a contrary view
that suggests that tent spacing is highly situational and
reflects the degree of economic independence between the
inhabitants of the site, which in turn is dependent upon
their degree of kinship and differences in age. Therefore
while causality of spacing cannot be directly read, struc-
ture spacing is a potentially important variable in the study
of the spatial organization of foraging camps.
Ethnoarchaeologists have given relatively little consid-
eration to the use of interior space in the residential struc-
tures of foraging peoples. In part, this may stem from the
biases of the ethnographic record of modern foraging
peoples, most of whom live in tropical or arid environ-
ments in which permanent structures are uncommon and
in which most activity performance takes place outside.
While there are certainly exceptions, such as Binford's
(1978) work with the Nunamiut, the low volume of re-
search has limited the kinds and range of useful empirical
generalizations that can be considered. However, studies
of the use of interior space in more complex societies, such
as the Highland Maya (Hayden and Cannon 1983), offer
some insight into how foragers use the interiors of their
structures, as do cross-cultural studies of social complex-
ity and degree of differentiation in internal space.
The two most important determinants of the use of
interior space appear to be the anticipated length of occu-
pation and the number of people using that space over
that term. Other factors that may influence aspects of the
organization of space are the degree to which activities
can be performed outside (i.e., is the climate too severe to
work outdoors on a routine basis?) and the need for heat
and light. In general, if a long stay is anticipated at a site,
the organization of internal space tends to become more
formal, in that discrete areas are set aside for certain kinds
of activity performance. Kitchen areas inside structures,
for example, may be used solely for food preparation and
eating, whereas outdoors, hearths are the foci of a wide
range of activities. Within structures, then, interior cook-
ing areas become space consuming. Space-conserving uses
of space include sleeping areas, which in addition to their
obvious function can also be used for eating or snacking
(Binford 1983: 163-165) as well as storage. Hayden and
Cannon (1983) note that inside Highland Maya house-
holds, wall areas or areas beneath beds are used for tem-
porary storage, or what they call provisional discard, mean-
ing that broken but potentially useful materials are stored
in these areas until they can be repaired, replaced, or dis-
carded in a different secondary refuse location at some later
date. Other space-conserving activities are those that can
be performed in the central, open space of a dwelling, pos-
sibly around a heating or lighting hearth. These activities
are likely to produce easily disposed-ofwaste, and the tools
as well as the raw materials used in activity performance
can be quickly stored when different uses of the central
space are required or anticipated.
Given a more formal use of space and possibly a rela-
tively large number of people using the space, cleaning
and maintenance are very important. Floors are likely to
be swept or picked up frequently, and traces of activity
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
performance, aside from those in interior kitchen areas,
are likely to be difficult to identify. Size-sorting, however,
may prove of value inside structures as well and may pro-
vide evidence for drop zones or activity performance. Situ-
ational and temporary secondary refuse deposits, such as
door dumps, may also be common (Binford 1983: 165),
and in other instances unobjectionable refuse, such as wood
ash, may simply be pushed along the edge of a structure.
Context ofIntrasite Spatial Analysis Although the exca-
vation strategy at Asana was designed to expose a large
contiguous block so that variation in the organization of
space could be analyzed, it is important to stress the po-
tential weaknesses of the data, the two most important of
which are the limited size of the excavation block itself
and the method by which the data were aggregated.
One of the more daunting observations on the organi-
zation of space derived from recent ethnoarchaeological
studies of forager camp organization is that the absolute
size of residential bases is large. Fisher and Strickland's
data (1991: 227-230; see especially tables 2 and 3) show
that residential base size as measured in square meters of
the !Kung San, Efe, and Australian aboriginal groups
ranges from a minimum of ca. 42 m 2 for the Efe to a maxi-
mum of over 150,000 m 2 for the Australian groups. Even
mean values are substantial, ranging from ca. 242 m 2 for
the Efe, 358 m 2 for the !Kung San, and almost 40,000 m 2
for the Australian groups. Although not quantified, the
camp sizes Binford (1983, 1991b) illustrates are even larger
than some of the Australian examples. The !Kung San
camps consist of dwellings simultaneously occupied.
Excavation areas for most archaeological sites of forag-
ing peoples are generally far smaller than the mean values
for even the Efe or !Kung San. Although not meant as a
systematic sampling of the archaeological literature on
excavation area, data presented by Gamble (1991: table 3)
are instructive. He shows that a number of European and
Middle Eastern sites ranged in size from 20 to 600 m 2
Similar data could be compiled for any set of Archaic Pe-
riod sites in North or South America. As Gamble notes,
the largest of these excavation areas would cover only a
single Nunamiut household. Although the largest blocks
would cover the mean size of Efe and !Kung San camps,
they would only cover a tiny fraction of even the smallest
Australian camp (ca. 9,500 m 2). While most of the space
at the Nunamiut and aboriginal sites is empty and thus
would not register as an archaeological site in the strict
sense, it is probable that widely spaced structures and their
associated activity areas at these sites would either be
113
missed entirely or be interpreted as wholly separate sites
when they were in fact contemporaneous.
Although the excavation blocks at Asana are the largest
exposure of contiguous blocks at any South American Ar-
chaic Period site, they are nevertheless relatively small
when compared to the mean site sizes described in the
preceding paragraphs. Block sizes range from a minimum
of 64 m 2 to over 150 m 2 Although it was fortunate that
the original placement and subsequent expansion of the
block appear to have been optimally placed for the recov-
ery of the bulk of dwellings and structures that once ex-
isted at the site, there is a poor sample of site margin areas
or simply empty space. Furthermore, as was explained ear-
lier, Asana is a good example of the problems seen in deep-
site archaeology. While no Koster South, the large num-
ber of levels, combined with their productivity, has meant
that areal coverage had to be sacrificed for the recovery of
the lower levels of the site. Finally, portions of the site
have been destroyed by landslides and erosion from the
Rio Asana. Landslide deposits not only scoured some lev-
els of the site, they have also buried site margin areas with
up to 5 m of colluvium.
What all of this means for intrasite spatial analysis at
Asana is clear: data recovery strategies were biased toward
structure recovery, and therefore it is probable that there
is a very incomplete sample ofsite margin secondary refuse
deposits or activity areas. These limits must be kept firmly
in mind when level-to-Ievel comparisons are made.
Although every attempt was made to identify palimp-
sest occupations within stratigraphic levels and to exca-
vate each level and palimpsest as a "living" floor, it is obvi-
ous that many, if not most, of the levels at Asana are
accretional in nature and are not true "instants" ofbehav-
ioral time. For instance, many of the structures with pre-
pared clay floors within even the finest palimpsest levels
identified and excavated at the site were actually composed
of multiple building events, and in some cases more than
five discrete rebuildings were defined. In most cases, while
there were no obvious aeolian or colluvial sediments sepa-
rating these relaid floors, thus suggesting the passage of
some time between events, it was impossible to even esti-
mate the amount of time that passed between re-Iaying
events. Therefore, these levels, to varying degrees, are
archaeologically and not behaviorally contemporaneous.
The excavation strategy ofeach level represented a com-
promise between the competing demands for tight con-
trol of artifact provenience and the opening of a relatively
large block given limited time and resources. This means
that data have been aggregated into a 50-cm2 block, al-
114 Field and Analytical Methods
though features, house floors, and other special prove-
niences were in many instances excavated in smaller units
to keep their contents separate from general proveniences.
In one sense, then, it is assumed that the content of each
provenience unit is found at its geographical center. This
means that due to excavation strategy alone, there is likely
to be some blurring in the distribution of artifact classes
and quantities. The severity of this blurring, presumed to
be minimal, is nevertheless an empirical question to be
evaluated for each level.
Although it is important not to overestimate the effects
of palimpsest reoccupation and data aggregation on the
interpretation ofsite structure at Asana, it is clear that while
each level is assumed to be a palimpsest, a parallel assump-
tion is that activity performance, ranging from refuse dis-
posal to animal butchery, within each of the palimpsest
layers was sufficiently redundant to treat their contents as
analytically contemporaneous. There is an unfortunate
circularity to this argument, certainly, but there appears
to be no easy way to avoid such an assumption and still
proceed with an analysis.
Methods ofIntrasite Analysis Employed Given the defi-
nition of a range of expected spatial behaviors and a con-
sideration of the depositional and excavated-related con-
straints on the data, I am now in a position to discuss the
methods and data to be examined for the intrasite analysis
at Asana. Contouring was the primary analytical strategy
employed to investigate patterning in the organization of
the use of space at Asana. Contouring is an essentially de-
scriptive method of spatial analysis appropriate for the in-
vestigation of spatial patterning and distribution of one
class of data at a time or the similarity or difference in this
distribution of two different classes of data through ma-
trix addition or subtraction. It can provide, for example, a
description ofthe relative density of different artifact classes
on a surface as individual distributions but has no formal
(i.e., statistically based) means of comparing the degree to
which these distributions are similar. Contouring, then, is
useful when using single artifact classes to test specific
propositions about their spatial distribution.
Contouring has had a long history of use in archaeo-
logical research, but despite a common perception that it
is simple, it is in fact a complex method with considerable
power and flexibility. Contouring creates an isopleth map,
which is formally defined as a graphical convention for
describing changes in one variable, Z, as a function of two
other variables, x and y, where x and y identify locations
within a coordinate system and Z is a measure of quantity
at that location. The resulting map describes the surface
using lines of equal elevation.
Contouring is based upon the creation of a uniform
grid of points through a process called spatial interpola-
tion (Schieppati 1983: 2-3). In most archaeological set-
tings, points are sampled irregularly across a surface. In-
terpolation takes this set of irregularly spaced points and
creates a uniformly spaced set of grid nodes that cover the
entire mapped area. This interpolated grid is used as the
basis for the creation of the isopleth map. Gridding itself
is composed of two parts: defining an appropriate search
algorithm and the selection of a weighting function. To
create the regular grid through interpolation, it is neces-
sary to estimate the value of each node in the regular grid.
The most common way in which this is done is to esti-
mate its value based on the values of the n nearest neigh-
boring points of the sampled data points. This is an un-
constrained search, in that the only criterion used is the
nearest neighbor distance. While this search algorithm
works well when sampled data points are relatively uni-
formly spaced, it performs poorly when sampled points
are clumped, exhibit some spatial trend (i.e., are found
more on one side of a point than another), or linearly or-
dered. In such instances, other search algorithms, such as
quadrant or octant searches, which force the algorithm to
search around the sample data point in defined areas, can
be employed. A weighting function determines the rela-
tive "influence" of each sample point for the estimation of
the grid node, with more distant points having less influ-
ence on the estimation process. Furthermore, each of these
functions can be scaled, so that the furthest point sampled
has zero, or no, influence on the estimation of the value of
the grid node. The family of weighting functions most
commonly used in contouring is generally known as in-
verse distance weighting functions.
The determination of the appropriate search algorithm
and weighting function depends in great part on the dis-
tribution of sampled points on the surface and their asso-
ciated z values. In a series of tests of function performance
on a number of simulated data distributions, Schieppati
(1983: 41-48) has shown that using nearest neighbor
searching, squared inverse distance weighting provided
superior estimation of the mean and variance ofthese simu-
lated distributions. Given that the distribution of sampled
data points in each of the levels at Asana is based upon a
uniform grid, both nearest neighbor searching and squared
inverse distance weighting will be used in this analysis.
The data to be examined in this analysis have been ag-
gregated by excavation into grid units of uniform size (50
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 115

cm 2) or provenience units ofirregular size and shape, such Table 4.22. Methods, Data, and Goals of
as features, house floors, and other site facilities with a Intrasite Spatial Analysis at Asana
spatial distribution. There are no point data for artifacts
aside from the location of kitchen rocks, readily identifi-
able ground stone tools, or rare objects. To facilitate analy- Methods Goals
sis, I made an operational assumption that all objects found
within a given grid unit were found at its geographical
Density variation! Define primary and
center. "While this results in a distortion of the actualloca-
contouring secondary refuse
tions of objects which leads to coarser-grained contours
and the loss of some local detail, the effects of such an Data used
aggregation are likely to be minimal (Whallon 1984: 246). Lithics 0.5 cm) Define drop zones around hearths
Concerning contouring, the use of the nth nearest and inside structures
neighbor search algorithm is well justified by the distribu- Bone 2.0 cm)
tion of sampled data points and the way in which the data
Lithics (>4.0 cm) Deposits of "hazardous" materials
have been aggregated. In this instance, aggregation has
created a uniform grid because I assumed that the geo- Total counts Definition of broad concentrations,
graphical center of each provenience unit is the locus at i.e., major secondary refuse deposits
or middens
which all artifacts were discovered. However, since the data
have been artificially aggregated, the interpolation of a Burned bone Food preparation refuse; other
uniform grid is justified because it creates an optimal de- secondary refuse
scription of the distribution of an artifact class on a sur- "Point plotting" Caching behaviors near structures
face. An octant or quadrant search would be a poor choice individual class analysis or facilities
since both methods force searches in specific directions
Possible "last use" locations
and areas along the boundary of the excavation unit-in
effect, unsampled areas-cannot not be interpolated and
thus can. be n.either gridded nor contoured.
Finally, the relationship between the methods em-
ployed, the goals of the analysis, and the specific data cat- classes. Counts in this range tend to be too small to pro-
egories to be examined with each can be considered (table duce meaningful density estimates across a surface or ap-
4.22). In general, these combinations have been matched pear with such rarity that they contribute little to data point
as closely as possible to the expectations developed earlier similarity as computed by some similarity measure. "When
for the definition of different kinds of primary and sec- counts are low, therefore, artifact classes will be plotted
ondary refuse as well as drop zones and certain kinds of individually against the results obtained from other meth-
activity areas. Note that a second method, individual class ods. For some artifact classes, such as frequencies of lithic
analysis, has been added to the set of methods employed. debitage, counts across entire floors for many of the raw
In many instances, artifact class counts on many floors for material types are in many instances less than five. Although
certain artifact classes, such as chipped stone tools, are very these data will still be used in size-sorting analyses, they
low, often not exceeding a total of ten for the sum of all will not be used for contouring.
 5
The Geological Setting of Asana

Asana is located on the north bank of the Rio Asana at an then, is relatively flat when compared to the rest of the
elevation of3,435 m (fig. 5.1). There are four major geo- high-sierra and puna rim segments of the valley. This
logical and geomorphological features that combine to "flatness," combined with other geological characteristics
define the unique setting of Asana in the Rio Asana valley: of the site environs, has made the location ofAsana unique
a relatively flat basin in which the site is located; consider- in the high-sierra zone.
able movement, but within limits, of the river in the basin;
the presence of permanent springs; and the instability of
the slopes and geological formations north of the site.
The site is located on the valley floor approximately
675 m east of the point at which the valley of the Rio Asana
narrows considerably and becomes a V-shaped valley typi-
cal of many of the major streams that drain the western
flanks of the south-central Andes. Below this point, the
width of the valley floor averages 50 m, while above it, the
valley floor widens considerably, averaging 150 m until
the valley narrows again 6.25 km upstream from (east of)
the site at an elevation of approximately 3,800 m.
Asana itself sits in a basin on the valley floor that mea-
sures approximately 125 m north-south by 375 m east-
west and covers an area of almost 4.7 ha (fig. 5.2). Unlike
the valley bottom east of the site, there are no significant
river terraces to be found in this basin. There is, however,
a large field of boulders derived from colluviation and gla-
cial outwash directly south of the site. Many of these boul-
ders are deeply buried in colluvial deposits, and in most
cases, very little of them is exposed today. Immediately to
the south of both the site and the boulder field, the Rio
Asana is a meandering stream with a relatively shallow Fig. 5.1. The location of Asana in the Rio Asana valley as
grade of 4%. Below the site in the V-shaped valley, the seen in an aerial photograph taken in 1946 by the Northern
stream grade averages 7.8%, while above the site it ranges Peru Mining Company. The triangle points to the exact
from 6% to 7.1 %. The valley floor in the site environs, location of the site.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 5.2. The basin where Asana is found, looking east-southeast. The site is the cleared area.
With its shallow grade, the Rio Asana immediately to
the south of the site has meandered extensively across the
valley bottom and has changed course repeatedly. Mul-
tiple channels are easily distinguished, and the valley bot-
tom surrounding the stream is composed of a jumble of
redeposited alluvial sands, cobbles, and boulders derived
from the formation of the stream in postglacial times. Most
of the remodeling of the stream course takes place during
the austral summer (December-April), when stream dis-
charge rates are the highest. As measured from 1961 to
1981, stream discharge of the Rio Asana at the height of
the rainy season in February averaged 2.34 m 3/second,
while at the height of the dry season in August it averaged
only 0.53 m 3/second (ONERN 1976). However, strong
rainfalls during the dry season in the puna rim environ-
ment can create powerful flash floods that can also scour
the valley bottom.
Geological testing on the valley floor has confirmed that
the Rio Asana has been confined to the limits of the basin
throughout the Holocene (fig. 5.3). As part of a program
of geomorphological investigations in the basin, bulldozer
cuts were made into the talus slope on the north side of
the Rio Asana at 127 m and 135 m north-northeast of the
117
site datum. This area in the basin was chosen because it is
immediately downstream from a major bedrock outcrop
that would have prevented the river from moving to the
north until the river cleared the outcrop. The goal of this
testing program was to determine whether at any time in
the past the Rio Asana had changed its course significantly
to the north and had penetrated more deeply into the
northern talus slope. 1fso, this would imply that the basin
may have been significantly larger in the past, which in
turn would suggest that the site and other environmental
features of the basin may have been larger or situated dif-
ferently as well. Detailed examination of the profiles of
these cuts showed conclusively that at no time had the river
moved further to the north. For example, Profile 4 (fig.
5.4) is typical of colluvially derived deposits, being com-
posed primarily ofangular and subangular sands and grav-
els with significant proportions of pebble- to cobble-sized
gravels mixed within. Furthermore, detailed examination
of the edge of the talus that has been cut by the meander-
ing river from Profile 4 to the eastern limits of the site
also has shown that there are no alluvial or stream channel
deposits to be found. Thus while the river channel has
moved repeatedly, it has moved within well-defined lim-
118 The Geological Setting ofAsana

Fig. 5.3. The location of the geological testing stations in the basin surrounding Asana and the
inferred limits of the bofedal soils.

its, and it is probable that the basin as defined here has

been present since the formation of the stream course it-
self in Early Holocene times.
Two small springs are located on the south side of the
IOYR6/4
basin. These springs lie just above the valley floor and
bottoms, and today they support the existence of a very
3
small bofedal measuring approximately 0.01 ha. Bofedales, IOYR6/3
common in the high sierra and dry puna of the south-cen- IOYR7/2
IOYR7/2
tral Andes, create conditions suitable for the growth of a IOYR6/3 IOYR5
variety of mat plants, such as Distichia muscoides, a highly 8
palatable plant seemingly preferred by both alpacas and 9 IOYRS/3
llamas (WInterhalder and Thomas 1978). Depending on
elevation and degree of ecological degradation, less desir- 10
able bunch or tussock grass species such as Festuca spp. II IOYRS/3
and Calamagrostis spp. can become dominant. On both the 12
puna rim and high puna, bofedales can attain sizes of hun-
dreds of hectares, while in the high sierra they are typi-
cally small, ranging in size from 0.01 to 3 ha. 13 IOYR6/4
The two springs have supported the existence of a
bofedal throughout much of the Holocene. Soils defined
as part of a bofedal complex (interbedded silts, clays, and oI
sands with associated organic horizons) have been discov- METERS
ered in a number of locations in the basin: within the ar-
chaeological deposits of the site, at two locations on the Fig. 5.4. Profile of Geological Test 4.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 119

north bank of the river at distances of 39m and 40 m NNE
of the site datum, at 130 m E of the site datum on the
south side of the river, and at 120 m SSW of the site da-
tum, also on the south side of the river (Tovar 1987: fig. 2;
fig. 5.3). Profile 2 is typical of these sediments (fig. 5.5).
Radiocarbon assays of the associated cultural material from
the bofedal sediments immediately atop the basal alluvial
strata in the archaeological deposit suggest that the bofedal
was established in the basin shortly after 9800 B.P. and lasted
through most of the Holocene (see the following section).
Based upon soil profiles that contain bofedal-derived soils,
a conservative estimate of the size of the bofedal found
within the basin is approximately 1.55 ha (fig. 5.3).
The slopes of the mountains surrounding Asana are both

Landslide

IOYR6/3
IOYR7/2 ~~~~~~~~~.Ei'iO~~~~
lOY 5/3
_ _iii~
IOYR5/3
IOYR 1
2.5Y6/2

IOYR5/3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2.5Y6/2
IOYR5/3

Cloy
IOYR6/2

IOYR6/3

River Bottom
a
I
.50
I
METERS
Fig. 5.5. Profile of Geological Test 2. All strata below the landslide
deposit are either silt, silty clay, or clay.
120 The Geological Setting ofAsana

steep and highly unstable. Two major formations domi- andered through the bofedal, changing its course fre-
nate the landscape: the Huaylillas Formation, composed quently when heavy rains enlarged its channel. The ar-
primarily of trachyites and found at the summits of the chaeological site of Asana formed on the northern margin
surrounding mountains, and the Quellaveco Formation, of this bofedal and could possibly have extended to por-
composed of rhyolites and found on the steep slopes them- tions of the bofedal itself, a pattern seen near the site of
selves (Tovar 1987; fig. 5.6). Both formations are charac- Quelcatani on the high puna (Kuznar 1989). Slope wash
terized by large numbers of fractures that permit the infil- ofcolluvial materials occurred frequently, and at least once
tration of water during the rainy season. This process of in the past, probably within the past 700 years, a major
infiltration tends to weaken the structural stability of the collapse of the slopes to the north buried the site and most
slopes and over time can lead to their sudden collapse. of the basin in which it rests beneath a minimum of 1 m of
This instability is exacerbated by frequent tremors and colluvial rubble (fig. 5.8a, b). This slide blocked the flow
earthquakes, which are common on the western flanks of of the Rio Asana, which was forced to cut a new channel.
the Andes. A number of collapsed areas can be seen in the In this latest slide, the channel cut through the archaeo-
Rio Asana valley, with one of the most significant being logical deposit, thus exposing the site (fig. 5.8c).
directly above the site itself (figs. 5.1, 5.7).
The local history of the site environs reflects the dy-
namics of the interaction of these geological and geomor-
phological features. The best reconstruction of the his-
tory of this location suggests that a small bofedal, roughly
1.5 ha in size, existed here throughout much of the Ho-
locene. The bofedal itself was supported by the two per-
manent springs on the south margin of the basin and rested
upon the alluvial sands and gravels of the early course of
the river following deglaciation. The river probably me-

T"'I-flu

r'.6001if
+

KTl.Q KTi -Q

1',200'"
+
o-eo; eo'ol
0- Co lond,lide
a-AI Allu.,lol
KTi -0 OUlllo ..."o Formation
y"".hlol Huoyllliol Formation
~ Slction lint
Fig. 5.7. Source oflandslide debris at Asana. Materials of
the Huaylillas Formation are found along the ridgetop,
Fig. 5.6. Geological map of the Asana environs. while the Quellaveco Formation is found below.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 121

\'V Froe'ure
Q. Bo Boledol
QAI Alluvial
KTi-Q Quelloveeo FormOlion
Tms-hu Huoyl,lIos Formolion

R/o Asano
? KTi-Q
Springs

-3400 a

Q-Co Londsl ide

Q-Bo Boledol
Q-AI Alluvial
I<Ti-Q Quello.eeo Formolion
Tms-hu Huoylillas Forma',on

ASANA-

- 3400 b

Q-Co Landslide
Tms-hu Q-Ba Baledol
Q-AI Alluvial
- 3600
KTi-Q Quello.eeo Farmo'ion
Tms-hu Huoylillos Farmalion

- 3550

- 3500

KTi -Q
-3450
I<Ti -Q

- 3400 c

Fig. 5.8. a: profile of landslide dynamics at Asana prior to the major landslide that buried the site; b: profile of Rio Asana
valley after the landslide; c: profile of the Rio Asana valley after the river cut through the landslide deposits.
122 The Geological Setting ofAsana

Asana Stratigraphy and Chronology

As has been seen, the levels that compose the archaeologi-
cal deposit at Asana have been created by two major geo-
logical processes: alluviation from the Rio Asana and the
deposition of sediments of the bofedal and colluviation,
sometimes violent, from the slopes to the north of the site.
Human activity has likewise modified the natural sources
of deposit creation and development. The sequence of
natural and cultural events has created a deposit that ex-
ceeds 5 m at its maximum depth. Despite its relatively small
size, then, stratigraphy at Asana is complex.

Initial Observations ofSite Stratig;raphy

Asana was first discovered in 1985 during survey opera-
tions in the Rio Asana valley in a cutbank along the north
side of the river (fig. 5.9). It was distinguished by three
thick black layers of soil that contained carbonized wood,
lithic materials, and bone (figs. 5.10, 5.11). These obvi-
ously cultural layers ran along the bank profile for almost
30 m and varied in thickness from a few centimeters to
over 20 cm. In some places, the deepest cultural layer rested
upon boulders derived from glacial outwash deposits along
the margin of the Rio Asana. In general, the three layers
were separated by layers of sands of primarily colluvial Fig. 5.10. View of original stratigraphy of the site (1986).
origin, although in a few places clays and silts could be This is in the central part of the site where the landslide
observed as well. Above the upper cultural level, while deposits are deepest.

Fig. 5.9. Exposed cutbank of Asana when discovered in 1985, looking north.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 5.11. View of original stratigraphy of the site looking downstream to the west
(1986). As can be seen, most of the latest levels of occupation have been destroyed
by the landslide.
colluvially derived sands persisted, the character of the
deposit changed radically. At least two massive landslide
deposits could be observed in the profile, each composed
ofcoarse and very coarse sands ofcolluvial origin surround-
ing cobble-to-boulder-sized angular and subangular grav-
els. These massive colluvial deposits extended most of the
full length of the site as defined by the black cultural lay-
ers, ranging from a depth of approximately 50 cm at the
western boundary of the site to over 3 m in the central and
eastern portions of the site. The maximum depth of the
deposit, including all known cultural layers and the land-
slide deposits, was slightly over 5 m.
Taking all of this information together, my initial im-
pression of Asana was that it had three distinct occupa-
tions, each of them well separated stratigraphically by rela-
tively thick layers of naturally derived soils. Since no obvi-
ous features or house floors were observed in the bank
profile, one of my earliest assumptions was that despite
the obvious problems associated with clearing the massive
landslide debris, the site would be comparatively easy to
excavate since the black cultural layers were so distinctive.
These initial impressions were quickly discarded fol-
lowing the 1986 testing of the deposit, which revealed a
far more complex stratigraphy. Many of the layers of col-
luvial sands observed in the bank profile were found to
123
contain cultural materials and features such as middens,
hearths, and even house floors. Another thick black layer
of cultural soil was discovered superior to the upper cul-
turallayer in the bank profile, indicating that there were
probably four episodes of intensive occupation at the site.
Perhaps most important, it became obvious from this test-
ing that there were clear differences between the stratig-
raphy of TV 1 and the bank profile, particularly that of
the eastern section of the site. TV 1 had many more natu-
ral soil layers, and further, many of them were created by
different formation processes, such as alluvial deposition,
than those observed in the bank profile, particularly in the
eastern part of the site.
Stratigraphy ofthe West Block
For purposes of this discussion, the West Block can be
divided into two halves: the southern and the northern.
The southern half is composed primarily of alluvial soils
derived from the bofedalj the northern half, while it con-
tains some alluvial soils, is composed mostly of colluvial
sands and landslide deposits.
Two profiles clearly show the distinctive character of
the southern half of the West Block: the north wall of TV
G23-24 (fig. 5.12) and most of the south wall of the exca-
vation block from G 19-27 (fig. 5.13). G2 3-24 is composed
124 The Geological Setting ofAsana

3640B.P.
4330B.P.
4640B.P.
4340B.P.

4580B.P.
'p
0 O.
4610B.P.
II 4760B.P.
4570B.P.

III
5345B.P.

XIII 6040B.P.

XVI 6550B.P.
6850B.P.

7100B.P.

7890B.P.

~~8790B'P'
8080B.P.

v ~ 9820. .

XXXI-XXXVI

Sterile Sand
VI

Fig. 5.12. North wall profile, TV G23-24.

of 73 distinct soil levels, of which NLs 10-73 are illus-
trated in the profile. NLs 1-9 were removed during site
clearance. This TV was excavated to the sterile sands as-
sociated with the glacial outwash channel of the Rio Asana
(NL 73). Not including NLs 1-9, the depth of the deposit
in this unit reaches 1.82 m. This profile contains and clearly
demonstrates the entire sequence of human occupation at
the site (CLs I-XXXVI).
The units along the south wall of the West Block were
excavated to two different CLs: FG19-25 were excavated
generally to the top of CL XVIIc (although the original
TV 1 was also excavated to the sterile sands below XXXVI),
while FG26-29 were excavated to the top of CL XXII.
The number ofNLs in these profiles varies from 29 to 39
depending on the number of intrusive layers of colluvium
or minor quebrada channels that cut through the deposit.
The maximum depth of the excavated deposit along this
profile, including the sterile NLs above the archaeologi-
cal deposit, is 1.56 m. The boulder field that extends to
the south from the southern boundary of the West Block
can easily be seen in the profile.
These strata can be aggregated into six distinct deposi-
tional environments, here labeled complexes (table 5.1).
Immediately above the basal layer of glacial outwash and
alluvial sands there is a thick layer (Complex VI; NL 70-
72, G23-24; CLs XXXI-XXXVI) of relatively homoge-
neous, medium-to-fine sands of a primarily alluvial ori-
gin. There are, however, small quantities of colluvially
derived sands (subangular to angular in form) that form
difficult-to-define pockets or very thin lenses that cannot
be observed in the profile.
Complex V (NLs 43-69, G23-24; CLs XX-XXX) con-
sists of a series of alternating clay and silt layers, all of
alluvial origin. Individually these layers are relatively thin,
generally no more than 2 cm in depth. In the profile they
have an almost varvelike appearance. The clays are cultur-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 125

M
1.5

00 Rock

C2J Heor th

fLZl Midden

51iiiiL-J
0...1------t--------,--------+------,....-------I ~
F
29
F
28
F
27
. XI
XIV

F
26
F
25
f:,: kl
0
0
Coorse Sond

Olive Silt

Voleon Ie Ash

Londslide

~rl
JX"'::r -=-
J .~v~~~L IU(~ 11'fJA'
"'<.~.V'{ Y1JiP \l v~\~

~ -........
.-/
I

y
g " .L",
II
I

I I
vlT
IX ~ VII

I III:
I
XII
IV
~
~
flv
/ifVII )( I XVii
XVI

F F F F F F
24 23 22 21 20 19

Fig. 5.13. South wall profile, West Block, TV G 19-2 7.

Table 5.1. Depositional Complexes at Asana

Complex I Colluvial sands with high proportions of fine gravels of colluvial origin
4400-4000/3500(?) B.p.

Complex II Fine sands with small proportions of angular colluvial gravels

4800-4400 B.P.

Complex III Alternating layers of white clays, silts, and fine sands
5200-4800 B.P.

Complex IV Sandy silts with small proportions of angular gravels

7000-5200 B.P.

Complex V White or gray clays and silts in thin, alternating levels

9000-7000 B.P.

Complex VI Alluvial sand, thick and homogeneous

1O,500(?)-9000 B.P.
126 The Geological Setting ofAsana
ally sterile, while the silts give evidence of human utiliza-
tion of the site. These layers are interpreted as evidence of
the seasonal rise and fall of the bofedal which was located
to the south of the site.
Complex IV (NLs 30-42, G23-24; CLs XI-XIX) con-
sists of a series of sandy silts with small proportions (>5-
10%) of angular and subangular colluvial sands and grav-
els. This appears to have been a composite depositional
environn1ent, one in which colluvial and alluvial materials
were mixed. Since the clays and silts characteristic of Com-
plex V have disappeared in these strata, it seems probable
that the bofedal has begun to shrink and move away from
the main area of site utilization. Small quebrada channels
are common in the levels of this complex.
Complex III (NLs 26-29, G23-24; CL X and its pal-
impsests) is a series of alternating layers of very fine clays,
silts, and sandy silts. In some cases, however, the layers of
fine sandy silts are of considerable thickness, approaching
15 to 20 em in depth (see fig. 5.13). The silts in some cases
are also separated by very thin layers ofwhite clays similar
in composition to the sterile white clays found in Com-
plex V. The sediments of this complex are wholly of allu-
vial origin and are indicative of a depositional regime of
very slowly moving or even stagnant water. Aside from
the white clays, however, the materials composing the strata
of this complex are distinct from those found in Complex
V, the other major alluvial environment, especially as re-
gards their thickness and the degree of interbedding of
the very thin layers of silt and sandy silt.
Complex II (NLs 19-25, G23-24; CLs V-IXc), in con-
trast, is a depositional environment that sees the reintro-
duction of colluvial sediments in greater proportions at
the site. Most of the strata of this complex consist of fine-
to-medium colluvial sands with moderate proportions (25-
30% by volume) of granule-to-pebble-sized angular and
subangular colluvial gravels. The silts and clays have en-
tirely disappeared. A series of claylike soils is also found in
this level (portions of CLs II-IV), and these soils have been
interpreted as camelid dung (see the discussion of CL 11-
IV soils in chapter 7).
Finally, Complex I (NLs 1-18, G23-24; CLs I-IV) con-
sists of a series of strata composed wholly of medium-to-
coarse colluvial sands with high proportions (50-60% by
volume) of pebble-to-cobble-sized colluvial gravels.
Quebrada channels are commonly found in these strata.
Most of the strata in the complex are culturally sterile (see
fig. 5.13), and the quantity of cobble-sized colluvial grav-
els, here interpreted as landslide deposits, increases toward
the top levels of the deposit.
The northern half of the West Block shows an increase
in the number of strata derived from colluvial sources and
a consequent decline of soils formed by alluvial processes.
Landslide deposits are thicker in this portion of the block,
and they have destroyed many of the upper strata of the
archaeological deposit (fig. 5.14; see Landslide Dynam-
ics). The northern half of the block was excavated to the
top of CL XVIlc. Consequently, there are no data from
this portion of the block on Complexes V and VI.
Complex IV (CLs XI-XVIlc) in the north half of the
West Block is dominated by medium-to-fine colluvially
derived sands interspersed with coarse sands and landslide
deposits. There are no obvious alluvial deposits in this
complex, suggesting that the bofedal did not extend this
far to the north at this time. Quebrada channels running
north-south are frequently encountered in this complex.
These channels are found primarily on the west side of
the block and tend to be relatively small, ranging in depth
from 3 to 5 em and in width from 8 to 32 em. They are
usually filled with granule-to-pebble-sized angular and sub-
angular gravels washed from the slopes above. Since these
channels are relatively broad compared to their depth, it
is probable that they were created by normal rains and are
not indicative of high-energy, massively disruptive
slopewash or landslides.
Complex III (CL X and its palimpsests) is also present,
but it is represented by only a few strata of silt and sandy
silt. For example, from M19 to M24, a single layer of ol-
ive-colored silt defines the complex. However, in the east
wall profile of LMN29, the olive silt as well as a number
of layers of naturally derived clays, silts, and sandy silts are
also present (fig. 5.15).
Complex II (CLs V-IX) is only partially present in the
northern half of the West Block. While patches of CLs II
and III are found scattered across the surface, most of the
natural and cultural levels of this complex, as well as those
of Complex I, have been destroyed by a massive landslide.
The first generally intact cultural layer in this portion of
the block is CL VIII, with scattered patches of CLs VIla
and VIlb also present. The effects of the landslides are
ameliorated as one moves further to the south.
Stratigraphy ofthe Central Block
In many ways, the strata found in the Central Block are
transitional between the West and East Blocks. Depend-
ing on location, 51 distinct natural levels can be distin-
guished in the profiles, and these contain at least 14 dif-
ferent cultural levels, not including their palimpsests (fig.
5.16). The maximum depth of this block is 1.72 m.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 127

M
r--- IIVTA' 1-'>. ~ .~
--
r='r 1r;N' II..
2
1-1" _
V
\\4::"\ \CC;;':~riX1RrKL
""( .
. ~. :.
~
~
..... : .'.
-
',!,', .~.

'" . .. " .
~A'

=---"
~.

I
IIA
0,,"0'-'

"
. .-/
\
I 'f:; ~IIIA .-/"
.,. .. 0/-'. .""" . ......
".... IXA
~
II IXC- ~.

III
IV
XI

XVI
x vA
XVIIA
...,.
XII'

- ,

V
XVIII VII
. XIX
XXI

-0 ~/
F G H 1 J K
21 21 21 21 21 21

-
00
E2J
Post

Rock

Hearth

lZ2J Midden

~ Coarse Sand

GEl Olive Silt

0 Volcanic Ash

~ Quebrada
I Iklfl Landsl ide
L M N o
21 21 21 21

Fig. 5.14. Profile of west wall of West Block, TV F-M 21.

M
1-

XI

0 xxv
N M L VI
XXVII
29 29 29 XXVIII
XXIX

00 Rock
xXX/XXXVI

~ Midden

~ Coorse Sond

l.~i Olive Silt

~ landsl ide

Fig. 5.15. Profile of east wall, LMN 29. This trench served to connect the West Block with the
Central Block and thus to the East Block.
128 The Geological Setting ofAsana

VII,C/ IXa,CII
II I Xb, II

III

IV

CXd
v
CXII
CXllla
CX/llb

VI

o 2 M.

Rock

Heorlh Londslide

Cloy Lens Olive Sill

Fig. 5.16. Profile of south wall, Central Block units.

As in the northern half of the West Block, all of Com-
plex I soils and most of Complex II layers down to at least
CL VIII and in some cases CL IXc have been destroyed
by a landslide (fig. 5.16). Complex III, associated with the
olive silts, sands, and clays, is intact, however, as are layers
associated with the upper half of Complex IV (CLs XI-
XIV). Below XIv, however, another major landslide has
destroyed most of the remaining layers of the Complex
IV equivalent in this block.
Unlike Complex V as defined in the southern half of
the West Block, Complex V in the Central Block (CLs
CIX-CXIIIb, south and west wall profiles) is composed of
two different soil types: medium-to-fine colluvial sands and
interbedded clays and silts. As can be seen in the south
wall profile, the colluvial sands are the dominant soil type.
The strata range in thickness from 4 to 30 em. Clays and
silts are found only in the west profile of this block. They
are thin (only 3-4 em thick) and are not very extensive.
They are identical in clay and silt content, however, to
those soils that define Complex V further to the south in
the West Block. That these soils are relatively insignifi-
cant in this block suggests that the alluvial processes that
formed Complex V to the south only penetrated this far
to the north infrequently.
Complex VI (CL CXIv, south and west wall profiles) is
composed of medium-to-coarse-grained colluvial sands
(NLs 46-49) and a basal layer of medium-to-fine-grained
alluvial sands. This differs from the exclusively alluvially
derived sands of Complex VI in the West Block.
Stratigraphy ofthe East Block
In contrast to the other blocks, the stratigraphy of the East
Block is relatively simple. Like the Central Block and the
northern half of the West Block, this portion of the site
has suffered extensive damage from the major landslide
that occurred in the past 500 years. All of Complex I and
all of Complex II but only a very small patch of CL IX
have been destroyed in this block, and Complex III, while
present, is represented in small, discontinuous patches
concentrated in the western and southern margins of the
block (figs. 5.17a, b, 5.18). Complexes IV-VI are intact,
although other landslides have destroyed several levels
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 129

....
- ~
IX ~
XII

1
111 "
5345ep - ~
IV 6040B.P.
~\.<p,\
~
}\,.. Th),\ ~ JL\yq~-4
~'l /J n:li ~
~.JTJPt{)l ~ )\.
LI::..,~"8
>h
XIV

8000BP P ~
,11"",
At'

] A1r ~ il ~"" ~
~ ~r ~ r-~
... \,..j

fi
~
~xll1 r-:
~ '<f
~ 'r'TU-U ~w
~~ \1>' \' If/(
~
8080 B.P. PXIII ~

8250 BP. jXVII/PXVI~~ pxv Pl PXIV

8330B.P ' / / / / / !"lIllI 'i///ij///////~pxv-: . u_ ~ PXVI
8620 B.P. pxvlf~ PXVIII
V PXXI PXIX
8720B.P. - pxx

~~/~~"
PXXII
8720e.p. PXXIII
--- PXXVI
/ / / / /PXXVII
PXXVIII
PXXVIIi////Y -YXXIX """-
PXXIX
9580B.P. pxxx 7 pxxx
VI PXXXI / \\
PXXXIIi
PXXXI
PXXXII

9820B.P.
PXXXIII I r- -Q--\. ./
I I I
o 2 M.

Rock

Hearth Olive Sill

Midden Landslide

a C loy Basin Quebrada Conal

Fig. 5.17. a: profile of south wall ofTU 33-34, East Block; b: south wall ofTU 33-34.
130 The Geological Setting ofAsana
Fig. 5.18. Profile ofTU R-W 41.
within Complex Iv. There are 43 NLs in this block, and
the maximum depth of the excavated deposit is 1.32 m.
Complex III is here represented by very similar
interbedded silts, clays, and sands seen in the other exca-
vation blocks. There is no evidence of a cultural occupa-
tion in any of these strata, unlike the situation in the West
Block, in which CL X and its palimpsests are present in
the silts and clays. There is some variability in the compo-
sition of the complex as well. Near the southern edge of
the deposit, a number of distinct strata make up the com-
plex (especially the west wall profile ofRS41). As one moves
to the north, however, the sands and clays disappear, and
the complex is composed only of the olive silt layer seen
throughout the site (fig. 5.17a).
Complex IV soils (CLs XI-XIv, south wall profile, TU
33-34; CLsPI-PVIIIa, west wall profile, R-W41) are com-
posed exclusively of poorly sorted, subangular colluvial
sands ranging in size from fine to coarse, with the major-
ity being medium. Another landslide has destroyed a num-
ber of strata within this complex.
Complex V (CLs PX-PXXIX, south wall profile, TU
33-34) is likewise composed primarily of poorly sorted,
coarse-to-fine, subangular colluvial sands. There is no evi-
dence of any clays or silts in this portion of the site, indi-
cating that the bofedal at no time extended into the East
Block. Midden deposits are extensive in this complex.
Complex VI soils (CLs PXXX-PXXXIII) are very simi-
lar to those found in the same complex ofthe Central Block.
These can consist of either coarse-to-medium, poorly
sorted, subangular colluvial sands or coarse, rounded-to-
subrounded sands of alluvial origin. The presence of
rounded and waterworn boulders in these two levels helps
to confirm their alluvial origin and further suggests that
these levels were very near the edge of the original chan-
nel of the Rio Asana.
Radiocarbon Chronology and Level Correlations
Thirty radiocarbon assays have been run on carbonized
wood samples from Asana (table 5.2). Most samples were
recovered from the West Block, reflecting the longer his-
tory of work in that part of the site. In general, most of the
chronometric dates follow their stratigraphic position (fig.
5.19). While there are some small reversals (for example,
the series of dates in the V-IXc series and between XIX
and XXII), the reversals in question all overlap at the 95%
confidence interval and therefore can be considered to be
statistically indistinguishable. It is probable that these mi-
nor reversals were created through excavation since many
of the levels in question are very thin, and it is likely that
carbon from some of these layers was inadvertently mixed.
Two levels and their associated dates, however, have
serious reversals or other problems: CLs I and XVIIc. At
the time ofsubmission, the sample associated with the 690
B.P. date in CL I appeared to have been obtained from a
secure archaeological context. However, the date is far too
late to be a part of the CL I occupation, and it is probable
that the feature from which the carbon was recovered was
contaminated by more recent carbon brought down by
the massive landslide that scoured this portion of the site.
The other two dates recovered from CL II (3640 and 4330
B.P.) do not overlap at the 95% confidence interval and
thus cannot be considered to be representative of the same
occupation of the site. However, the 3640 B.P. date was
obtained near the top of CL II, while the 4330 B.P. date
was recovered near the bottom. Thus they are internally
consistent within the level.
The problem with CL XVIIc is more serious. Two dates
from different test units were recovered, and they differ
by almost 1,000 years (6850 and 7930 B.P.). Furthermore,
dates from preceding levels, such as XIX, XXII, and XXIv,
while showing a single stratigraphic reversal, are never-
theless stratigraphically consistent. As with the case of the
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 131

Table 5.2. Radiocarbon Assays from Asana a

Level Unit Date Lab Number

West Block
I D26d 690 50 Beta-43917
II (superior) TV1 3640 80 Beta-23364
II (inferior) K27b 4330 130 Beta-27415
IlIa H27c 4640 230 b Beta-27414
IV G27a 4340 70 Beta-43918
V G23b 4580 60 Beta-24631
VIII K21a 4610 60 Beta-24632
IXa K25b 4760 90 Beta-27413
IXb L27a 4570 60 Beta-35598
IXc J29c 4600 80 Beta-35597
XII E29a 5345 70 e Beta-35596/
ETH-6328
XIVb 125b 6040 90 Beta-24634
XVIIa G24b 6550 110d Beta-24629
XVIlc 125a 6850 70 Beta-25049
L19a 7930 80 Beta-43923
XIX 125a 7100 70 e Beta-24633
XXII H29a 7070110 Beta-47056
XXIV TV1 7860110 Beta-23363
XXVIII G24b 8790 170 Beta-24630

Central Block
CX TU6a 8080 110 Beta-24627
CXIV TU6c 9580 130 Beta-24628

East Block
PX W51b 8000 280 a Beta-47058
PXVI Y35a 8250 80 Beta-43921
PXVIII V51a 8330 60 Beta-43919
PXIX P38b 8620 110 Beta-47057
PXX V51a 8780 90 Beta-43920
PXXI R43c 8720110 Beta-33303
PXXIII X36c 8720 120 Beta-43922
PXXIV T34a 8720110 Beta-35599
PXXXIII S38c 9820 150a Beta-40063

aAlI dates reported as RCYBP (uncalibrated radiocarbon years before A.D. 1950) with one standard deviation. All
samples were processed using Beta Analytic, Inc. protocols, including a half life of radiocarbon as 5,568 years. None
of the samples received special cleaning or processing unless otherwise noted.
bSmall 1 g C) samples that received quadruple normal counting time to reduce the standard deviation.
cSample processed using the AMS technique.
dBeta-24629 was originally reported as CL XVIIIa (Aldenderfer 1988: 1830). Subsequent checking of the sequence of
dates and laboratory records shows that the CL should be changed to XVIIa.
eSample number reported to laboratory as CL XVIII; review of record shows that this sample is actually in CL XIX.
132 The Geological Setting ofAsana

III

XIVb

~
~
~
~
XXIV
cx/xx~
~
cx/px
~
~
PXIX
~

~
PXX'.
PXXIII.
XXVIII/P~XIV

~v
CXIV/XXX~/PXXX
PXXXIII.
I I I , i I I I i I I I i I I r I I I I ii, I I! I. I I I I . I , r ! I, I I I I I I I i I I, I ! I t I. I
10,200 9800 9400 9000 8600 8200 7800 7400 7000 6600 6200 5800 5400 5000 4600 4200 3800 3400
10,000 9600 9200 8800 8400 8000 7600 1200 6800 6400 6000 5600 5200 4800 4400 4000 3600

Fig. 5.19. Radiocarbon dates from Asana. The dot represents the mean and the bar two standard deviations. The scale is in
uncalibrated radiocarbon years before present.

very late date in CL I, at the time of collection the crew PXXXIII. It should be stressed that these correlations are
supervisor believed that each sample was obtained from a exact since they connect both chronometrically as well as
secure stratigraphic context. A careful reexamination of stratigraphically (table 5.3). An examination of table 5.3
unit records and profiles provides a possible explanation and a comparison of the relevant profiles show that dur-
of the discrepancy. While there is no evidence of land- ing Complex V times, the East Block was the primary fo-
slides, rodent burrows, or other disturbance factors around cus of utilization.
CL XVIIc in the test unit from which the 6850 B.P. date Given the chronometric dating of the levels at Asana, it
was taken, there is a massive quebrada channel that cuts is now possible to define the temporal span of each of the
through the test unit from which the 7930 B.P. date was stratigraphic complexes (table 5.4). The earliest complexes
obtained. In some places in the unit, this quebrada chan- (V and VI) span approximately 3,500 years (10,500-7000
nel has cut through and below CL XVIIc, and it is pos- B.P.), while the remaining four complexes (I-IV) span 3,500
sible that this mixed older carbon into the putative XVIIc years (7000-3500 B.P.). These data suggest that the local
level. Since the 6850 B.P. date is in sequence with other environment of the site during its early occupation was
dates obtained from different levels in the West Block and relatively stable when compared to later occupations.
because of the possibility of contamination of the 7930 Moreover, these dates clearly demonstrate that the bofedal
B.P. date, the later date will be discarded in this analysis. came into existence around 9000 B.P. (with the appearance
Levels between the three blocks can be correlated us- of Complex V soils) and probably existed throughout the
ing these dates and the stratigraphy of a trench cut from remainder of the Holocene into modern times.
the West to the Central Block. While the three excavation
blocks are in fact contiguous, CLs can be correlated accu-
Landslide Dynamics
rately only through CL XIv. Below this, landslides have Landslides have been the major destructive force at Asana.
destroyed the remainder of Complexes IV and V, making While they have varied in intensity and extent, each of
direct stratigraphic correlations difficult. However, the them has destroyed significant parts of the site. Since they
stratigraphy of Trench 1 clearly demonstrates that some have had a major influence on the history of the site, it is
of the levels between the blocks can be convincingly cor- important to develop an understanding of just how many
related as being the same (fig. 5.15). Four basic correla- landslide events occurred in the past and the way in which
tions can be made: xxv, CX, and PX; XXVIII, CXII, and each of them affected the site.
PXXIV; XXXI, CXIV, and PXXX; and XXXVI and Before discussing the effects of the landslides, however,
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 133

Table 5.3. Level Correlations between Blocks at Asana

West Block Date a Central Block Date East Block Date

I 3640 B.P.
4330 B.P.
II
III 4640 B.P.
IV 4340 B.P.
V 4580 B.P.
VI
VII
VIII 4610 B.P. VIIIICI
IXa 4760 B.P. IXa/CII
IXb 4570 B.P. IXb/CIII
IXc 4600 B.P. IXc/CIV IXc
X XlCV
XI
XII 5345 B.P.
XIII
XIV 6040 B.P. XIV/CVI
XV
XVI
XVIla 6550 B.P.
XVIIb
XVIIc 6850 B.P.
XVIII
XIX 7100 B.P.
XX
XXI
XXII 7070 B.P.
XXIII
XXIV 7860 B.P.
XXV CX 8080 B.P. PX 8000 B.P.
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII 8790 B.P. CXII PXXIV 8720 B.P.
XXIX
XXX
XXXI CXIV 9580 B.P. PXXX
XXXII
XXXIII
XXXIV
XXXV
XXXVI PXXXIII 9820 B.P.

aUncalibrated radiocarbon date before present.

134 The Geological Setting ofAsana
Table 5.4. Chronology of Stratigraphic Complexes
at Asana
Complex I 3500-4400 B.P.
Complex II 4400-4800 B.P.
Complex III 4800-5200 B.P.
Complex IV 5200-7000 B.P.
Complex V 7000-9000 B.P.
Complex VI 9000-10,500 B.P.
it is necessary to define what is meant by a landslide. Com-
pared to slope wash, a common process in steep, arid en-
vironments with little ground cover, landslides are high-
energy events that move large quantities ofsoil downslope.
With sufficient force, they are also able to move larger
rocks and boulders. An operational definition of landslide-
derived soils at Asana are those levels that contain at least
35% by volume ofcobble-to-boulder-sized colluvial rocks
(rocks ranging 6.4-25.6 cm in size and greater than 25.6
cm in maximum dimension). Because they are high-en-
ergy events, landslides also destroy and replace, rather than
cover, existing soil strata. Slope wash, on the other hand,
tends to be composed of coarse and very coarse sands with
granule- and pebble-sized gravels present. While these
sands may scour a surface and thus modify it to some ex-
tent, they are not as destructive, and they generally simply
bury existing soil strata.
Using this definition, there have been four major land-
slides at Asana (fig. 5.14). The first occurred sometime
around 6500 B.P. This dating is based on the following
observations: CL XVI in the West Block is the first largely
intact level above the slide, and the earliest undamaged or
replaced level in the block is XXIII, dating sometime be-
tween 7100 and 7800 B.P. The earliest damaged and par-
tially replaced level in this block is XVIla, which dates to
6550 B.P. The first slide appears to have moved across the
site from northwest to southeast but left a large area of
deposit intact in the northwest corner of the site. As can
be seen in profile, the southern edge of this slide is well
defined and relatively abrupt, with no southward exten-
sion of coarse colluvial sands. This helps to confirm the
northwest-southeast directionality of the slide.
The second major landslide had a very limited effect
on the site since it was confined to a small portion of the
West Block (fig. 5.14). This slide must have occurred after
6500 B.P. but before 6000 B.P. according to its stratigraphic
position. It moved primarily north-south, narrowly miss-
ing the bulk of the deposit. Coarse and very coarse sands
running down the profile to the south confirm the direc-
tion of landslide movement.
The third landslide was the most destructive ofall. This
slide can be dated very precisely since dates have been
obtained from levels immediately preceding and follow-
ing it. CL V is dated to 4580 B.P., while VIII is dated to
4610 B.P. It is probable, then, that this slide occurred some-
time around 4600 B.P. This slide also seems to have moved
across the site from northwest to southeast, but it appears
to have been far more powerful than the slide that oc-
curred around 6500 B.P. To the north and east of the level
that defines this slide, a number of natural and cultural
levels were destroyed, primarily most of the Complex II
CLs down to the top ofVIII across most ofthe West Block
and deeper in the East Block, in some cases to the middle
of Complex IV levels (fig. 5.17a). To the south of the edge
of the landslide soils in the West Block there is a thick
layer of very coarse sand which covers the remainder of
the deposit and which also destroyed CL VI (fig. 5.14).
The fourth and final landslide had no significant effect
on the archaeological deposit at Asana, but it is the slide
that buried the site, blocked the Rio Asana, and forced it
to cut a channel through the archaeological deposit, an
event which helped to lead to the discovery of the site.
Probably comparable in magnitude to the third slide, the
fourth slide covered the entire site and crossed to the south
side of the river (see fig. 5.8b). This slide probably oc-
curred between A.D. 1200 and 1600. The volcanic ash level
immediately above the final landslide deposit is probably
that derived from the eruption of Huaynaputina, which
occurred in February 1600 (but see Volcanic Sediments).
Carbon recovered from this landslide deposit but mistak-
enly associated with CL I has been dated to 690 B.P. If the
carbon is indeed in direct association with the landslide
deposit, it thus fixes the earliest possible date of the slide.
Water Ponding in the Middle to Late Holocene
The soils that comprise Complex III-silts, clays, fine
sands, and sandy silts-constitute one of the most curious
deposits at Asana. The first hypothesis of their origin was
that they represented a northward extension of the bofedal
that has been present at the site since 9000 B.P. However, a
more careful comparison of the soils in this complex with
those of Complex V led to the conclusion that while the
soils in Complex III have been created by water-related
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
processes, they are also significantly different than those
soils defined as part of the bofedal by the project's geo-
logical consultants, specifically the soils from Complex V
and the bofedal soils seen to the east and south of the site.
Perhaps the most obvious of the soils of Complex III is
that defined in many of the early profiles as olive silt. This
soil, a true silt, ranges in color from Munsell color 10YR5/
3 to 2.5Y6/4. Because it is so distinctive in color and tex-
ture across the site, it served as something of a horizon
marker, and its presence was frequently used to fix the rela-
tive position in the site of adifficult-to-identify level. Be-
cause of its distinctiveness, it is easy to map. The silt in-
creases in depth moving from north to south and, com-
bined with its associated sands, attains a maximum depth
of almost 20 cm in TV M33. The depth of the deposit, as
defi-ned in the excavation block at its eastern and western
extremes, ranges only from 3 to 6 em. The deposit, then,
can be described as a relatively shallow basin increasing in
depth toward the southern boundary of the site.
Two alternative hypotheses involving distinct geomor-
phological processes can be considered to explain the pres-
ence of Complex III soils: the existence of a small, prob-
ably seasonal lake, and the ponding of water, a common
feature ofbofedal geomorphology. Seasonal lakes are com-
mon today in the south-central Andes, particularly on the
dry puna. During the rainy season, water accumulates in
shallow basins and frequently persists well into the dry
season. These lakes also accumulate thin layers of aeolian
sediments and in some cases lenses of colluvial sands and
gravels if they are located near slopes steep enough to suf-
fer slope wash or erosion. Occasional dry season rains may
also move colluvial soils into the dry beds of these lakes.
When dry, the surface layer of soil hardens and in some
cases cracks, depending on the proportion of natural clays
and silts in the soil. The key factor in the formation of
seasonal lakes is sufficient rainfall.
Water ponding is very common in bofedales. Ponds are
created by three processes: movement of the stream chan-
nel in the bofedal, rainfall, and the presence of the ground-
water of the bofedal itself. Streams in bofedales are gener-
ally active and change their course frequently, especially
during the rainy season when heavy rainfall increases sur-
face water volume and causes the streams to cut new chan-
nels in the existing bofedal sediments. This movement
creates deep pockets ofstanding water that are maintained
through rainfall and the groundwater of the bofedal itself.
These pockets, if located in deep basins, can be remark-
ably persistent. A comparison of the modern locations of
water ponding on the Asana bofedal and their locations in
135
aerial photos taken in 1945 shows that 15 of the 53 ponds
found in one section of the bofedal are still present. Like
the seasonal lakes, these ponds trap some aeolian soils and
colluvial soils if located sufficiently close to steep slopes,
but they are composed primarily of alluvial soils, such as
clays, silts, fine sands, and silty sands.
The most parsimonious explanation of the olive silt and
its associated soils in Complex III is that they represent
water ponding that began sometime after 5300 B.P. and
persisted until approximately 4800 B.P. As noted previously,
there are almost no colluvially derived soils present in the
complex. Furthermore, what is known of the climate at
this time suggests that rainfall would not have been of suf-
ficient intensity to maintain a seasonal lake.
Volcanic Sediments
A number of authors, most notably Santoro and Nunez
(1987), have argued that volcanism, combined with increas-
ing environmental dessication, substantially modified hu-
man utilization of the high sierra and dry puna from ap-
proximately 8000 to 5000 B.P. While there is no question
that volcanism has been a major geological factor in the
south-central Andes throughout the past, there remains
considerable doubt that it had a substantial, region-wide
effect on Middle and Late Holocene settlement systems.
There are no thick tephra layers to be found in the north-
ern Chilean sites upon which the volcanism hypothesis is
based, and likewise the Asana data flatly contradict it.
There is a single stratum ofvolcanic sediment at Asana.
This ash layer is found high in the profile (fig. 5.14) and
was probably derived from the eruption of Huaynaputina.
No other ash lenses or tephra have been found at the site
or in its environs despite geological tests and an intensive
search of bank profiles.
There are two other ash lenses known from the region,
however. In 1983 a sediment core was taken from the bed
of Lake Suches, a small lake on the dry puna at an eleva-
tion of 4,500 m approximately 50 km northeast of Asana.
While the core remains to be analyzed in detail, two ash
lenses were observed in it. The earliest of these lenses
(Sample 16-ix-83-1D) at a depth of 6.94-7.04 ill in the
core has been dated to 8940 200 B.P. (Beta-18929). The
second lens (Sample 14-ix-83-1A) at a depth of 0.76-0.82
m in the core has a date of 1660 100 B.P. (Beta-18928).
Neither of these lenses is thick, and neither can be seen in
the archaeological deposit at Asana. The site was occu-
pied during the first of these eruptions, but there is no
indication that the eruption had any effect on activity per-
formance or the utilization of the site.
The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement of the Highlands
According to the best available evidence, Asana was first
utilized around 10,000 to 9800 B.P., and permanent habi-
tation of the highlands was achieved by approximately 9500
B.P. This chapter develops a model of the initial occupa-
tion of the Andean highlands, reviews the data that sup-
port these claims, and deals with the archaeological data
of two phases: Asana I1Puruma (10,500-9500 B.P.) and
Asana IIIKhituna (9500-8700 B.P.).
Background
Although the first occupation of Asana postdates the ear-
liest dates of occupation of the South American continent
by at least 3,000 years, a brief review of the archaeological
data of the Terminal Pleistocene-Early Holocene from the
western coast of the continent is in order.
\Vhile there continues to be controversy regarding the
timing and process of the entry of humans into the South
American continent, a broad consensus is beginning to
emerge that entry was achieved via two primary routes:
one along the western coast and a second along the Carib-
bean and Atlantic coasts (Dillehay et al. 1992). Unfortu-
nately, due to a rise in sea level following deglaciation, any
sites that might have been immediately along the littoral
have been inundated, and therefore what sites remain rep-
resent those well inland in any settlement system that might
have existed in the past. Richardson (1978) and Malpass
(1983) have described unifacial tool complexes from the
desert coast of northern Peru that date to approximately
10,500 B.P., while Chauchat (1988) has identified the Paijan
complex composed of bifacially worked tools that begins
around 11,000 B.P. and persists until approximately 7000
B.P. Further to the south in the Osmore basin is the Shell
Ring Site, dated to 10,500 B.P. (Sandweiss et al. 1989), and
well to the south of the south-central Andes on the central
Chilean littoral is Quereo, dated to approximately 11,500
B.P. (Nunez et al. 1994). Aside from the Shell Ring Site
and Quereo, little is known of the subsistence activities of
these early foraging peoples.
\Vhile Lynch (1983) once argued for an early penetra-
tion of the northern Andean highlands and then a south-
erly migration of foraging peoples at high elevations at
around 11,000 B.P., to date relatively little evidence has
accumulated to support this assertion. The earliest known
sites in what can be considered the highlands of South
America, ifthe problematic Paccaicasa (20,200-15,000 B.P.)
and Ayacucho (15,000-13,000 B.P.) phases from Pikimachay
in central Peru (MacNeish et al. 1980) are ignored, are
found on the Plateau de Bogota at an elevation ofca. 2,570
m (Dillehay et al. 1992: 159-161). The earliest occupa-
tion of these sites is said to range from 12,400 to 11,000
B.P. These sites contain a unifacial industry and are quite
distinct from subsequent cultural developments in the re-
gion. Subsistence remains include modern species, such
as deer, guinea pig, rabbit, and various rodents.
Further to the south in central Peru is a series of im-
portant sites, including Guitarrero Cave (10,500 to 7500
B.P.) at ca. 2,800 m (Lynch 1980), Lauricocha (ca. 10,000
B.P.; Cardich 1964) at 4,000 m, Pikimachay (post-l1,000
B.P.levels) at ca. 2,800 m, and a series of sites on the Junin
puna above 4,000 m, including Pachamachay (ca. 11,000
B.P.; Rick 1980), Telarmachay (ca. 11,000-10,000 B.P.;
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Lavallee 1985), and Panalauca (ca. 10,000 B.P.; Bocek and
Rick 1984). For the most part, faunal remains at these sites
are representative of fully modern species, and the artifact
assemblage at each of the sites is characterized by bifacial
point industries. Dillehay et al. (1992) suggest that these
data argue for a relatively late penetration of the Andean
highlands, especially at elevations over 2,500 m, ranging
between 11,000 and 10,500 B.P.
Although each of these sites has produced important
data, it is nevertheless difficult to understand the process
of highland penetration and utilization using only these
sites. While it is clear that sites such as Pachamachay and
Telarmachay, for example, may well have been loci oflong-
term utilization since at least 10,000 B.P., unfortunately
there have been very few or no sites excavated from adja-
cent, lower elevations that could help to shed light on re-
gional-scale settlement systems and the ways in which the
lower and higher elevations were articulated at the begin-
ning of the Early Holocene.
In the south-central Andes, however, there are three
early sites on the littoral that help to shed light on the
process of movement into the highlands: Querero, the
Shell Ring Site, and Acha-2. Although located well to the
south ofthe southern boundary of the south-central Andes,
Querero nevertheless offers important insights into sub-
sistence practice and the eventual "discovery" of the
Andean highlands. The most secure evidence for the oc-
cupation of the site dates to approximately 11,500 B.P., al-
though there are some earlier, more equivocal remains
present (Nufiez et al. 1994). This site, on a bluff overlook-
ing the Pacific Ocean, contains evidence of both marine
and terrestrial fauna. Marine species include shellfish and
marine mammals (whale and sea lion), while terrestrial
species are represented by extinct animals such as mast-
odon, horse, and ancient camelid species as well as deer.
Lithic technology is characterized by simple flake tools of
local origin, and some bone artifacts have also been recov-
ered. Querero presents a picture of a mixed economy, one
in which both marine and terrestrial resources figured
prominently. There is a clear emphasis, however, on ter-
restrial species, which is not unexpected given the unstable
structure of the shoreline at this early date and the appar-
ent abundance offamiliar species. No floral data have been
recovered from the site, and thus while direct evidence for
plant utilization is not available, none of the tools recov-
ered from the assemblage suggests that plant use was a
significant component of the diet.
The Shell Ring Site in the Osmore Basin provides, at
least in a metaphorical sense, an anchor for lowland-high-
137
land relationships in the Early Holocene. Although much
more research is required at the site, an outline of early
subsistence is available. The basal layer of Unit B at the
site dates to 10,575 B.P. (Sandweiss et al. 1989). The site
was apparently located ca. 5 Ian from the ancient coast-
line, most probably near a spring now long disappeared.
Subsistence remains found in the site's basal levels are al-
most exclusively ofmarine origin and include shellfish, fish,
birds, and species of marine mammals. There are no large
terrestrial mammals found in the assemblage, and no evi-
dence for plant use has been discovered. Lithic materials
recovered from the basal levels of the site reflect a unifacial
chipped stone technology, but no ground stone materials
were recovered. Aside from reduction by-products, no
shaped tools were recovered. The lithics are all of local
origin. Despite the site's interior location, there is no evi-
dence of significant exploitation of terrestrial mammals or
plant species at this early date, and given these data,
Sandweiss et al. (1989: 74-83) suggest that the site can be
viewed as a very early expression of the well-known mari-
time adaptation or subsistence tradition seen on the west
coast of the continent.
Acha-2, near the modern city ofArica in northern Chile,
offers a slightly different perspective on the development
of lowland-highland relationships in the early prehistory
of the region (Mufioz, Arriaza, and Auferheide 1993). The
site has been dated to 8900 B.P. and is found in the Azapa
Valley, ca. 5 Ian from the Pacific coast. A set of small, cir-
cular structures defined by a ring of stones has been found
at the site, some of which appear to have been occupied
contemporaneously. Subsistence remains include both
marine and terrestrial species; no plant remains indicative
of human food utilization were recovered. The minor use
of plant resources has been confirmed by isotope studies
of human bone dating to 9000 B.P.; diet was overwhelm-
ingly based on the consumption of marine protein
(Auferheide 1993: 65). Technology reflects the dual ma-
rine-terrestrial site economy and includes cactus spine
fishhooks, bone residue probably associated with com-
pound fishhook production, and bifacially worked dual
pointed or lanceolate projectile points made from lithic
materials found ca. 40 Ian inland in the lower reaches of
the low transverse valleys of the region. No other signifi-
cant morphological tools were recovered from the assem-
blage. More exotic lithic materials, such as obsidian that
can be obtained only from the far Andean highlands, have
also been recovered from the site in very small quantities.
Mufioz (1993) has argued that the spatial location of
the site, as well as the cultural materials recovered from it,
138 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands
provides evidence for two interrelated aspects of settle-
ment and regional-scale organization: residential mobil-
ity and subsistence focused upon utilization of the littoral
and the lower reaches of the valley system and some form
of complementarity between these lowland groups and the
foragers occupying the sierra and puna. Indicators of
complementarity are said to include projectile point form,
raw materials, and other highland materials, such as the
cactus spine used to make some types of fishhooks. Munoz
does not speculate on the form this complementarity might
have taken-i.e., whether it was based upon reciprocal
access to territory or was exchange based.
The data from these three sites suggest that until ap-
proximately 10,500 to 10,000 B.P., foragers in the south-
central Andes had not penetrated the Andean highlands
significantly. Subsistence changed through time, moving
from an economy based upon hunting now-extinct ani-
mals and a minor utilization of shellfish and other marine
resources to a fully maritime adaptation at Shell Ring
around 10,000 B.P. and at Acha-2 around 9000 B.P. At this
later date there is some evidence of the use of the high-
lands, and as seen elsewhere, the data from northern Chile
support the existence of early foraging peoples in the si-
erra and puna rim around 9500 B.P. at sites such as Las
Cuevas, Patapatane, and Hakenasa. Based on even these
scant data, it seems that 10,500 to 9500 B.P., and possibly
earlier, marks a period of increasingly intense utilization
of the south-central Andean highlands that culminated in
the establishment of permanent residence at altitudes
greater than 2,500 m in the space of 500 to 1,000 years.
A Model of the Discovery of the Highlands
The model presented in this section explores the environ-
mental and human biological contexts for the discovery
and eventual permanent occupation of the Andean high-
lands. Consistent with the general model of high-eleva-
tion foraging developed in chapter 1, it recognizes that
human responses to these contexts are best viewed from a
short-term, behaviorist perspective. This means that given
the unique combination of features of highland ecology
and effects on human biology, foragers would have sought
to minimize work effort while simultaneously insuring
sufficient caloric return for that work. Under some com-
bination of circumstances, these two goals may have been
competing, and attempts to resolve them would have had
different implications for different segments of the popu-
lation. It is possible to get some insight into how humans
responded to these contexts by focusing primarily upon
settlement pattern and assemblage content as proxy mea-
sures of activity performance.
Environmental Contexts ofEarly Highland Life
What were the causal forces that led to the early occupa-
tion of the Andean highlands? This is a difficult question
to answer, especially if it is believed that the highlands of
the western flanks of the Andes were occupied by popula-
tions originating on the western littoral. It is probable that
population density per se had little or nothing to do with
this process. Population levels in the region must have been
very low. For example, in the Osmore basin on the lit-
toral, the only known site with a substantial Early Archaic
occupation is Shell Ring. While others may be discovered
in the future, it is improbable that many sites dating to
this period exist. Thus the budding ofpopulations through
population growth seems unlikely as a driving force for
the initial movement of people into the highlands.
Some environmental factors appear to be relevant to
the early occupation of the Andean highlands. Water was
apparently a highly limited resource on the littoral and
was found only at springs, seeps, or in the valley itselfalong
the lower reaches of the Rio Osmore (Sandweiss et al. 1989;
Wise 1990). In fact, no trace of a spring has been found
near the Shell Ring Site, and one is only presumed to have
existed. Aside from the river, then, water on the littoral
may have been very scarce, and its scarcity may have forced
populations to move relatively more frequently to new
sources. This problem may have been exacerbated by the
establishment of the austral summer rainfall pattern, which
would have considerably diminished rainfall amounts and
frequencies on the littoral.
While the number and locations of water sources may
have been limited, new plant communities and animal spe-
cies apparently began a relatively rapid adaptive radiation
into higher elevations. Unfortunately, very few studies of
this process have been made, but it is clear that the period
11,000 to 10,000 B.P. was characterized by rapid ecologi-
cal change and the movement of essentially modern spe-
cies into new ecological niches. It is probable that taruca
and guanacos moved further into the highlands as vegeta-
tion communities did likewise, first colonizing water-rich
river bottoms and then later moving up the sides of the
surrounding slopes. In human terms, this created an open
niche composed of a number of familiar animal and plant
species in combination with abundant and permanent wa-
ter on these river and stream courses. While it is not pos-
sible to compare the productivity of the littoral to that of
the newly productive valley systems in quantitative terms,
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
it is probable that the combination of abundant water and
growing animal and plant populations proved to be a strong
resource pull for foraging peoples and was likely causal to
an adaptive radiation of these groups further into the high-
lands over a span of approximately 500 to 1,000 years.
The first foraging peoples to penetrate the Andean high-
lands would of course have had to deal with the two pri-
mary stresses ofhigh-mountain environnlents, hypoxia and
cold. Each individual would have experienced acute hy-
poxia, which includes symptoms of soroche, headache, and
nausea, as well as minor locomotor and sensory problems.
While these symptoms would have ameliorated over vary-
ing lengths of time, they would have led to a decreased
work capacity. Work that could have easily been performed
at lower elevations would have been more stressful, and it
is probable that less work would have been accomplished.
All of this implies that subsistence activities would have
been directed at familiar species, such as those encoun-
tered previously at lower elevations. This is especially the
case for hunting, since prior knowledge of the behavioral
characteristics and habitat types of major game species
would help to minimize work effort. Prior knowledge of
plant species would have been of less value since it is likely
these were widely spaced and patchy in their distribution.
Cold in the Early Holocene would have been a signifi-
cant stressor for foraging peoples. Although these peoples
would have been pre-adapted to cold due to their north
Asian ancestry, they nevertheless would have required use-
ful and substantial clothing and effective shelter for long-
term habitation of the highlands. The most significant
short-term problems would have been continuous cold
stress and increased energy requirements. Ifsuch clothing
had not been available, it is probable that the first forag-
ing trips into the highlands would have been made during
the austral summer when cold stresses would have been
somewhat less severe. As the length of stay in the high-
lands increased, however, such clothing would have be-
come an obvious necessity.
Given these environmental conditions, the very first
utilization of the highlands above 2,500 m would prob-
ably have been logistically organized from base camps lo-
cated below this elevation. It is further likely that the com-
position of the group would have been exclusively males
and that the duration of occupation in the highlands would
have been short-term. It should therefore be expected that
relatively little cultural material was discarded or aban-
doned, and assemblage diversity and the range of related
activity performance should be significantly low. An activ-
ity pattern that emphasized a minimization ofwork effort,
139
which would ameliorate acute hypoxia and keep caloric
costs as low as possible given subsistence requirements,
should also be expected.
Biological Contexts ofEarly Highland Life
The biological costs of moving back and forth across the
2,500 m elevational limit are substantial and include
chronic exposure to acute hypoxia, increased respiratory
problems for those individuals that move across this thresh-
old repeatedly, and high caloric and energy costs for those
individuals in the foraging party, a situation that would
have been exacerbated by symptoms of acute hypoxia.
Transportation costs of obtained resources would have
been high since resources would have to be carried over
longer distances in rugged terrain. These costs run counter
to the predicted trend of minimization of work effort. Al-
though it is not possible to compute a break-even point
between effort and return, it is probable that costs began
to outweigh benefits when patches became more stable in
the highlands, thus exerting a stronger resource pull. This
may have led, then, to the movement of the entire
coresidential group into the highlands.
Given this movement, different segments of the popu-
lation would have been affected for the first time. As noted,
work capacity for all individuals would have decreased, and
this in turn would have led to a diminished ability to achieve
required caloric levels, further leading to a higher risk of
caloric shortfalls for the most active and pregnant and lac-
tating women. Any caloric shortfall for these women would
have had very serious effects on the survival probabilities
of their fetuses or infants. As was seen in chapter 1, high-
elevation neonates are characterized by low birth weights,
a factor in increased infant mortality, and it is generally
acknowledged that survival probabilities of offspring are
enhanced if maternal nutritional status is adequate (Haas
1980). Reduced caloric intake for pregnant women would
have diminished the survival probabilities of their fetuses.
Although undernourished women produce milk of ad-
equate quality, they produce less of it, making it difficult
for their children to receive sufficient caloric intake, thus
exposing the children to higher probabilities of being ad-
versely affected by gastrointestinal and respiratory disease
and slowing their growth rate (Institute of Medicine Sub-
committee on Lactation 1991: 103, 179). In fact, it ap-
pears there is a threshold effect in human lactation, in that
when caloric intake drops below ca. 1,500-1,800 kcal/day,
both the quantity and to some extent the quality of milk
are adversely affected. The nutrients most directly affected
by insufficient caloric intake are the fatty acids, particu-
140 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands
larly the essential fatty acids, which, as was shown in chapter
1, may be in short supply in the typical highland diet. Re-
views of recent studies ofnutrition, lactation, and the com-
position of human milk have shown that low fat/high car-
bohydrate/high calorie diets are associated with a signifi-
cant decline in essential fatty acid precursors, high fat/low
carbohydrate/sufficient calorie diets show adequate levels
of essential fatty acid precursors, and low fat/restricted
calorie diets show moderate to low levels of essential fatty
acid precursors (Institute of Medicine Subcommittee on
Lactation 1991: 123-124). The optimal high-elevation diet
for the mother-a low fat/high carbohydrate diet-is likely
to be a poor diet for her child as long as it is nursing. Any
blunting of the desire for fat, as is common in newcomers
to high elevation, would have worsened this situation even
if fat were present in the diet. Clearly, lactating women
were likely to have been at high risk of caloric shortfall,
and while this may not have been significant for their own
short-term health status, it could have had a very signifi-
cant impact on their children, who could have been ex-
posed to greater risks of essential fatty acid deficiencies.
To satisfy these higher caloric demands while simulta-
neously maintaining the desirable goal ofminimization of
work effort under conditions of diminished work capacity,
these early highlanders had three options: return to lower
elevations, move the entire coresidential group from low-
lands to highlands and down again on a regular basis, or
locate themselves near the best of these emergent high-
land resources patches. The first option is not a good long-
term solution, because while it limits the effects of higher
energy costs to a relatively small group of people (the
members of the foraging party), it does not relieve the
problem of the limited transport capacity of this group.
The second option has very high energy costs associated
with moving the entire group. This also would have the
most serious effects on the young, the old, and pregnant
and lactating women. Depending on local resource con-
figurations, then, a better short-term response would have
been to discover high-quality resource patches, move the
entire coresidential group to them, and use them system-
atically. This would have the benefit of reducing, insofar
as that is possible, the large costs associated with group
mobility and the work effort to obtain those resources.
This solution, which would begin the process of acclima-
tization, works as long as resource densities are sufficient
to reduce the frequency of residential mobility.
Early permanent residence at high elevation would have
had both positive and negative effects. One positive effect
is that it would have initiated the process of acclimatiza-
tion leading to full functional adaptation to high-eleva-
tion life in older children and adolescents. Likewise, adults
would have also begun their acclimatization to high alti-
tude, and while acclimatization would not lead to full func-
tional adaptation for them, it would nevertheless have al-
lowed them to increase their work capacity over time, thus
helping them to reduce their personal energy costs. Per-
manent residence at high elevation would have also cre-
ated new, longer term problems that would not have been
immediately recognized, including higher infant mortal-
ity due to increased incidence of respiratory diseases, pos-
sible exacerbation of essential fatty acid deficiencies, espe-
cially in infants, which may have led to some developmen-
tal problems for them as well as increased susceptibility to
disease, and a depression of fertility. The only long-term
solution to these problems is acclimatization to high alti-
tude over time, but some cultural practices could have
helped ameliorate them to some extent. If in fact residen-
tial bases could have been optimally situated in relation-
ship to resources, this would have led to an overall decline
in the amount of effort required to obtain subsistence re-
, sources since the high-mountain environment was at this
time an open niche. There should have been little or no
human competition for resources since population sizes
and densities were very low. This implies further that resi-
dential mobility would have been an effective means of
avoiding caloric shortfall. However, I also expect residen-
tial mobility to, be relatively low, given sufficient resource
density, so as to avoid the high costs of movement and
transportation consistent with the desire to minimize ef-
fort in high-mountain environments. A low frequency of
residential mobility would have counteracted, at least to
some extent, the possible depression of fertility initially
faced by the first permanent high-altitude residents since
it is well known that fertility tends to increase with de-
creasing mobility of foraging peoples.
Clothing and the Early Occupation ofthe Highlands
Until recently, clothing in the Andes has been made of
spun camelid wool, although it has been replaced rapidly
by cotton and synthetic fibers. Before the invention ofwool
spinning, however, clothing would have been made of
camelid or deer hides. A crucial question is the degree of
elaboration of hide clothing that can be deduced from the
archaeological evidence. Hayden (1990) has developed a
model of hide clothing preparation for temperate and
tropical environments that has important implications for
the argument developed herein.
Using ethnography as a basis, Hayden (1990) distin-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
guishes three basic styles of clothing: the basic cape model,
the improved cape model, and luxury model garments. The
basic cape is simply a defleshed hide that has seen a mini-
mum of additional processing. While such hides may be-
come somewhat supple or malleable through use, they tend
to be stiff and hard, sometimes with the consistency of
cardboard. Hayden (1990: fig. 3) uses the Ona of Tierra
del Fuego as a good example of a foraging group that lived
in an extreme environment that adopted the basic cape
model, supplemented by conical hats and little else. The
improved cape model is similar to the basic cape but is
distinguished by additional treatment of the hide designed
to make it more supple and to extend its use-life, includ-
ing processing steps such as curing, smoking, dehairing,
and scoring. While there are no new types of clothing
made, the additional processing steps dramatically increase
the amount of effort and time required to complete the
task of making clothing. The luxury model garment is a
set of clothing composed of more complex and additional
individual garments and also involves obligatory tanning,
decoration, and elaboration. Hayden (1990: fig. 2) uses
Plains Indian clothing of the nineteenth century as an ex-
ample of this model. He argues that such clothing in tem-
perate or tropical environments is best seen as an indica-
tor of status or rank and would only be made for individu-
als who could afford to payor reward specialists due to the
significant expense involved in making such garments.
Hayden's model is similar to one developed much ear-
lier by Hatt (1969), who created a cultural-historical/
diffusionist model ofArctic and sub-Arctic clothing styles.
Hatt describes two distinct clothing complexes: one based
upon the development of the poncho or cape, leggings
breeches, and sandal boots and another focused upon the
development of the cloak and clothing derived from it (such
as shirts and jackets), breechcloths and various kinds of
undergarments, and moccasins. Hatt is concerned with
describing clothing that is absolutely essential for human
survival in harsh climates. Hayden (1990) acknowledges
the necessity of clothing in such environments, although
he does not discuss it at great length.
Hayden's model has several important archaeological
implications that are useful in determining the complexity
of clothing. While cultural factors, skin characteristics, and
other factors must be considered, simple capes can be made
with a minimum of effort, and from a design-theory per-
spective, tools need not be complex or numerous. Using a
number of ethnographies as a basis, Hayden shows that
simple, expedient tools are sufficient for processing a small
number of hides on an annual basis and notes that the most
141
important aspect of tool morphology under these circum-
stances is the utility of the working edge. Since hide prepa-
ration and treatment are limited, only two types of mi-
crowear evidence of hide preparation are expected: the
processing of wet or fresh hide and the softening of dried
hides without remoistening. An excellent example of a
simple hide preparation tool kit with limited scraper mor-
phology is that of the Ona or Selk'nam (Hayden 1990: 93;
Massone 1989: 355). While a few obvious scraping tools
are present in the assemblage, the majority of tools used
to process the simple capes are expedient flake tools made
on a number of reduction by-products. Therefore, assem-
blages representative of processing simple capes or simi-
lar hide products should show limited tool diversity in
terms of formal scraper types and should instead contain
small quantities of variably shaped tools used to cut and
scrape fresh and dried hides.
The improved cape model, depending on the type of
processing used to extend the use-life of the hide or to
improve its suppleness, has a numbr of different archaeo-
logical expectations. In this case, a wider range of mi-
crowear traces associated with hide processing should be
expected, including at least fresh and dry hide but also
semidried hide and hide remoistened by soaking dried hide
in water or greasing hide with natural oils and similar sub-
stances. Depending on the number of hides processed, the
appearance of a small number of hafted, curated tools used
repeatedly for defleshing or working the hide in different
ways might also be expected. In addition, specialized
ground stone tools used to break down hide fibers may
appear in the assemblage. Finally, there may be feature
traces of hide smoking or other curing processes. In gen-
eral, however, the improved cape model does not neces-
sarily require that new or specialized tool morphologies
be invented to improve the utility of the hides used for
simple clothing, and thus assemblage diversity should be
similar to that predicted by the simple cape model but with
a few crucial additions.
In contrast, the luxury garment model (or utilitarian
garment model in extreme climates) predicts the appear-
ance of specialized scraper morphologies and the repeated
use of hafted, curated, resharpened scraping tools. A wide
variety of microwear traces should be observed in the as-
semblage, although the degree to which any particular
scraper morphology will be isomorphic with a particular
wear trace is an empirical question that cannot be easily
predicted. Since luxury garment production is expensive
in terms of raw material, labor, and tools used to process
the hides, relatively large numbers ofscraping tools should
142 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands
be exhausted. Other processing tools should also be found
in the assemblage, and again feature traces of specialized
tanning, drying, or curing processes may be observed. As
Hayden (1990: 95-96) notes, assemblages devoted to luxury
garment production should be similar in complexity to
those of specialized craft producers, such as the Ethiopian
hide workers observed by Gallagher (1977).
A Summary ofa Model ofthe Discovery ofthe Highlands
The discovery and use of the highlands on the western
flank of the Andes were likely driven by short-term deci-
sions designed to minimize effort while simultaneously
insuring sufficient caloric returns for all members of the
coresidential group. The resource pull of the rapidly chang-
ing highlands, especially as regards faunal resources, would
have permitted foragers to achieve these goals as newly
emergent highland animal and plant communities became
more productive and stable. Land use by this foraging
group was probably a mix of residential and logistical mo-
bility as long as the elevation range exploited lay below ca.
2,500 m. While high, the costs of residential mobility were
probably not greater than returns below this threshold.
Above it, the effects of hypoxia and cold would have been
obvious, and it is probable that the earliest use of the high-
lands above 2,500 m was made on a logistical basis, most
likely by hunting parties of adult males. As long as there
was some perceived return, the highlands would have seen
continued use on this basis. However, it was not possible
to increase or even maintain for a long period returns un-
der this system because of limitations in transport tech-
nology and the inability of the members of the foraging
party to overcome the effects of hypoxia that limited their
work capacity. Since they were unlikely to have been resi-
dent at high elevation for any significant length of time,
they could not have benefited from the initiation of the
acclimatization process.
The proximate cause for change in this pattern of land
use was the stabilization of resource patches in the high-
lands. As more permanent and productive patches emerged
on the landscape, their pull would have been sufficient to
draw the entire coresidential group to them. This does
not imply resource shortfall in lower elevations but in-
stead stresses that these changes would have permitted the
entire group to obtain sufficient caloric return while si-
multaneously reducing work effort on the part of the
group's most productive members-its hunters. Therefore,
a short-term decision to reduce work effort while main-
taining or possibly increasing caloric returns as these
patches became stable made good "sense." The rapidity
of this process would have been contingent upon how
quickly these new patches stabilized as well as the mix of
floral and faunal resources present in any locality. In this
model, then, there is room for variability in the timing of
permanent highland occupation.
As has been noted, the move to the highlands had mixed
effects. All adults would have begun to acclimatize to high
altitude, which would have lead to improved work capac-
ity over the long run. Optimal siting of the residential base,
if possible, would also have improved the work situation
by reducing effort in relation to return. This reduction in
work effort would have been apparent to all members of
the group. The costs of the move, however, would have
been more subtle and difficult to recognize, and they would
have fallen hardest upon pregnant and lactating women
and their young children. Hypoxia would have increased
their caloric demands; if these women experienced any
shortfall, it would have affected their fetuses through lower
birth weights and thus diminished the fetuses' survival
probabilities. Further, if nursing mothers experienced
shortfalls, their children would have been at heightened
risk for essential fatty acid syndrome, respiratory and gas-
trointestinal diseases, and developmental problems, thus
contributing to higher rates of infant mortality. Until
women made a successful, long-term acclimatization to
high elevation, the earliest permanent occupation of the
highlands would have been characterized by very slow rates
of population growth. Any increase in residential mobility
would have exacerbated this trend, while greater sedentism
would have acted to increase the growth rate.
Clothing would have been essential to this emerging
long-term adaptation to high elevation. While most ef-
fective in combating cold, which would have been severe
at this elevation, it served to help keep energy require-
ments lower through insulation. It would have indirectly
helped to mitigate against the severity of respiratory dis-
ease contracted by any individual. Therefore, we should
certainly see the appearance of complex tool kits useful in
making warm hide clothing at the onset ofpermanent habi-
tation at high elevation.
Asana I1Puruma Phase
Included in the Asana VPuruma Phase are four levels from
the East Block of the site (Levels PXXXIII-PXXX) and
six levels from the West Block (XXXVI-XXXI). Specifi-
cally, data from Levels PXXXIII, PXXXII, and PXXX are
presented in detail; trends in phase-aggregated data and
known settlement patterns will also be discussed.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Early Archaic Settlement Patterns (11,000-8000 B.P.)
Although a large number of projectile points dating to the
Early Archaic have been found in the Rio Asana valley
during survey operations (Aldenderfer 1989c: table 7), it
has proven extremely difficult to associate these points with
other evidence indicative of the nature of Early Archaic
usage of the high sierra, puna rim, and puna environments.
While a large number of densities and components were
identified during survey, none of these had Early Archaic
points either within or near their boundaries and are best
considered as stray finds lost during hunting or moving
throughout the valley (Aldenderfer 1989c: 155-157). Con-
sequently, it is not clear how many of the densities are
likely to date to this period.
Despite this, other observations can be made. Each of
the Early Archaic points encountered during survey was
found on the T3 terrace of the Rio Asana, and none were
found closer than 4 km upstream from (east of) the site.
These areas would have been prime taruca hunting terri-
tory during Early Archaic times. None of these points were
found downstream from the site, and significantly, these
areas would have been less desirable as hunting territo-
ries. Further, no Early Archaic materials were found in
the puna rim environment, which would have been a mar-
ginal zone for plants and animals at the start of this pe-
riod. While the data are far from complete, Early Archaic
usage of the upper Rio Asana valley was focused primarily
upon Asana, and while the valley was the scene of signifi-
Fig. 6.1. Level PXXXIII.
143
cant hunting, there is no clear evidence of hunting blinds
or logistical camps dating to this period. Aside from the
logistical forays indicated by the presence of puna rim and
puna lithic raw materials, most use of the valley was prob-
ably performed within the foraging radius of Asana itself.
This observation is consistent with the argument that Asana
was optimally situated to minimize work effort involved
in plant and animal procurement, one of the predictions
of the model of early highlands land use offered earlier.
Level PXXXIII (9830 B.p.)
Level PXXXIII, dated to 9830 B.P., is the earliest occupied
level at Asana. Cultural remains include chipped stone
lithics, faunal remains, and cultural features, including a
probable house floor with associated midden, hearths,
postmolds, and ash dumps. The occupation rests upon clay,
silt, and sandy silt soils, all of alluvial origin, that were
once immediately adjacent to the edge of the early Rio
Asana (figs. 6.1, 6.2). River cobbles form the southeastern
margin of the site and protrude from the soil matrix. Col-
luvial rock is found along the northern margin of the ex-
cavation block. The open area available for utilization ap-
pears to be relatively small, especially when compared to
the area available in later phases of occupation.
Faunal and Lithic Data and Site Structure The faunal
remains are extremely meager in Level PXXXIII and con-
sist of a single, complete taruca tibia found just east of the
margins of the presumed structure. The articulating ends
144 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

()
v
Silly Clay-IOYRS/2
o
+
/
u

00
T
)
,

,
S
o Fine Sand Sill
IOYRS/3
~Q.CJ;~
. ;;.~~.,&
~"I!.'::IJ4 '.

.
"~Nf6b
.;'
00 Rock

0
0 @ Pasl
Hearlh
<:J
R
G Q 1
N
W
ft~
Midden
Ash Slain
-,
I &?i3
/ /
~- House Floor

35 36 Quebrada

0 I 2
I I I
MeIers
37

Fig. 6.2. Plan view, Level PXXXIII.

of the bone are present, it shows no signs of animal gnaw-
ing or butchery, and it is unburned. However, since the
bone is extremely weathered, too much should not be read
into the apparent absence of these marks. Both chipped
stone lithics and ground stone tools are scant in this level.
Chipped stone materials include three different high-si-
erra raw materials and one lower high-sierra material (table
6.1). Counts are very low and consequently little can be
said of reduction. Further, no morphological tools or
ground stone tools were recovered from this level.
Fortunately, more information on site structure is avail-
able for analysis. An apparent structure was found on this
surface and is defined by a combination ofseven postIDolds
in a roughly circular or ovoid pattern (fig. 6.2). The floor
consists of the unmodified soil matrix with little or no evi-
dence of packing or intensive use. The size of the struc-
ture is 4.3 m2, and inside it are two large, deep hearths
filled with burned soil, some white ash, and very small
pieces ofcarbonized wood (fig. 6.3). A third hearth is found
along or just outside the northern boundary of the struc-
ture. It is probable that these hearths were used for heat
and light sources since even austral summer temperatures
would have been very cold at ca. 10,000 B.P. Two ash lenses,
one within the structure along its southern wall and an-
other outside the structure to the east are also present.
Both appear to have been pushed to their respective loca-
tions as a result of inside cleaning activities. Shallow sheet
midden consisting oforganically stained soil is found along
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 145

Table 6.1. Lithic Raw Materials, Asana I1Puruma Phase the north wall of the structure, near what may be its en-
trance given the positioning of the postmolds. If this in-
ference is correct, the placement of this midden is similar
Level to door dumps and toss middens observed in cold-weather
campsites of the Nunamiut (Binford 1983: fig. 122) and
SourcelType PXXX PXXXI PXXXII PXXXIII represents the least-effort disposal of trash from the door-
way. No bone or lithics were found in this midden.
There is little doubt that the earliest occupation ofAsana
Coast 3 2 was extremely brief. No exhausted tools were discarded at
the site, and the faunal remains present indicate that ex-
Lower high
sierra tensive butchery and food preparation were not part of
7 1 the activity performance profile. Unfortunately, since no
32 17 macrobotanical materials were preserved in the hearths or
33 4 2 midden, nothing can be said of the season of occupation.
34 1 At least from the perspective of lithic debris, there is no
evidence of the exploration or utilization of any environ-
High sierra
4 204 66 5 7 ment higher than the immediate vicinity of Asana. Taruca
5 2 4 3 2 would have been plentiful in the site environs since their
11 29 15 3 2 effective habitat would have been pushed down to an el-
14 12 2 evation range of 3,600 to 3,800 m. Spatial data, combined
17 37 18 2 with the limited artifact information, suggest that Level
21 19 14 PXXXIII at Asana was a short-term logistical camp.
40 1 1 2
42 9 1 Level PXXXII (ca. 9600 B.P)

Puna rim Level PXXXII is similar to Level PXXXIII, although it is

1 22 6 clear that there are significant changes in architecture and
2 12 site structure as well as some minor increase in artifact
3 1 density, primarily bone. The setting of the site is similar
18 30 72 as well, in that the main occupation appears to be situated
19 1 along the edge of the early course of the Rio Asana. There
23 2 is more sand in the soil matrix of this level, indicating that
25 1 some colluviation, as well as alluvial action, was respon-
Puna
20 74 109
27 1
41 10 10

Fig. 6.3. Hearth on Level PXXXIII surface.

146 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

sible for the formation of the natural soil matrix. A large
quebrada channel in the northwestern corner of the level
reinforces this interpretation.
Faunal and Lithic Data Only one individual could be
identified in Level PXXXII, a large camelid. Despite higher
counts (N = 94), weights (63 g), and bone densities (421
m\ there is no packet information available due to the
extreme fragmentation of the assemblage. Aside from a
single vertebra, the only recognizable fragments were pha-
langes and metapodials. These low-utility parts suggest
that whole or nearly whole animals were returned to the
site and then removed to other locations. Alternatively,
these parts could represent snacking of transported parts
from a different site. The most parsimonious explanation,
however, is that they represent on-site consumption of
animals killed in the highlands. The low proportion of
burned bones (4%) tends to reinforce this assumption.
Once again, no morphological tools or ground stone
tools were recovered in this level, and there is very little
reduction debris present (N = 14,3.75 g, 61m 3). Most of
the lithic material is oflocal origin, but there are two small
(<1 cm maximum dimension) fragments ofcoastal raw ma-
terial. These by-products appear to be trimming flakes and
were probably struck during either tool maintenance or
the removal of flakes from bifaces of coastal material used
as sources of tool blanks as suggested by Kelly (1988).
Whatever their use, tool maintenance was of minor im-
portance during this occupation, and within the excava-
tion block, there is no evidence of reduction directed spe-
cifically at small-tool production or biface shaping.
Site Structure Once again, site structure data are the
most informative. The most obvious features are the cir-
cular patterns of postIDold alignments that apparently form
the remains of two structures (figs. 6.4, 6.5). These struc-

v

u

j
Past
CJJ Rack
CD Hearth
Q
N /~ Midden
C/3>1 Quebrada
I ~~ Ash Stain

P 0 2
I I

Meters
-,
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.4. Plan view, Level PXXXII.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 6.5. Level PXXXII.
tures measure 4.9 m 2 and 5.1 m 2, respectively. The door-
ways of each structure point to the east and are thus situ-
ated away from the predominant wind, which tends to blow
from the west. Other postmold patterns situated in vari-
ous areas near the structures may represent the remains of
racks or other facilities. Both structures have at least one
hearth within them but at different locations. One is found
in the center of Structure 1, while there are two hearths in
Structure 2, one situated near the presumed doorway and
the other near the structure's western wall. There is also
an ash lens pushed up against the southern wall of Struc-
ture 2. This dump, composed of compacted white ash, has
a very high density of bone and may represent the remains
of food consumption within the structure (fig. 6.6). A
midden of organically stained soil can be found within the
structure running to the north beyond the wall to some
extent. This midden has no lithic or bone debris present
within it. A small ash dump is located near the presumed
doorway; this may be a classic door dump representing
staged refuse disposal common in cold climates.
Exterior to the structures are a number of features, in-
cluding hearths, ash dumps, and a single, relatively small
sheet midden to the east of Structure 2. In general, trash
disposal areas are widely scattered on this surface, with
the areas of highest refuse density found in ash dumps and
hearths. There is virtually no cultural material scattered
between the structures or in other areas of the exposed
level. Two hearths, Hearths 1 and 2 (fig. 6.4), may repre-
147
sent exterior cooking hearths. Hearth 1 is located directly
across from the doorway of Structure 1 and would have
been shielded from the wind by the large colluvial boul-
ders and by the structures themselves if in fact both had
been erected simultaneously. Hearth 2 is somewhat fur-
ther from the doorway of Structure 2, but it is essentially
in the same sheltered area as Hearth 1. While it is not
certain that these hearths were in fact directly associated
with the two structures, their contents (burned soil, some
burned and crushed bone, and carbon fragments) suggest
that they may have been shallow cooking hearths.
While the structures on this surface are archaeologically
contemporaneous, it is difficult to determine if in fact the
structures were simultaneously occupied. There was no
recognizable stratification within the level indicative of a
temporal difference in occupation. Further, there is no
overlap between postmold patterns which might be ex-
pected if there was some difference in time between the
occupations. However, it is possible that the complex or-
ganization of features and facilities in Structure 2 is in-
dicative of a palimpsest occupation, in which Structure 2
was occupied first, with Structure 1 occupied later. It is
therefore possible that some of the refuse and debris within
Structure 2 is in fact derived from the refuse disposal ac-
tivities associated with the Structure 1 occupation. The
most parsimonious explanation, however, is that the two
structures were occupied simultaneously.
148 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

R 0 g~::ity
Past

o 1g :::~th
N ~,/, Midden
C8J
I
Ouebrada
~, Ash Stain
P o
I
2I
Meters
.,
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.6. Total bone density, Level PXXXII, interval = 5.

Interpretations The Level PXXXII occupation of Asana
is consistent with an interpretation of a logistical camp
occupied for a short period of time and monitored from a
lower elevation residential base. Limited tool diversity
supports this contention, as do the very low densities of
reduction by-products and bone. Very low frequencies of
coastal raw materials are suggestive ofcoast-highlands mo-
bility, and this inference is further supported by the form
and size of the residential architecture found in the level,
which is very similar to that found at sites such as Acha-2
on the north Chilean littoral which is dated to ca. 9000
B.P. (Munoz, Arriza, and Auferheide 1993).
There are important differences between site organi-
zation and structure when Levels PXXXIII and PXXXII
are compared. The earlier level contains a single struc-
ture, whereas there are two in the later occupation. This
implies that a larger foraging party occupied the site in
PXXXII times, although it remains likely that it was still a
logistical party probably composed of males. Admittedly,
this inference is tenuous, but it is supported by the dearth
of artifacts indicative of female-related activities, such as
hide processing or seed grinding. However, both the size
and organization of space of the structures suggest a com-
monality of usage. The structures are essentially the same
size, each contains at least one hearth, and refuse disposal
patterns are consistent with short-term occupations typi-
cal of cold-weather climates.
The scale of land use as inferred through raw material
types suggests that the foragers who occupied Asana at
this time probably had not penetrated either the puna rim
or the high puna of the region. Indeed, while they may
have visited these areas, they left no visible trace of that
occupation at Asana.
Level PXXX (9500 B.P)
While there are substantial similarities between the utili-
zation of Level PX:XX and that of the preceding levels, it
is clear that a number of significant changes in both site
and regional utilization occur during this occupation. The
densities of faunal and lithic remains increase substantially,
and moreover, there is clear evidence that the puna rim
and puna were visited by foragers who used Asana as a
combination logistical camp and staging camp for the ex-
ploration of the higher elevations of the drainage.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Faunal Data Bone density as measured by counts of all
fragments recovered from the level is substantially greater
than that in the preceding levels (N = 1,644). For example,
there are 17 times more faunal remains in PXXX than in
PXXXII. Bone weight (588 g) and bone density (734/m 3)
also increase. While the total amount of recovered mate-
rial remains small, especially when compared to levels later
in time (table 6.2), it nevertheless represents a substantial
increase when compared to earlier occupations of the site.
For the first time it is possible to evaluate packet data
to determine the nature of faunal remains returned, con-
sumed, and possibly removed from the site. While mind-
ful of the limitations of these data, especially since it is
clear that this assemblage has suffered losses due to both
density-mediated processes and carnivore ravaging (see
chapter 4), there are some interesting patterns present.
Whole animals were returned to the site given the high
number of tooth fragments, phalanges, and metapodials
present in the assemblage. Most of the other identifiable
fragments are from the head and neck, with smaller pro-
portions from the forequarters and trunk. In contrast, there
are relatively few fragments from the hindquarters and tail
packets. The data suggest that the high-utility trunk and
forequarters were consumed on site along with the lower
utility head and neck packet. In contrast, it appears that
the hindquarters and tail packets were not consumed on
Table 6.2. Faunal Data Summary, Level PXXX
Packet Data a
2 3 4 5
11 3 5
.52 .14 .24 .05
N = 1,644
MNI=3
Phalanges = 7
Metapodials = 15
Tooth fragments = 51
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the
assemblage.
149
site and may have been transported away from the site.
The assemblage was highly fragmented, with just over 80%
of the fragments measuring 2 cm or less in maximum di-
mension. Finally, more of the bone was burned (17.5%).
Of the NISP identifiable as to age (N = 31; 1.9% of the
assemblage), 39% were elements from mature, adult ani-
mals, while the remainder (61 %) were from immature in-
dividuals. Again, while NISP cannot be used to predict
proportions of different species or age groups in an as-
semblage in a robust manner, the relatively large propor-
tion of immature NISP suggests a pattern of relatively low
selectivity of prey that contradicts the hypothesis derived
from optimal foraging theory that in high-mountain en-
vironments, larger packets would be preferred over small
packets given variability in travel times and costs.
Lithic Data Like bone densities, lithic densities have in-
creased substantially when compared to previous levels, a
trend initiated in PXXXI (table 6.1; N = 531, 237/m 3).
Although reduction by-products continue to be dominated
by high-sierra raw materials (57.7% of the assemblage),
there are also substantial proportions of puna rim (35.1 %)
materials present, as well as a minor amount of puna ma-
terials (2.8%), lower high-sierra materials (4.2%), and
coastal materials (0.2%). The reduction by-products of
each of the material types with counts greater than 50 re-
flect small-tool maintenance as measured by the flake ag-
gregate approach (fig. 6.7; Ahler 1989: 112). No other type
of reduction process is indicated.
Perhaps the most important change in the lithic assem-
blage is the appearance of discarded or lost morphological
tools, particularly scrapers. This trend was initiated in
Level PXXXI, in which four scraping tools (three Type 3,
one Type 5; see chapter 4) used to process hides were dis-
covered. Two of these tools were used to work wet hide,
while two others were general hide-scraping implements.
.05 In PXXX, a similar pattern obtains, but the quantity of
tools is somewhat larger, and there is greater tool diver-
sity within the assemblage. Ten scraping tools were found,
including Types 1, 3, and 5, with most being Type 3 (fig.
6.8). In addition to the scraping tools, three small, unfin-
ished bifacial tool fragments were also recovered. None
of these fragments showed signs of use, and none could be
placed into a clear morphological category, but each can
be classified as either a Stage II or Stage III bifacial arti-
fact. Two of these tools are made from local Type 11 vol-
canic andesite, while the third is a Type 34 red volcanic
andesite from the lower high sierra. Although their func-
tions cannot be ascertained, their presence signals that
 150 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

50 -r---------------------, some retooling and tool production using local raw mate-
rials have become a part of the activity profile at the site.
A Freehand Not only is the number of types ofscraping tools greater,
40 -
ABiface, Stage 2 but the range of activities performed with them is greater
..J as well. Both dry and wet or fresh hide processing can be
<l ABipolar
o
;:: 30-
distinguished as well as generic, nonspecific hide process-
II:
o ing. Scraping and cutting motions are present, and the Type
o
.... 3 scraping tools are used exclusively for dry hide process-
z
t: 20
ing, whereas the other two types are used to process wet
II:
.... or fresh hides. The microwear data suggest that a wider
n.
ABiface, Stage 3-4 range ofhide-processing activities were practiced in PX:XX
10 Small Tool in comparison to previous levels.
Small Tool
A Product ian AMaintenance Much can be learned by comparing the tools recovered
A Biface, Stage 5 .25 .18 in Level PX:XX with materials from a roughly contempo-
o -+-----r---r----r-.~1:..:.1-_r_--____,,...:!.~4:....-___I
I I I I rary assemblage of tools found at the Shell Ring Site on
o 10 20 30 40 50 60
the Moquegua littoral. Sandweiss et al. (1989: 68-69) have
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-3 RATIO
described the lithic assemblage recovered from the Shell
Fig. 6.7. Flake aggregate analysis, Level PXXX. Ring Site, and all levels, including the basal layers of the
site, contain only unifacial tools made on a variety of re-
duction by-products. There are no tools that resemble the
wide range of scraping tools found at Asana, although it is
clear based on design theory and ethnographic analogy
that many of the artifacts illustrated could easily have served
as hide-processing tools and are in fact very similar to the

eM

Fig. 6.8. Scraping tools, Level PXXX.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
tools illustrated by Hayden (1990) in his discussion of the
tool kit used by the Ona and Selk'nam to process guanaco
hides to make basic capes. The absence ofspecialized scrap-
ing tools at the Shell Ring Site suggests that basic capes
were probably used by the earliest inhabitants of the site if
the materials recovered from the excavations are repre-
sentative of the assemblage as a whole.
Ground stone tools are rare in this level, and only three
were recovered. Of these, two were manos with indica-
tions that they were possibly used for hide burnishing,
while the function of the third could not be determined.
Site Structure Two apparent structures are found on
Level PXXX and are defined by postmold patterns. While
neither is complete, they appear to be more ovoid in form
when compared to structures found in earlier levels of this
phase. The area enclosed by the westernmost structure is
estimated to be approximately 6.5 m 2, somewhat larger
than the circular structures of Levels PXXXII and PXXXI.
Both structures have large, shallow hearths within them
as well as small patches of ash near the hearths, probable
indicators of hearth cleaning and reuse. Additional
postmolds may be the remains of drying racks or other
exterior features (figs. 6.9, 6.10).
Fig. 6.9. Level PXXX.
151
The use of exterior space is much more complex than
in previous levels. There are a large number of exterior
hearths to the north and west of the domestic structures,
and a midden/ash deposit can be found just north of the
easternmost structure. These hearths are essentially the
same and vary only slightly in depth and diameter. An ex-
amination of refuse disposal patterns of lithics and bone
on this level suggests that these hearths served as foci of
activity performance. These materials are scattered in a
semicircular form around many of the hearths (figs. 6.11,
6.12), and refuse in an "empty" area along the north-cen-
tral margin of the site appears to be a classic toss zone, in
which larger bone and stone refuse was tossed. It is also
possible that this portion of the site served as a zone for
secondary refuse disposal since concentrations of burned
bone were found there as well (fig. 6.13). Small quantities
of small bone, burned bone, and lithic debris were found
in the hearths of the westernmost structure. These appear
to be the result of floor sweeping and refuse disposal fol-
lowing activity performance or eating within the house.
A possible special activity area can be found near a hearth
on the eastern margin of the level (fig. 6.11). Within a
single hearth, over 2,000 fragments of crushed and splin-
tered bone less than 2 cm in maximum dimension were
152 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

flY
u

o o

~
R

O:J
Post
Rock
@ Hear Ih
:Y// Midden
N G Ground Stone
Q ~ Quebrada
,-)
... , House Floor

I 'i~ Ash SIO in

p o,
Meter s

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.10. Plan view, Level PXXX.

~
~~~:lty

R

O:J
Post
Rock
@ Hearth
:Y// Midden
N G
Q ~ Quebrada
,-)
... ,
I
House Floor
~~ Ash Stoin

p 0, ,1
Meters
-,
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.11. Total bone density, Level PXXX, first contour = 5, interval = 20.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 153

w

v

o

0

Lithic
Densil y
Post
~~t~
R
j 00
@
Rock
Hear th
::/// Midden
o
N G Ground Stone
a ~ Quebrada

,-~
,-/ House Floor
e
I il\l'.j; Ash SIO in

p 0 1
I I
Meters
-,
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.12. Total lithic density, Level PXXX, interval = 10.

o
/
/ - -e'l
I '.'e,e
.Ji

,
-, ,
CJfif)
0
\
\

jO
Bone
Density
Post
00 Rock
R
;; Hearth
Midden
N G Ground Stone

a ~ Quebrada
,-~
,-/ House Floor
I @'Jl Ash Stain

p 0 1
I I

Meters
-,
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.13. Total burned bone density, Level PXXX, interval = 5.

154 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands
discovered. Also found within this hearth is a high con-
centration oflithics ranging in size from 1 to 2 cm in maxi-
mum dimension but only a very small amount of lithic
debris less than 1 cm in maximum dimension. This sug-
gests that the hearth was probably not a focus of activity
performance involving the reduction of lithics but instead
served as a secondary refuse deposit for these materials.
The small bone fragments were probably processed near
this hearth and then left in place. The size range and large
number of bone fragments are consistent with the making
of bone grease as postulated earlier (see table 4.19).
Interpretations The occupation of Level PXXX appears
to mark a significant shift in the nature of the occupation
at Asana. The presence of significant quantities of puna
and puna rim raw materials suggests that the scale of land
use \-vas somewhat greater than in previous occupations.
As was noted earlier, puna raw materials are found at least
30 km away from the site at elevations above 4,400 m. It is
likely that these materials were returned to the site during
logistical forays to these high-elevation areas. At the same
time, there is a continued presence of coastal raw materi-
als, although in very small amounts. As in previous levels,
these materials were probably brought on site by foragers
as a part of their tool kits.
Other significant changes at Asana during this occupa-
tion are greater assemblage diversity and a wider range of
activities performed. Tools made of other than local high-
sierra raw materials were discarded on site, presumably
following their exhaustion in activity performance, and
were replaced with similar artifacts made of high-sierra
raw materials. Tool maintenance continued to be impor-
tant, as reflected by the size range of reduction by-prod-
ucts. Each of these indicators supports the inference that
the length of occupation at the site increased at this time,
allowing a wider range of materials to be discarded into
the archaeological record.
This inference is further supported by evidence for a
wider range of activities performed. While hide working
continues to be the dominant activity performed, the range
of scraper types present as well as the different conditions
of the hide when processed suggest that more of the hide-
working process was performed on site. Further, these data
are consistent with the making of more complex clothing.
The presence of a more elaborate hide-working activity
profile suggests that females, and by extension their chil-
dren, were present on site. Thus the place of Asana has
transformed from a logistical camp to a short-term resi-
dential camp. Although there are no direct indicators of
the season of occupation, it is most probable that it was
occupied during the austral summer or the early austral
fall if in fact hide working was the primary reason for the
occupation of the site.
Summary: Asana IIPuruma Phase Occupation
The earliest occupation at Asana can be summarized by
discussing three interrelated topics: the place of Asana in
a regional-scale settlement system, the spatial scale of that
system, and the development of effective cultural adapta-
tions such as clothing to ameliorate the combined effects
of hypoxia and cold. Despite the absence of additional
settlements dating to this period, it seems clear that the
earliest occupation of Asana during Levels PXXXIII and
PXXXII is best characterized as a logistical camp, and in-
deed, these levels appear to represent the initial discovery
of the highlands. Artifact density and assemblage diversity
in these earliest levels are extremely low, which is consis-
tent with a logistical occupation of the site. While the sea-
son of occupation of the site remains speculative, it is prob-
able that it was occupied during the austral summer when
temperature extremes and cold were not as severe as in
other seasons. Domestic architecture and the use of space
at the site are not complex and are indicative of relatively
short-term utilization of the site.
In contrast, by Levels PXXXI and PXXX the place of
Asana appears to have changed from a logistical camp to a
temporary residential base occupied by the entire
coresidential group. Artifacts indicative of female activi-
ties, such as hide-processing tools, are now more com-
mon, and assemblage diversity as well as actual activities
performed have increased substantially. The latter line of
evidence suggests that the length of occupation has in-
creased as well when compared to that indicated in Levels
PXXXIII and PXXXII. Domestic architecture in Level
PXXX is well constructed, and there is evidence for some
activity performance within domestic structures. Large
hearths, probably used to supply both heat and light, are
present. The use of exterior space in Level PXXX is com-
plex and includes activity performance around exterior
hearths and the disposal of secondary refuse in areas well
away from the domestic structures.
There are also important changes in the scale of re-
gional settlement systems in the Asana I1Puruma Phase as
well. While there is a clear connection with the coast sig-
naled by the presence of coastal raw materials and the cir-
cular form of domestic architecture seen especially in Lev-
els PXXXII and PXXXI, by PXXX times it is clear that
these foragers penetrated the upper limits of the Rio Asana
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 155

drainage, including the puna rim and puna environments. Table 6.3. Asana I1Puruma Tool and
While sites reflecting this penetration have not been dis- Debitage Comparisons
covered, it is likely that these trips were logistical forays
monitored from Asana. Tool and Raw Material Type Comparisons
Another way in which to measure the structure and scale
of mobility in this phase is to assess the relationship be-
tween debitage frequencies and the raw materials from Raw Material by Zone
which tools have been made. Since raw material types are
vertically stratified in the Rio Asana valley, it is possible to Lower
determine the relationship between sources of lithic ma- High High Puna
terials and the loci of discard of finished and exhausted Sierra Sierra Rim
tools. Asymmetrical relationships between debitage fre-
quencies and finished tools may indicate that tools were
made in one zone but used, exhausted, and discarded in Biface 0 4 0
1.25 2.50 0.25
another. This suggests in turn that some form of mobility
-1.18 0.948 -0.50
is responsible for the difference between debitage and tool
quantities. Table 6.3 presents data from the Asana II Point 0 0 1
Puruma Phase. Looking first at the relationship between 0.312 0.625 0.0625
tool type and raw material, given the value of chi squared -0.559 -0.790 3.75
and the standardized residuals, there is no asymmetry be- Scraper 5 6 0
tween tool type and raw material type. This implies that 3.43 6.87 0.6875
no particular tool type was made in one area but discarded 0.842 -0.333 -0.829
in another. Looking at the relationship between tool ma-
Table contents
terial type and debitage material type, a somewhat differ- Count
ent pattern emerges. While percentage data are not ap- Expected values
propriately tested using the chi square statistic, it is clear Standardized residuals
that many more tools than expected are made of raw ma-
Chi squared = 18, 91, 4 df, not significant
terials from the lower high sierra than the frequency of
lower high-sierra debitage found at Asana would suggest.
This implies that many of these tools (mostly scrapers) Tool, Raw Material Type, and Debitage Comparisons
were made in the lower high sierra, transported to Asana,
and used to exhaustion. Roughly equivalent percentages
of high-sierra raw material debitage and high-sierra ma- Lower
terial tools suggest that some local retooling was under- High High Puna
Sierra Sierra Rim Puna
taken, a finding supported by the flake aggregate analysis.
Although puna and puna rim debitage was found at Asana,
fewer tools than expected were deposited at the site. This Tools 59% 6% 0%
suggests that while tools made of these materials may have
been made on site, they were taken away from it before Debitage 3% 50% 42% 4%
they were used or exhausted.
By PXXX times, there is clear evidence of the complex
apercentage values refer to proportion of tools and debitage made
processing ofanimal hides that reflects the making of more of raw materials from each zone.
substantial clothing or shelter. Three distinct types of
scrapers are found in PXXX, and at least three different
types of microwear traces-dry, fresh, and ochred fresh
hide-have been found on these tools. All but one of the
scraping tools in the assemblage show signs of hafting, and
each was resharpened numerous times before discard. All
show signs of intensive edge rounding as well. Ground
156 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands
stone hide-burnishing tools are also present in the assem-
blage. These lines of evidence indicate that clothing more
complex than the basic cape model was being made on
site, and it is probable that more substantial clothing was
being processed. This significant investment in process-
ing time suggests that more time was being spent at high
elevation, and consequently more protection from the
chronic cold was required.
Asana IIIKhitufta Phase
Included in the Asana IIIKhituiia Phase are ten levels from
the East Block of the site (PXXIX-PXX) and four levels
from the West Block (XXX-XXVII). Data from Levels
PXXIX and PXXIV will be presented in detail; trends in
phase-aggregated data also will be discussed.
Level PXXIX (ca. 9400 B.P.)
Level PXXIX is the first in the Asana II/Khituiia Phase,
which is defined by a clear change in domestic architec-
ture and the end of residential mobility from the high-
lands to the coast as measured by the disappearance of
coastal raw materials in the lithic assemblage. Domestic
architecture no longer resembles that known from the
coast, and it appears that with this phase, foraging peoples
now live permanently at elevations greater than 2,500 m.
Faunal Data The amount offaunal materials recovered
from Level PXXIX is over ten times greater than any level
in Asana I1Puruma Phase times (table 6.4). While the quan-
tity ofmaterials recovered is greater, the assemblage is nev-
ertheless highly fragmented, with almost 79% of it com-
posed of fragments smaller than 4 cm in maximum dimen-
sion. The total weight of the recovered bone is 6.9 kg,
with a density of 11,310 1m 3 This is one of the larger
numbers and highest densities of recovered faunal mate-
rial of any level excavated at Asana. A smaller proportion
of the assemblage has been burned (only 3.5%), but this
figure may be the result of the extreme fragmentation of
the assenlblage. One of the most important findings in
this level is the clear presence of taruca. Of the fragments
identifiable as to species (N = 238; 1.7% ofthe assemblage),
11 % are taruca, while the remainder are the camelid ag-
gregate. Again, while NISP proportions cannot be read as
indicative of hunting preferences or their actual contribu-
tion to the diet, the presence of substantial numbers of
taruca remains suggests that these animals were in fact
important in the diet. In contrast, there are no remains of
small or medium-sized mammals.
Table 6.4. Faunal Data Summary, Level PXXIX
Packet Data a
2 3 4 5
61 78 433 26 27
.10 .13 .69 .04 .04
N = 14,025
MNI=5
Phalanges = 38
Metapodials = 71
Tooth fragments = 277
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the
assemblage.
Packet and bone element data show a number of inter-
esting patterns. The large number of teeth, phalanges, and
metapodials suggests that whole animals were returned to
the site (table 6.4) and were butchered on site. Elements
from the trunk packet dominate the NISP in this assem-
blage, followed distantly by the forequarters and head and
neck packets. In contrast, relatively low proportions of
hindquarters and tail packets were discovered. Since it is
probable that whole animals were returned to the site, this
pattern suggests that portions of the hindquarters were
taken off site or processed for future consumption. In any
case, smaller proportions of these packets made their way
into the archaeological record, at least in comparison to
the other packets.
Age data show a reversal when compared to previous
levels. Again, while there are relatively few NISP identifi-
able as to age (N = 230; 1.7% of the assemblage), just over
83 % can be assigned to fully mature adult animals, while
17% are immature. With the appropriate cautions, this
suggests that larger animals and packet size were preferred
by the occupants of the residential structures in this level,
a finding in greater accord with the predictions of theory.
Lithic Data Counts of lithic materials are relatively low
in Level XXIX (N = 1,152) with a total weight of 746 g.
The density of lithic materials by volume is 929/m 3 The

diversity of raw material types in the assemblage, how-
ever, is high, with 27 different types of material present.
Of these, 7 (Type 4 cryptocrystalline quartz, Type 11 vol-
canic andesite, Type 17 rhyolite, Type 18 red andesite, Type
21 rhyolite, Type 25 chert, and Type 42 chert) are repre-
sented by counts greater than 50, a figure larger than ex-
pected by the size of the sample. This assemblage is
strongly dominated by high-sierra zone raw materials
(83.5%), followed by puna rim materials (10.2%), lower
high-sierra materials (4.2%), and puna materials (1.7%).
Only a single piece of obsidian, classified as a far nonlocal
material, was found in the assemblage. Reduction in the
level reflects tool maintenance and resharpening (fig. 6.14).
None of the earlier stages of reduction are represented in
the assemblage.
The chipped stone tool assemblage continues to be
dominated by scraping tools, although more broken bifaces
and edge tools are found (table 6.5). Tool uses defined
through microwear analysis focus upon hide processing,
with two types of polish present and three distinct mo-
tions (scraping, cutting, and a more complex "butchery"
motion). Each of the scraping tools shows fine unifacial
retouch, and each has been resharpened to varying de-
grees. Those showing traces ofdry hide polish have heavily
rounded and beveled edges, a typical finding with dry hide
scrapers. Each of the scrapers shows evidence that it was
hafted. Most exhibit traces of a black residue in areas con-
sistent with hafting traces, and a few show patches of prob-
50 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ,
A Freehand
40 -
ASiface, Stage 2
..J
~ A Bi polar
;: 30-
a:
o
u
...z
~ 20 -
a::
I.LI
a.
A Bi face, Stage 3 - 4
10 -
Small Toot Smalt Toot
A Production AMaintenonce
17
ASiface, Stage 5 "".18'~1 ~5
o -+----r--I--~I--"T'"I----r"I-----,.I------~
o 10 20 30 40 50 60
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-3 RATIO
Fig. 6.14. Flake aggregate analysis, Level PXXIX.
Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 157
Table 6.5. Lithic Data Summary, Level PXXIX
Tools (N = 20)
Scrapers 12
Types 3
T1 4
T2 6
T4 2
Stage III percussion bifaces 4
Edge tools 4
Microwear Summary
Dry hide scraping 4
Fresh hide scraping/defleshing 5
General hide working
Hide cutting
able wood polish, again in locations consistent with haft-
ing. The edge tools are ad hoc and made on reduction by-
products suitable for cutting. They have obviously been
selected for use as edges. Little can be said of the broken
Stage III percussion blanks. Each is very small and frag-
mentary, and no function or intended finished morphol-
ogy can be discerned. No tool functions aside from hide
processing could be determined.
Seven ground stone tools were found on the PXXIX
floor. These include three mano-shaped and -sized tools
that have been interpreted as hide-working tools because
they exhibit polishes consistent with this activity, one mano
that was used for a combination of push-pull grinding and
some battering, a large, ovoid stone ball extensively shaped
by pecking with heavy damage at one end from use as a
battering and crushing tool, and two small batanes, both
of which show some traces of crushing and faceting on at
least one surface. This wear was probably created through
use as an anvil. Neither batan showed any evidence of be-
ing used as a grinding platform.
Site Structure Level PXXIX presents a very complex
41
set of features and distributions of material culture. The
single domestic structure present in the level marks a sig-
nificant change in form when compared to that of previ-
ous levels, and in part, this change helps to define the Asana
IIIKhitufia Phase (figs. 6.15, 6.16). Although the struc-
158 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

Fig. 6.15. Level PXXIX; the house floor can be seen in the right-center of the photograph.

~
~
S

00
@
Post
Rock
. J)
/
/,'
f/
1/

~ !;.~:,:.~c~ ~ ;:.:;i Wr:.i i/;"';"'-o:;"/""'137t)77~~~~'7;01tTt":ti5i1f;;;;;';;"---""

~lo;'
R //

N KR
Q
G Ground Stone
~ Quebrada
House Floor
Ash Stain
R oI I
I
Meters
I
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.16. Plan view, Level PXXIX.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 159

ture was not fully excavated, it is composed of a clearly
defined house floor made of a mixture of a very small
amount of white clay and the natural sandy matrix of the
level. Unlike the Asana I1Puruma Phase structures, this
one is ovoid, not circular, in form, and only a few irregu-
larly spaced postmolds can be found around the margin of
the floor. Small rocks are also found along the edge of the
structure, and these may have been used to anchor hides
or a brush covering of the structure. A single hearth is
found within the structure, and it contains some burned
bone scrap as well as some lithic debitage less than 1 cm in
maximum dimension (figs. 6.17, 6.18). The distribution
of these two materials within the structure suggests that
some lithic reduction as well as food consumption took
place within it. The importance of reduction within the
structure is reinforced by the distribution of all lithic ma-
terials on the PXXIX surface (fig. 6.19). Clearly the hearth
served as a focus for tool maintenance and resharpening,
and lithic materials surround the hearth in a classic oval or
semicircular pattern indicative of a drop zone.
The use of exterior space is complex. Immediately east
of the structure is a large, irregular hearth surrounded by
a midden. One of the batanes is found just north of this
hearth, and there is a very large concentration of crushed
and burned bone in a feature labeled as a shallow clay ba-
sin (figs. 6.17, 6.20). This basin contains the ovoid stone
ball interpreted as a bone-crushing implement (fig. 6.21).
Two other high concentrations of bones are found in two
other hearths to the north and west. The hearth just north
of the clay basin contains the second batan as well as one
of the manos used for both battering and some push-pull
grinding. This hearth also contains most of the discarded
hide preparation tools found in the level. What is inter-
esting about the bone concentrations in these hearths is
that the majority of them are relatively large and greater
than 2 cm in maximum dimension, which suggests that
these bones were crushed not to make bone juice or grease
but probably to extract marrow. Since many were burned,
it is probable this extraction took place after they had been
cooked. This area, with its combination ofhearths, batanes,
and crushing and pounding tools, appears to be a kitchen
or domestic food preparation area.
In contrast, the complex of hearths in the northwest
corner of the level appears to have served a different set of

U Q

Bone
0 Density
S

00
Post
Rock
@ Hearth
R //

N KR
0
G Ground Stone
~ Ouebrada

':.- ) House Floor

~} Ash Stain
R 0 1
1 !
MeIers
--, I
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.17. Total burned bone density, Level PXXIX, interval = 5.

160 The Discovery and Initial Pennanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

T~
o
5

00
@ Hearth
R // Midden

N KR
Clay Basin
Kitchen RaZk
~~~~~"'~t9E=P7~~~~~;S~~%t~f;;;;;;::~---.J

~
Q Ground Stone
Quebrada
r...-_) House Floor
~ Ash 5tain
R o! 1
1
Meters
I
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.18. Size 1 lithic density, Level PXXIX, interval = 5.

~
a
5

00 Rock
@ Hearth
R // Midden
Clay Basin
N KR Kitchen Rock

Q G Ground Stone
~ Quebrodo
) House Floor
(-
~ Ash Stain
R 0 I
1 I
Meters
-, I
33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.19. Total lithic density, Level PXXIX, interval = 10.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 161

Rock
Hearth
R Midden

N KR
Cloy Basin
K i !chen Ra~
~~~&~~11~~~~~~~~~~f~~---.J
Q
G Ground Stone
~ Quebrada
'...-_) House floor
~~ Ash Stain
R 0 I
! I
Meters
I

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Fig. 6.20. Total bone density, Level PXXIX, interval = 30.

functions. Instead of bone scrap, these hearths are sur-

rounded by lithic reduction by-products, including a sub-
stantial number less than 1 cm in maximum dimension,
again indicative of a drop zone (fig. 6.22). Slightly larger
lithic scrap has been discarded to the north and west of
these hearths in a toss zone pattern (fig. 6.19).
The hearth and feature complex along the southeast-
ern margin of the level is problematic (fig. 6.16). There
are very few artifacts of any kind to be found here, aside
from very small quantities of bone scrap and a few pieces
oflithics. None of these hearths have associated drop zones
indicative of tool maintenance or food consumption, and
there is no evidence of the use of the area as a secondary
refuse zone. In fact, there appears to be something of a
boundary between this area and the features to the north
and west (see especially figs. 6.19, 6.20). These hearths
are slightly deeper than most of the others in the level,
and they are filled with a combination of burned earth and
white ash. It is possible these hearths were used in some
aspect of hide processing, but given the absence of other Fig. 6.21. Clay basin feature on Level
feature associations or artifacts, it is impossible to confirm PXXIX. The stone pounding tool is
this hypothesis. It is useful to note, however, that these clearly visible, as are large bone
hearths lie upwind of the structure and its associated fragments embedded within the feature.
162 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands
( ...._ ) House Floor
~'t~ Ash Stain
R 0 I 2
I I I
Meters
"l I
33 34 35 36 37
Fig. 6.22. Size 1 lithic density, Level PXXIX, interval = 2.
kitchen zone; any smoke generated by these hearths would
be blown to the east by the prevailing winds in the valley.
Interpretations Asana during the occupation of PXXIX
appears to be a temporary residential base occupied by the
entire coresidential group. Hide processing continues to
be the most important activity performed on site. It is prob-
able that the site was occupied during the austral summer
or fall to obtain hides of higher quality available during
these seasons. The length of occupation at the site is un-
known, but it was probably substantial given the number
of tools discarded and the variety of steps of hide process-
ing implied by the microwear evidence. The use of exte-
rior space, which was well organized into areas with clearly
different functions, likewise signals a somewhat greater
length of occupation at the site. Further, the microwear
data continue to support the hypothesis that relatively com-
plex clothing was being made on site during this occupa-
tion. Perhaps the most important finding is the apparent
transformation of the relationship between high and low
elevation. Changes in the form of domestic architecture
as well as the absence of coastal chipped stone materials in
38 39 40 41 42
the assemblage imply that coast-to-sierra mobility was no
longer practiced. There was continued utilization of the
lower high-sierra, puna rim, and puna environments, and
faunal data continue to suggest that portions of animal
kills were either transported offsite or dried for long-term
storage and then possibly removed.
Level PXXIV (ca. 8700 B.P)
A total of 112 m 2 of this level has been opened, making it
the largest contiguous horizontal exposure dating to the
Asana IIlKhitufia Phase.
Faunal Data Although a larger area has been opened
in Level PXXIv, counts of faunal material are significantly
lower when compared to Level PXXIX (table 6.6). The
total weight of recovered bone is 2.1 kg, and the density of
bone is I,652/m 3 Over 72% of the NISP in this level are
less than 2 cm in maximum dimension. MNI counts are
somewhat larger, however, and the total number of ele-
ments identifiable as to species is larger as well (N = liS j
3.1 % of the assemblage). Of these, 15.9% are taruca, while
the remainder belong to the camelid aggregate. The pro-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 163

Table 6.6. Faunal Data Summary, Level PXXIV the coast are found within it (puna rim, 14.2%; puna, 3%;
and lower high sierra, 3.2 %). The assemblage exhibits
considerable diversity in raw material types, with 27 dif-
Packet Data a ferent types present, but only 7 (Types 1, 4, 11, 17, 18, 21,
and 32) have counts greater than 50. Although frequen-
cies are low compared to other types of raw material in
2 3 4 5
the assemblage, there is a significant amount of obsidian
14 48 83 43 present (N = 11; 0.36% of the assemblage). While not the
.07 .25 .44 .23 .01 first appearance of this material (one piece was found in
PXXIX), it is the first level where more than five pieces
N = 3,701 were recovered. All of the obsidian was recovered as small
MNI=8 tertiary flakes, shatter, and chunks, suggesting that a bifa-
cial "core" was reduced on site.
Phalanges = 26
Reduction data of material types with counts greater
Metapodials = 38 than 50 reflect two distinct patterns of tool production
Tooth fragments = 100 and maintenance. For the first time the intensive, late-
stage bifacial reduction appears in the assemblage (fig.
6.23). Type 4 cryptocrystalline quartz (a high-sierra raw
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that material) has been used to make bifacial tools, presumably
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the projectile points. Type 1 andesite, a puna raw material,
assemblage.
also reflects bifacial reduction. This material was prob-
ably returned to Asana in Stage II or III bifacial form since
only a very small amount of andesite cortex was found on
portion of burned bone is significant, with 36.7% charred site. The remaining raw materials all continue to reflect
or otherwise burned. Again, no small or medium-sized tool maintenance, modification, or resharpening.
animal remains were found in the assemblage. The chipped stone tool assemblage and profile of ac-
Element and packet data suggest that whole animals tivities performed as revealed by microwear analysis show
were returned to the site, since relatively large propor- a number of important changes in content and structure.
tions of phalanges, metapodials, and tooth fragments were
recovered. Packet data are dominated again by the trunk
packet, but there are roughly equivalent proportions of
hind- and forequarters, suggesting that both portions of 50

the animal carcass were consumed on site (table 6.6). If

this is the case, it marks a departure from previous levels, Freehand
40-
which show a distinct tendency for hindquarter parts to A Biface, Stage 2
be underrepresented in the assemblage and therefore taken ....J
<t A Bipolar
offsite or processed by drying for future consumption else- u
-
t- 30 -
where. While some of these animals still could have been o:
0
dried for future use, the PXXIV assemblage data suggest u
~

that fore- and hindquarters were treated in an equivalent Z

L&J 20 -
u
manner. Age data (N = 132; 3.6% of the assemblage) show a:
w
a continuation of the pattern initiated in PXXIX, with 86% a.
ABiface, Stage 3-4
of the identifiable NISP from adult animals. 10 - Small Tool Small Tool
AProduction Maintenance
Biface, Stage 5 .17
Lithic Data Counts of lithic material in Level PXXIX
.4., .11 .18 .21 .32
are moderately high (N = 3,033), while the total weight of o -f-----r--I----rl---,.-I----,-I---r--I-~
recovered lithics is 2.2 kg and density is 1,354/m3 The o 10 20 30 40 50 60
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-3 RAT\O
assemblage continues to be dominated by high-sierra raw
materials (79.2 %), but materials from all zones other than Fig. 6.23. Flake aggregate analysis, Level PXXrV.
164 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

While scraping tools continue to dominate the assemblage Projectile points first appear in Asana IIJKhitufia Phase
(table 6.7), there are significant numbers of Stage II and times in Level PXXVII. In these assemblages there are
III percussion bifaces, edge tools, and projectile points. relatively few points, and most of those found are broken
Six different scraper types are present, marking the first in some manner, typically by end shock with lateral snap,
occasion in which all types defined in the analysis are found or are whole but show clear signs of having been heavily
within a single level. Each of the scrapers was hafted, and resharpened and probably discarded due to perceived ex-
most were heavily resharpened and modified. Wear traces haustion. Whole points, however, are uncommon in any
on these tools are similarly diverse, and again, different of the assemblages of the Asana IIJKhitufia Phase levels,
types of traces attributable to hide working are dominant, and most can be related to known point styles in the south-
with four distinct types of traces present (table 6.7). Two central and central Andes (fig. 6.24). For the most part,
new uses of scraping tools, woodworking and bone work- the dates of these points are consistent with what is known
ing, are present in this assemblage. Edge tools and projec- from other regions, and all date from ca. 9000 to 7000 B.P.
tile points show traces of use consistent with their mor- For instance, figure 6.24a is roughly similar to Lavallee's
phologies, such as hide cutting, "general" hide working, (1985: 148, fig. 30b) type BI.1c point style, which is dated
butchery, and woodworking. from 9000 to 7000 B.P. at Telarmachay. Figure 6.24b is
similar to Santoro's (1989: 44, fig. 4.18) Early Archaic
Patapatane Phase biface. Figure 6.24c is similar to materi-
als recovered from Las Cuevas (Patapatane Phase) said to
Table 6.7. Lithic Data Summary, Level PXXIV date to the Early Archaic (Santoro 1989: 42, fig. 3.3) and
to Rick's (1980: 150-151) style 2A, also dated between 9000
and 7000 B.P. Figure 6.24d is similar to Rick's (1980: 150-
Tools (N = 26) 151, fig. 7.2) style 2D from Pachamachay and to Santoro's
(1989: 44, figs. 4.16, 4.17) Early Archaic Patapatane Phase
Scrapers 14
Types 6
bifaces from Patapatane. Figure 6.24e shows strong simi-
T1 3 larities to Rick's (1980: 150-151, fig. 7.2) type 2C. I should
T2 3 stress, however, that I am not making a case that these
T3 2 points are in fact representative of these styles but instead
T4 1 merely that the range of styles found at Asana is consis-
T5 4 tent with the range of materials known from Early Ar-
T6 1 chaic contexts elsewhere in the central and south-central
Stage IIIIII percussion bifaces 6 Andes. While dates from these contexts are generally con-
sistent with the dates from Asana, the examples from Asana
Edge tools 3
appear to fall within the early range ofthis time span, prob-
Projectile points 3 ably from 9000 to 8500 B.P. at the latest. After this date,
other styles appear in the assemblages.
Microwear Summary
An effort was made to determine the degree to which
Wet hide scraping 5 point fragments dating to the Asana IIJKhitufia Phase were
Dry hide scraping 2 in fact used or are better thought of as production fail-
ures. The most profitable approach to this problem is to
Semidry hide scraping
again use microwear analysis to determine if there are wear
Hide burnishing traces on the discarded fragments. Traces indicative of use
General hide working include linear projection traces on point tips and midsec-
tions which are created by impact and penetration into an
Woodworking/scraping 2 animal or other object (van Gijn 1991), impact fractures,
Bone scraping and wear associated with hafting, including diagnostic or
nondiagnostic polishes on flake scar ridges on the portion
Butchery
of the tool presumed to be hafted and remains of residues
General purpose tools such as gums or mastics used to fix the tool in the haft.
Twelve projectile point fragments dating to this phase were
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 6.24. Asana IIIKhitufia Phase projectile points. a: R36c-9-6178, PXXVII; b: S41a-l0-6061, PXXVII;
c: Q40a-6-6364, PXXVII; d: T36c-5-6292, PXXV; e: S41a-8-6159, PX:XV:
examined (table 6.8). Of these, eight show clear traces of
use or hafting, while four are most likely production fail-
ures. These data suggest that retooling was in fact impor-
tant during Asana IIIKhituiia Phase times after ca. 9000
B.P., a finding consistent with the evidence from the analysis
of reduction processes and by-products.
The ground stone tool assemblage exhibits consider-
able diversity in tool functions. Of the 18 tools in the as-
semblage, 8 served as manos or grinding stones, 3 were
used to process hides, 2 were pounding or battering tools,
3 were ovoids or balls that served most probably as sling
projectiles, and 2 were small batanes. Of the eight manos,
two were used to grind ochre for use in hide processing,
tool hafting, or possibly paint manufacture. Tiny particles
of ochre were found embedded in the microtopography
of the surface of these tools. Functions of the other grind-
ing tools, as well as those of the pounding tools, could not
be ascertained. None of the manos or batanes were heavily
used, but wear traces were evident on all of them. It is
clear that the batanes were used as grinding surfaces. Al-
though both are made from river cobbles, they show evi-
dence of some minor shaping, primarily pecking around
their margins. These are the first batanes devoted to grind-
ing functions found at Asana; however, batanes used solely
as anvils for bone crushing were found in Asana VPuruma
Phase times, and grinding tools not devoted to hide pro-
cessing appeared in the assemblage in Level PXXIX.
Site Structure Site structure in Level PXXIV is com-
plex. In part, this is due to the larger area opened, which
provided the opportunity to expose more domestic struc-
tures and their associated features. In this level, domestic
structures are fairly variable in their form, sometimes ap-
proximating circles and at other times roughly ovoid in
165
shape (figs. 6.25, 6.26). Ovoid or rectangular forms vary
in length from 2.2 to 2.7 m and in width from 1.5 to 1.7
m. The average amount ofarea covered by structures found
in the Asana IIIKhituiia Phase is 4 m 2, slightly smaller but
similar to the floor area of structures found in earlier lev-
els and in Asana VPuruma Phase times. The range offloor
area covered in Level PXXIv, for example, as measured
on the three complete structures is 3.7 to 5.5 m2. Infre-
quently, the structures have a few small postrllolds that
define their exteriors. These postrllolds are irregularly
spaced, and the edges of the floors are sometimes hard to
define. Small colluvial or stream channel rocks are some-
times found around the edges of the floors, and these prob-
ably served to anchor impermanent wall materials. Floors
of these structures are almost always a packed colluvial
sand frequently mixed with a small amount oflocally avail-
able white clay (fig. 6.27).
There are six archaeologically contemporaneous domes-
tic structures on the PXXIV floor. All were found on the
same surface, and while it is impossible to determine with
certainty whether these structures were occupied simulta-
neously' none have overlapping floor or feature contents,
and further, none of the floors were covered with colluvial
sands that would suggest an interval between the construc-
tion and occupation of the various structures on the sur-
face. There is evidence that Structures 2-5 were rebuilt
and relaid at various times in the past. This evidence con-
sists of sand-clay floors that could be distinguished during
the excavation process by a careful visual examination of
the microstratigraphy of the construction of the floors.
On each of these floors, levels of sand-clay could be lifted
from those immediately below them, suggesting a re-lay-
ing of building material. Although individual levels can be
distinguished, it is impossible to determine correlated se-
166 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

Table 6.8. Microwear Evidence on Biface Elements,

Asana !I!Khitufia Phase

PXXVI V3 8c-6-63 39
haft element with resin traces; spotty nondiagnostic polish

U3 9b-6-612 4
probable haft element; no resin but faint nondiagnostic polish on
high flake scar ridges on dorsal and ventral surfaces
PXXV T39b-5-63 75
probable haft element with possible resin traces
T39b-5-6376
point tip with projection traces
535b-6-6080
indeterminate base
PXXIII 53 7b-7-6098
haft element with nondiagnostic polish on high flake scar ridges
on dorsal and ventral surfaces
T40d-3-6068
point tip with linear projection traces
PXXII U39d-3-6007
point tip with clear projection traces

U40c-2-6176a
haft element with heavy abrasive wear perpendicular to flake scar
ridges interpreted as movement in haft
T39d-5-6193
clear production failure with no wear traces or resins
PXXI Q3 7b-5 -6253
point midsection with no wear traces or resins
PXX V35a-2-6002
production failure of haft element with no wear traces or resins
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 167

w
~
v

S Posl Cloy Bosin

CD Rock G Ground Stone
R CD Heorlh ~ Quebrodo
~// Midden l:::~ House Floor
Q
B Bolon (f.t~ Ash Stain
o, 3 6
P Met'ers

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

Fig. 6.25. Plan view, Level PXXIV

Fig. 6.26. Level PXXIV The residential structures are clearly visible as white patches on the occupational surface.
Darker areas are accumulations of organically stained soil interpreted as middens.
168 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands
Fig. 6.27. Detailed view of a residential structure on the Level PXXIV surface. Note the stained midden area
adjacent to the structure.
quences of construction events among these structures.
Despite these indicators of a palimpsest occupation, I will
proceed with the operational assumption that these struc-
tures were occupied simultaneously. It is possible, how-
ever, that two of the structures may have been occupied
either before or after the occupation of Structures 2-5.
The use of internal space in the domestic structures is
variable. Of the three complete structures, two have inter-
nal hearths, while the third does not. However, there are
two hearths within 1.5 m of the latter structure. Of the
three incomplete structures, one has a hearth immediately
adjacent to the eastern side of the structure, which is well
sheltered from the prevailing winds within the valley. None
of the internal hearths have quantities of burned bone or
small 2 cm in maximum dimension) bone fragments or
scrap (figs. 6.28, 6.29, 6.30), and only the hearth in Struc-
ture 5 has any lithic material within it. The paucity of bone
in these interior hearths indicates they were apparently
used primarily for heat or light and were not cooking
hearths or loci of secondary refuse disposal aside from
lithics. In the case of Structure 5, it appears that some lithic
reduction took place within it and that the hearth indeed
served as a dump for the reduction debris (fig. 6.25). A
minor amount of reduction appears to have been per-
formed as well within Structures 1 and 2.
The use of exterior space is likewise complex. One of
the most significant developments on this floor is the ap-
pearance of extensive middens, primarily in the central
portion of the excavation block (fig. 6.26). While middens
have been found in virtually every level, this is the first
level in which the middens were extensive in areal scope.
Moreover, the placement of middens has changed some-
what when compared to previous levels. Middens are now
found between structures; the area between Structures 2-
5 is covered with midden or ash deposits, some of them
very large. In appearance, middens are composed ofdarkly
stained organic soil, and carbon chunks and flecks are com-
mon. In fact, Structures 2-5 are built on top of these ex-
tensive middens, although as I argued previously, the re-
construction of these floors suggests that the middens and
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 169

w
~
v

S Post Cloy Basin

CD Rock G Ground Stone
R CD Hearth ~ Quebrada
-j// Midden (~; House Floor
Q
B Baton (~~ Ash Stain 0 Bone Density
oI 3
I
6
I
P Meiers
I
27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

Fig. 6.28. Size 1 bone density, Level PXXN, interval = 10.

S Post Cloy Basin

CD Rock G Ground Stone
R CD Hearth ~ Quebrada
-j// Midden (~; House Floor
Q

o
B Bolon (~~,
3
Ash Slain o
6
Bone Densily

I I I
P Meters

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

Fig. 6.29. Total burned bone density, Level PXXN, interval = 5.

170 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands

w i~
v

S Post :=-0:- Cloy Basin

CD Rock G Ground Stone
R Hearth ~ Quebrada
~'.?/ Midden l~; House Floor
Q

o
B Baton {~~~
3
Ash Stain o
6
Bone Density

P I I I
MeIers
1
27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

Fig. 6.30. Total bone density, Level PXXrv, interval = 20.

at least this particular block of structures can be seen as
archaeologically contemporaneous. Despite the relatively
homogeneous appearance of these middens, cultural ma-
terials are distributed through them in a patchy or spotty
manner. Most of the bone, including small bone, burned
bone, and total bone, is generally found in the same loca-
tions, although it is clear that certain portions of the
middens appear to be locations of repeated dumping or of
the dumping of a very large quantity of bone in a single
instant of time (figs. 6.28, 6.29, 6.30). These high-density
bone dump areas include a part of the midden just west of
Structure 1, the midden area just below Structure 1 and
above Structure 2, a dump between Structures 2 and 3,
and a dump below Structure 5. Each of these dumps con-
tains a mixture of burned bone and bone fragments ofvari-
ous sizes, and none of them appears to be a special deposit
such as a bone juice or grease dump. There is a high-den-
sity burned bone dump just above Structure 3 in a mixed
area of ash and midden (fig. 6.29). This dump may repre-
sent an instance (or repeated instances) of cooking hearth
cleaning or the remains of a meal in which bones were
cracked for marrow after cooking.
While high densities oflithic reduction by-products are
found in two midden areas also filled with bone debris (the
midden areas west and south of Structure 1 and the midden
area below Structure 5), there are a number of other areas
of high densities of lithics that do not contain bone waste
(fig. 6.31). These areas include the matrix and midden area
directly east of Structure 1, the area atop Structure 1, the
midden area just east of Structure 2, the midden zone be-
low Structure 5 and east of Structure 3, and the hearth
area within Structure 5. All structures have low densities
of lithic waste within their boundaries. With the excep-
tion of the midden area below Structure 1, there are rather
low densities of the smallest lithics that are also
coterminous with distributions of larger sizes of lithics.
These high-density loci oflithics are likely to be second-
ary dumps of materials generated in other areas of the site.
There are a number of areas that are probably outside
activity areas. To the north and west of Structure 1 is an
area situated behind a series oflarge colluvial boulders (fig.
6.26). One of the batanes is located here and is associated
with a small hearth and an ash dump. One of the manos
and a broken batan were discarded nearby. A series of
postmolds may have served as a frame for a wind screen or
some other feature association. This area is adjacent to
the very dense midden just to the south, and it seems likely
that this area is best interpreted as a kitchen or food-pro-
cessing area. A similar feature association is found just south
of Structure 5. This area is situated in the midden, and
near the other batan are four manos, one of which was
used in ochre grinding (fig. 6.25). Also, one of the batter-

S Post :-=-c- Cloy Basin
CD Rock G Ground Stone
R (]) Hearth ~ Quebrada
-:'-// Midden C; House Floor
Q
o
B Baton (~}~
3
Ash Slain
I I
P I
Meters
27 28 29 30 31 32 33
Fig. 6.31. Total lithic density, Level PXXrv, interval = 5.
ing tools is found just east of the batan. Whether this fea-
ture association is associated with Structure 5 is problem-
atic, since it is possible that these features and artifacts
may have been associated with a structure further to the
south that has been destroyed. None of the other struc-
tures on these floors have similar features, although the
hearth complex built around the colluvial rock on the east-
ern margin of Structure 4 may be an example of this activ-
ity area. A hide-burnishing tool and a battering ground
stone tool are found near this area, along with two hide-
scraping tools. Each of these areas appears to be a food-
processing and general outdoor activity zone. Aside from
these areas, no other areas appear to be the loci of activity
that left traces in the archaeological record. For the most
part, there is little true empty space on this floor; most of
the area is consumed with the structures themselves and
their associated activity areas. It is possible that the midden
areas between the structures were used for activity perfor-
mance, but since these zones were also loci of secondary
refuse disposal, this is impossible to ascertain.
Although the floors of the structures are for the most
part clean, there are some artifact associations that deserve
discussion. While none of the floors have morphological
tools (chipped or ground stone) found directly on them,
many of the structures have tools found along their mar-
gins or edges. Structure 1 has two ground stone tools found
Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 171
o
6
Lithic Density
34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46
along its southern edge, Structure 2 has a lightly used mano
on its north margin, Structure 3 has a kitchen rock along
its eastern margin, and Structure 5 has a multipurpose tool
as well as a butchery tool found along the interface of the
sand-clay floor and the surrounding matrix. While there
is always the possibility of the blurring and mixing of ma-
terials deposited at different times, the clear association of
these tools and the edges of the floors suggests the inten-
tional caching of these tools. Floor edges are well-known
loci for situational discard (Hayden and Cannon 1983),
and Binford (1983) has shown that tools and other objects
in Nunamiut winter camps often end up in these edge ar-
eas through a combination of processes, including inten-
tional caching and simple forgetfulness.
Interpretations The activity profile and use of space in
Level PXXIV continue the trends that were first observed
in PXXIX-the site serves as a temporary residential base
for the entire coresidential group, hide processing contin-
ues to be very important, and by implication given the full
range of scraper types present, complex clothing contin-
ues to be made. The use of both interior and exterior space
is well organized, and the apparent caching ofchipped and
ground stone tools near the domestic structures implies
that there was the anticipation of return to the site after
abandonment. The repair and re-Iaying of the sand-clay
172 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands
floors also suggest that reoccupation of the site was surely
anticipated. While the season of occupation still remains
undemonstrated, the austral summer or fall is most prob-
able given the importance of hides and hide working. The
wider range of activities performed on site indicates that
the length of occupation increased during PXXIV times
when compared to the start of the Asana IIIKhituiia Phase.
There are a number of new trends that make their ap-
pearance in this level or in those levels that postdate 9000
B.P. A wider range of activities are now performed on site,
including wood and bone working and the late-stage re-
duction ofbifacial tools, including projectile points. While
hide-processing tools continue to dominate the chipped
stone lithic assemblage, the appearance of tools used to
process other materials, production failures, and larger
numbers of exhausted stone tools suggest that gear main-
tenance and retooling have become more important by
PXXIV times than at the beginning of the phase.
Yet another important change is the possibility that
Asana during PXXIV times was occupied by groups of dif-
ferent sizes. Structures 1 and 6 may have been occupied as
individual structures, whereas the two pairs of structures
in the central portion of the excavation block may have
been occupied contemporaneously. This finding suggests
that the place of Asana during PXXIV times varied sig-
nificantly, ranging from a temporary residential base of at
least two related groups of individuals to a residential base
or camp of a single group. Unfortunately, due to the blur-
ring induced by midden accumulation and secondary refuse
deposition atop Structure 1, it is not possible to determine
if the range of activities performed in that structure was
substantially different from those performed in the Struc-
tures 2-5 complex. Close similarities in the use of space
between these structures, particularly in the kitchen zones,
suggest that activity performance was likely to be similar.
In contrast, while Structure 6 is similar in form to the Struc-
tures 2-5 complex, there is no kitchen zone, no build-up
of midden, and no artifact associations that are indicative
of activity performance. The absence of these indicators
suggests that the utilization of Structure 6 was very brief,
and if so, its utilization was qualitatively different from
that of either Structure 1 or the Structures 2-5 complex.
Summary: Asana II/Khituiia Phase Occupation
Once again, it is possible to summarize and characterize
the nature ofAsana IIIKhituiia Phase settlement by refer-
ence to three principal issues: the place of the site within
its settlement system, the scale of mobility, and the struc-
ture of the activity profile.
It is clear that Asana served as a temporary residential
base during this phase, continuing a trend begun in the
later levels of the Asana I1Puruma Phase. Both tool inven-
tories and activity profiles increase substantially in diver-
sity during this phase, and the nature of the activities per-
formed, especially hide processing and food preparation
within fixed kitchen areas, tends to suggest that the entire
coresidential group was present at the site. Densities of
both lithic and bone wastes increase steadily throughout
the phase, indicating a longer term of occupation of the
site as well. In PXXIX and PXXIv, the use of both inte-
rior and exterior space is well organized, a hallmark ofsites
used as long-term residential bases as observed in the eth-
nographic record of modern foraging peoples. Further-
more, the domestic structures in both levels are well con-
structed and defined. Their interiors are cleaned, and there
is evidence for the caching of curated artifacts along the
margins of many of them, with both lines of evidence sup-
porting a hypothesis of anticipated return. Taken together,
these data on site structure present a picture of an increas-
ing span of occupation at Asana throughout the phase.
The presence of individual, spatially separate structures
on the PXXIV floor, however, suggests that there was some
variability in the way in which Asana was used during the
phase. In PXXIX times, there is no apparent variability in
the use of space at the site, and there is no clear evidence
for the palimpsest occupation of the level. The site was
used as a residential base for an unspecified period of time.
While this pattern continues in PXXIv, the presence of at
least two "outlier" structures with some differences in ar-
tifact and feature associations argues for a number of
changes in place of the site during the period of time rep-
resented by PXXIv. These individual structures suggest
two distinct patterns: one that generally reflects use as a
residential base but by a smaller group and another that
reflects a much shorter term occupation by a similarly sized
group. Exactly what this set of changes in place means is
unclear. Binford (1982), for example, notes that frequent
changes in place of a particular location within a settle-
ment system are to be expected and are a reflection ofshift-
ing constellations of resource availability. Changes in the
resource structure are to be expected in high-mountain
environments, and thus changes in place are an expected
response to this variability.
Although the frequency of residential mobility cannot
be estimated because knowledge of the settlement system
is incomplete, it is possible to discuss the scale of mobility
and to make a series of informed speculations about the
structure of the settlement system. The Asana II/Khitufia
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 173

Phase appears to mark the beginning of permanent settle-
mentin elevations above 2,500 m. This hypothesis is based
upon the following observations: no residential bases are
known within the Rio Asana valley below 2,500 m, and
indeed, Asana is the only known residential base within
the valley known for this phase. Chipped stone lithic raw
materials include types from the lower high sierra, high
sierra, puna rim, and puna, but no coastal material. It is
clear that there is no relationship between tool type and
raw material, but there appears to be a significant interac-
tion between the amounts of certain raw material types
and morphological tools found at Asana. As can be seen in
table 6.9, the proportion of tools made of lower high-si-
erra raw materials is substantially greater than the quan-

Table 6.9. Asana IIIKhitufia Phase Tool and Debitage Comparisons

Tool and Raw Material Type Comparisons

Raw Material by Zone

Lower High Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim Puna Total

Biface 0 7 0 1 8
1.47368 5.05263 0.84211 0.63158 8
-1.21395 0.86642 -0.91766 0.46357 0

Point 0 3 0 1 4
0.73684 2.52632 0.42105 0.31578 4
-0.85839 0.29802 -0.64889 1.21756 0

Scraper 7 14 4 1 26
4.78947 16.42110 2.73684 2.05263 26
1.01007 -0.59745 0.76354 -0.73472 0

Total 7 24 4 3 38
7 24 4 3 38
0 0 0 0 0

Table contents
Count
Expected values
Standardized residuals
1 = 8.510 with 6 dE

Tool, Raw Material, and Debitage Comparisons

Lower High Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim Puna

Tools 19%3 61% 11 % 8%

Debitage 5% 76% 15% 2%

apercentage values refer to proportion of tools and debitage made of raw materials from each zone.
174 The Discovery and Initial Permanent Settlement ofthe Highlands
tity of lower high-sierra debitage, and a similar pattern is
found when looking at tools made of puna raw materials
and puna-sourced debitage. Some retooling apparently
took place at lower high-sierra and puna sites, and these
tools were returned to Asana, where they were used to
exhaustion and discarded. Since there are no known resi-
dential bases in either of these two zones during this phase,
it is probable that these tools were procured during logis-
tical forays to these two environmental zones. The scale
of mobility, then, within the Rio Asana valley ranges from
the lower high sierra (ca. 25-30 km below or downstream
from Asana) to the puna (ca. a minimum of 25-30 km
above or upstream from Asana), a total linear distance
within the valley of 80 to 85 km.
If there are no other residential bases within the valley
and only logistical camps, which is the pattern suggested
by settlement pattern survey, it is reasonable to ask where
are the other residential bases since it is clear that Asana
was at no time the scene of year-round habitation during
this phase. If, as I suggest, such residential bases are not
found at elevations below 2,500 m, the most likely loca-
tion for them is in nearby and parallel valley systems in
locations similar to that of Asana. The most likely candi-
date for the location of this residential base is the Rio
Torata, ca. 22.5 km to the north. Using the walking model,
the travel time to the nearest point in the valley at the
elevation of Asana is 9.5 hours. This valley is very similar
to that of the Rio Asana and is comparable in resource
productivity and availability and area available on the val-
ley floor suitable for habitation. Given roughly similar
productivity and the essentially aseasonal pulse of the en-
vironment in these tropical mountains, the basic determi-
nants of the timing and frequency of residential mobility
according to the model developed earlier would be increas-
ing travel times for the most important subsistence re-
sources, which in turn would be determined by the vari-
ability in their predictability, abundance, and availability.
Movement would occur, then, when resources were un-
available or were deemed too difficult (i.e., too costly ei-
ther in time or actual energy costs) to procure. It is obvi-
ous that valley-to-valley and zone-to-zone variability in
resource availability would promote the development of
settlement systems in which frequent changes of place in
locations would be common.
It is also clear that cultural adaptations to high eleva-
tion are firmly in place by PXXIV times. The range of
scraper types achieves its maximum in this level, and mi-
crowear analyses confirm that hide preparation continues
to be the dominant activity performed on site. Domestic
structures are for the most part well constructed, another
effective protection against the combined effects of cold
and hypoxia. Perhaps the best line of evidence, albeit indi-
rect, is the assemblage evidence for the increasing length
of time of which Asana was occupied during this phase, a
trend initiated in the Asana VPuruma Phase. A greater
range of activities performed, including wood and bone
working, bifacial reduction, and general tool maintenance,
argues for an increased span of occupation at the site. If
correct, this implies that cultural adaptations were indeed
successful to maintain these groups at high elevation and
further that permanent residence at high elevation had
been achieved sometime around 9000 B.P.
Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline:
Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.
This chapter deals with three phases in the prehistory of
Asana: Asana III/]ilafia (8700-7800 B.P.), Asana IV/
Muruq'uta (7800-6000 B.P.), and Asana V/Pisi Mara (6000-
5000 B.P.). These phases span the end of the Early Archaic
(Asana III/]ilafia) and the entire Middle Archaic (Asana
IV/Muruq'uta and Asana V/Pisi Mara). From 8700 to ca.
6500 B.P., Asana is characterized by three important social
processes: population growth as measured by numbers of
structures presumed to be simultaneously occupied; the
relative stability of the place of the site in the settlement
system, with the site continuing as a residential base; and
the emergence of indicators of social complexity, prima-
rily public or nonresidential architecture surrounded by
domestic architecture. After 6500 B.P. it appears that these
trends begin a relatively rapid decline. Changes in place
of the site occur with frequency, public structures are aban-
doned and no longer constructed, the length of occupa-
tion ofthe site apparently shortens considerably, and finally,
by the Asana V/Pisi Mara Phase, the occupation is charac-
terized by extremely brief, short-term uses of the site. The
archaeological indicators of these trends will be explored
and placed into a broader regional context.
Asana IIIIJilana Phase
There are 13 levels in the Asana III/]ilafia Phase in the
East Block of the site (PXIX-PVII) and three levels in the
West Block of the site (XXVI-XXIV). Two levels will be
examined in detail: PXVII (ca. 8300 B.P.) and PXIV (ca.
8100 B.P.). Levels PXIII-PVII in the East Block have been
seriously disturbed by major landslides; PXIV is the final
level of this phase that is reasonably intact and available
for analysis. Unfortunately, no single layer dating from ca.
8100 to 7800 B.P. was deemed suitable for detailed analy-
sis since each was either heavily eroded (in the case of the
East Block) or had minimal contiguous exposures (less than
4 m 2 in the case of the West Block).
Level PXVII (ca. 8300 B.P.)
The area exposed in Level PXVII is 148 m 2 , making it
one of the largest contiguous areas opened at the site. The
level for the most part is intact, although a number of small
quebrada channels have cut into it in the northwestern
corner (fig. 7.1). These have not disturbed any house floors
or feature concentrations to any significant degree.
Faunal Data Although a large number of faunal re-
mains were recovered in Level PXVII, the great majority
(86%) are less than 2 cm in maximum dimension, making
this one of the most fragmented assemblages found at the
site (table 7.1). This observation is reflected in the rela-
tively low weight of the faunal materials (728 g) and their
low density (846 fragments/m 3). Less than 1% of these
fragments could be identified to species, and of those that
were identifiable, all were assigned to the camelid aggre-
gate. No evidence of deer was encountered. MNI counts
are also low, and no small or medium-sized mammals were
discovered. Because of the extreme fragmentation of the
assemblage, the packet data are of little value since counts
for each identifiable packet element are very low (table
7.1). Likewise, no useful information on animal size could
be extracted from the assemblage. The continued pres-
176 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

x
w

v ..

S
Posl Kitchen Rock
()) Rock Ground Slone
(- -)
R

Q
1([)
N
~///
Heorlh
Midden
--'
fit'
Clay Basin ~
House Floor
Ash Stain
Quebrada

P I 0 3
I
Meters
6
I

.,
27 2B 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 4B 49 50

Fig. 7.1. Plan view, Level PXVII.

ence of phalanges, metapodials, and tooth fragments sug-

Table 7.1. Faunal Data Summary, Level PXVII
gests that whole animals were returned to the site. Be-
yond these bare facts, little can be said of the behavioral
Packet Data" implications of the faunal assemblage. It is clear, however,
than marrow extraction, probably accomplished during
eating, was very important on site since the majority of
2 3 4 5 the bones have been splintered into small fragments.
8 12 9 4 o
Lithic Data Despite the relatively large area opened in
.24 .36 .27 .13 o Level PXVII, counts of lithic materials are surprisingly
N = 2,504 small (N = 679). Both total weight (414 g) and density (140
fragments/m 3) are correspondingly small. As in the pre-
MNI=3
ceding levels, assemblage raw materials are dominated by
Phalanges = 3 high-sierra types (79.9%), followed by puna rim (11.9%),
Metapodials = 12 lower high sierra (4.7%), and puna (3.4%). Twenty-two
different types of raw material are present, but of these
Tooth fragments = 66
only three (Type 4, Type 11, and Type 21, all high-sierra
materials) are found in quantities greater than 50 pieces.
"The horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that
Data on reduction show that each of the three material
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the types with counts greater than 50 is characterized by re-
assemblage. duction devoted to tool maintenance, resharpening, or
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 177

retooling, with bifaces or other tools made either at other
sites or at on-site locations not sampled in these excava-
tions (fig. 7.2). This pattern of reduction is apparently typi-
cal of most of the Early Archaic levels at Asana.
Chipped stone tools and the microwear evidence ob-
tained from them continue to support the hypothesis of a
wide range of activities performed on site (table 7.2). Al-
though the number of tools is somewhat smaller than in
previous levels, the microwear evidence shows that hide
preparation is still important, along with other mainte-
nance activities, such as wood and bone scraping, and pro-
cessing activities, such as butchery.
Projectile points and biface fragments continue to ap-
pear in the assemblage. While it is unlikely that reduction
of these points or bifaces took place on site given the re-
duction data, it is likely that at least some of these tools
were modified and then discarded on site. That is, the
points and bifaces were once in use and discarded during
retooling, or Stage II and III bifaces were brought to the
site and were reduced to final form. This finding is consis-
tent with the generally small size of the debitage present
and the very small number of cortical flakes and reduction
by-products recovered in the level.
While both of the points found in this level are frag-
mentary and thus cannot be assigned to a typological cat-
egory, a small number of points from other levels of the
Asana IIIIJilafia Phase can be related to stylistic traditions.
These points span the later portion of the Early Archaic
and range in date from ca. 8600 to 7800 B.P. (fig. 7.3). Four
of the points can be related to previously defined forms.
Figure 7.3a, found in Level PXIX and dated to ca. 8600
B.P., is similar to points found in the Patapatane Phase of
northern Chile, which dates to ca. 9500 B.P. (Santoro 1989:
fig. 3.2); it is somewhat similar to northern Chilean points
from the Late Archaic Hakenasa Phase, which ranges from
ca. 6000 to 4000 B.P. (Santoro 1989: figs. 6.41, 6.42); it is
also similar to Rick's (1980: fig. 7.2d) Type Group 2D from
Pachamachay, dated from 9000 to 7000 B.P. Figure 7.3b,
also found in PXIX, is similar to Rick's (1980: fig. 7.5c)
Type Group 3D. The points in figure 7.3d and e, recov-
ered from Levels PXII (ca. 8000 B.P.) and PX (ca. 7800
B.P.), respectively, are very similar to Rick's (1980: figs. 7.4f,
7.5d) Types 3B and 3E, dated between 9000 and 7000 B.P.
The ground stone tool assemblage is also diverse. There
are two manos, one ofwhich was used to grind ochre, three
hide-processing tools, one pounding stone, two stone balls
interpreted as sling projectiles, and two small batanes, both
with signs of intentional shaping. The PXVII assemblage
is very similar to other Early Archaic ground stone tool
assemblages described previously, especially that ofPXXIv.

Table 7.2. Lithic Data Summary, Level PXVII

Tools (N = 19)
50 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - . - - ,
Scrapers 10
Types 4
A Freehand
40 - Stage 111I11 percussion blanks 6
A Bi face, Stage 2
(2 whole, 2 broken)
...J
Cl ABipolar
U
30 -
Edge tools
I-
0:
o
U
Projectile points 2
I- (both broken)
Z
l&I 20 -
U
Q: Microwear Summary (6 tools examined)
l&I
~

A B i face, Stage 3-4 Small Tool Hide

AMaintenance
10 - Small Tool
Production Wood scraping
A B i face, Stage 5 21 II 4
Bonescraping
o - f - - - - , - - , - - - - - - y l - - - - . - - I -- - - -
rl-----t
o 10 20 30 40 50 Butchery
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-3 RATIO
Indeterminate 2
Fig. 7.2. Flake aggregate analysis, Level PXVII.
178 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

eM

Fig. 7.3. Asana IIIl]ilafia Phase projectile points. a: N41d-21PXIXj b: T42d/PXIXj c: R35a/PXVIIIj
d: X40a-lIPXIIj e: W51d/PX.

Site Structure As in previous levels, the use of space on
Level PXVII is extremely complex. Numerous residential
structures are found on the surface, and since some of them
overlap, it is clear that we are dealing with a complex, pal-
impsest occupation of the site during these times.
Domestic architecture in this level is well constructed
and easily defined. Structures contain floors composed of
a clay-sand mixture, a construction technique first observed
in level PXXIX. The floors have been made with varying
quantities of a locally available white clay that has been
mixed with the natural sand matrix of the level and then
puddled in roughly circular and ovoid forms. The floors
themselves vary in thickness from 1 to 2 em, and a num-
ber show clear signs of having been reconstructed or relaid.
The number of these reconstructions, however, is impos-
sible to quantify. Very few postmolds are found surround-
ing these structures, although some have colluvial rocks
or river cobbles around their margins that were probably
used to anchor brush or hide walls. In some cases, houses
are placed between or beside large colluvial boulders, which
appear to have been used as props for other wall materials.
These structures are remarkably consistent in size despite
some variation in their shapes (table 7.3).
The use of interior space of these structures differs from
that observed in earlier levels. None of the structures on
these floors have interior hearths, although three struc-
tures (1, 3, and 6) have ash lenses on their floors. The lenses
may have been very shallow surface hearths, but in any
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 179

Table 7.3. Strucmre Sizes, Levels PXVII and PXIV case, there are no features within these structures that re-
semble the heating and lighting hearths seen in the resi-
dential structures of Levels PXXIV and PXXIX. How-
Structure Sizes, PXVII ever, some retooling or tool maintenance may have taken
Structure 4 5.2 m 2 place within Structures 3, 4, 5, 9, and 10 judging from
scatters of small lithic debris found on their floors or im-
Structure 5 5.3 m 2
mediately adjacent to them (fig. 7.4). This debris may rep-
Structure 7 4.8 m 2 resent slightly larger waste accumulated within the struc-
ture during reduction and then pushed to the margins of
Structure 8 5.1 m 2
the structure during floor cleaning. Large lithic and bone
Structure 9 5.1 m 2 waste is also found on the floor of Structure 3 (figs. 7.5,
Structure 11 4.9 m 2 7.6), and it is likely this material, along with the small lithic
debris, represents secondary refuse disposal rather than in
Mean structure size 5.1 m 2
situ activity performance. No other traces of activity per-
Median structure size 5.1 m 2 formance were found in any of the structures.
Structure Sizes, PXIV The use of exterior space reflects a number of activi-
ties. There is at least one probable kitchen area adjacent
Structure 1 6.3 m 2 to Structure 6. Within this area are two batanes, a set of
Structure 3 5.3 m 2 hearths and their associated ash dumps and lenses, and
deeply stained midden soils (fig. 7.1). There are moderate
Structure 4 4.0m 2
quantities of small and large bones in this area (figs. 7.6,
Structure 5 7.4 m 2 7.7) but relatively few lithics. The distribution of bone
Mean structure size 5.8 m 2 waste is consistent with in situ bone preparation and mar-
row removal through bone crushing.
Median structure size 5.8 m 2
Another activity area is the complex of clay basins and
darkly stained midden soil located above Structure 3 and

Xi

wi
v ..
u :\J-
.' I
T
2

S
Post Kitchen Rock
Cb Rock
,--\
Ground Stone
R Cf)

Q
1N
~///
Hearth
Midden
--'
1it~
Cloy Basin ~
House Floor
Ash Stain
Quebrada Lithic
Density
3
P I 0
I

Meters
6
I

, !
27 2B 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Fig. 7.4. Size 1 lithic density, Level PXVII, interval = 1.

180 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.p.

x
w

~
S
Post Kitchen Rock
Cl:l Rock Ground Stone
R @
~///
Hearth
Midden
-f;J-'
(- -\
House Floor
Ash Stain
Q N Clay Basin ~ Quebrada 0 Lithic
Dens i ty

P I 0
Me ter s
3
I
6

-,
27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Fig. 7.5. Total lithic density, Level PXVII, interval = 5.

to the west of Structures 4, 5, and 6. When first encoun-
tered during excavation, it was presumed that these clay
features represented an eroded structure. However, fur-
ther excavation revealed that each of the three basins was
constructed separately, and further, each had a shallow
basin shape in cross section. Moreover, each had been hard-
ened by heat. The basins are surrounded by hearths, some
ash lenses, and very darkly stained patches of midden or
organically stained soils. Each basin had a rock embedded
within it, with each rock showing signs of battering. The
single ground stone tool used for pounding is located ad-
jacent to one of the basins. Three sets of postmolds sur-
round the complex on three sides and may have supported
a screen that sheltered the users of the feature from the
prevailing valley winds. Other artifact associations include
relatively small quantities of small bone and burned bone

x
w
v

S
Post Kitchen Rock
Cl:l Rock
-,
Ground Stone
--'
(-
R

Q
1
N
@
~ '//
Hearth
Midden
Clay 8asin
.f;ti
~
House Floor
Ash Stain
Quebrada

P I 0 3
I

Meters
6

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Fig. 7.6. Total bone density, Level PXVII, interval = 10.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 181

x
w

u
T

S Kitchen Rock
Ground Stone
R Hearth (_-_"',' House Floor
M idden 1.i;~ Ash Stain 0
Q Clay Basin ~ Quebrada Bone
Density
o 3 6
p
Meters
27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Fig. 7.7. Size 1 bone density, Level PXVII, interval = 10.

fragments directly atop and immediately surrounding the
basins (figs. 7.6, 7.7). Also, two very dense dumps of both
large and small bone fragments are found just east of the
feature complex, along with slightly smaller dumps of
burned bones (figs. 7.7, 7.8). Relatively little reduction
debris is found within or near the feature complex.
Given this set of artifact and feature associations, it is
probable that this feature was devoted to bone processing
and crushing and possibly the making of bone juice or
grease. The basins were deliberately constructed, each with
its own embedded anvil. The basins were probably made
to catch the bone splinters and fragments and to keep them
relatively clean by keeping them off of the surrounding
soil matrix. The adjacent hearth was used to process the
bones or marrow, and the darkly stained midden soil is a
likely by-product of making grease or juice. Although the

x
w

S
KR Kitchen Rack
00 (- -j
G Ground Stone
R ([) --' Hause Floor
~/// Midden {i~; Ash Stain
Q Clay Basin ~ Quebrada 0
0 3 6
p
Meiers
-,
27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Fig. 7.8. Total burned bone density, Level PXVII, interval = 5.

182 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.
bones are more fragmented than is predicted by the model
of bone juice or grease processing proposed earlier, it nev-
ertheless appears that this processing was highly organized.
This is a classic example ofa space-consuming activity area.
A number of secondary refuse deposits are found on
this floor, including burned bone dumps near Structure 3
and between Structures 9 and 10 and large amounts of
small bone waste mixed with lithic debris around Struc-
tures 8, 9, and 10. Most of these materials are found within
discrete dumps and are not uniformly scattered across the
surface of the site (figs. 7.5, 7.6, 7.7). These dumps are
most likely reflections of cleanup ofkitchen areas and other
activity areas associated with the occupation of a number
of different residential structures. There are two major
areas of empty space: along the eastern margin of the site
and along the northern margin of the excavation block.
There is clear evidence for a palimpsest occupation on
this level. There are a number of overlapping structures
in the central portion of the site, including Structures 3-6
(fig. 7.1). Of these, Structure 4 is the earliest occupied,
followed by either Structure 3 or 5, then Structure 6. All
of the remaining structures are on the same "floor," al-
though it should be clear that the remaining structures
can be considered to be only archaeologically contempo-
raneous, and it is probable that these are multiple occupa-
tional events on this level.
Interpretations The place ofAsana in its settlement sys-
tem during PXVII times was a temporary residential base
with multiple occupations. Structures 1 and 2 probably
represent one occupation, while Structures 3-11 repre-
sent other, more complex and overlapping occupations of
the site. While it is not possible to determine whether more
than a single pair of structures was used during any indi-
vidual occupation of the site, the redundant patterning of
structure and facility location, the significant investment
in house and facility construction-such as the clay basin
pounding areas and kitchen zones associated with Struc-
tures 4 and 9-the cleaned floors, and the placement of
middens a distance away from residences are all charac-
teristic indicators of residential bases as observed in the
ethnoarchaeological record. Likewise, these indicators ar-
gue that reoccupation of the site was anticipated by its in-
habitants. The diversity of artifact types present, as well as
the kinds ofactivities performed as indicated by microwear
evidence, also supports the hypothesis of PXVII Asana as
a residential base. Evidence as to the season of occupation
continues to be scant, but since hides and hide processing
activities are of considerable importance, it is most prob-
able the site was occupied in the austral summer or fall in
order to obtain high-quality hides.
The scale of the settlement system shows few changes
from that indicated in earlier levels. Although settlement
data for the Early Archaic are scant, debitage of raw mate-
rials from all major environmental zones other than the
coast indicates that mobility ranged from the lower high
sierra to the puna. Looking more carefully at the relation-
ship between tool form, debitage frequencies, and raw
material type, it is clear that many of the tools discarded at
Asana were in fact made in different environmental zones
(table 7.4). While there is no statistically significant rela-
tionship between tool form and raw material type, indi-
cating that there was no apparent preference for any par-
ticular raw material type to make a particular tool form,
there is a strong degree of asymmetry in the relationship
between the relative proportions of tools and debitage as
monitored by raw material type. More tools than expected
are manufactured of both lower high-sierra and puna raw
materials, many fewer tools than expected are made ofpuna
rim raw materials, and the quantity of tools made of high-
sierra raw materials is roughly equivalent. These findings
suggest that some tools of lower high-sierra and puna raw
materials were made elsewhere, brought on site, used, and
then discarded. The small amounts of debitage of these
raw material types are consistent with tool maintenance,
resharpening, and some retooling. In contrast, many fewer
tools than expected are made of puna rim raw materials,
suggesting that some puna rim raw material was obtained
during logistical forays, some reduction of it took place at
the site, and any tools made were taken from the site and
used to exhaustion elsewhere.
Activities performed on site show a full range of do-
mestic tasks, including wood and bone scraping, food
preparation, and most important, hide processing, which
continues to dominate activity performance on site. Al-
though only four different scraper types are found in
PXVII, all six scraper types are present in most of the other
levels pertaining to the Asana IIII]ilafia Phase. This in turn
implies that hide clothing or shelter manufacture contin-
ues to structure the use of Asana during this phase. The
diversity of artifacts and activities and the presence of ob-
vious kitchen zones and special activity areas devoted to
food preparation strongly suggest that individuals of both
sexes occupied the site.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 183

Table 7.4. Asana IIIIJilafia Phase Tool and Debitage Comparisons

Tool and Raw Material Type Comparisons

Raw Material by Zone

Lower High Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim Puna Total

Biface 3 12 2 4 21
2.69231 14 1.34615 2.96154 21
0.18752 -0.53452 0.56355 0.60344 0

Point 1 17 0 2 20
2.56410 13.33330 1.28205 2.82051 20
-0.97678 1.00416 -1.13228 -0.48856 0
Scraper 6 23 3 5 37
4.74359 24.66670 2.37179 5.21795 37
0.57687 -0.33557 0.40791 -0.09541 0
Total 10 52 5 11 78
10 52 5 11 78
0 0 0 0 0
Table contents
Count
Expected values
Standardized residuals
Chi squared = 5.107, 6df, not significant

Tool, Raw Material, and Debitage Comparisons

Lower High Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim Puna

Tools 12.8%a 66.7% 6.4% 14.0%

Debitage 4.4% 57.9% 35.3% 2.4%

apercentage values refer to proportion of tools and debitage made of raw materials from each zone.
184 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.p.
Level PXlV (ca. 8100 B.P.)
Level PXIV is the last one in the East Block that is mostly
intact and in which architecture and site organization pat-
terns can be defined. Levels PI to PXIII have been se-
verely disturbed by a number of landslides. The central
portion of the excavated area on PXIV has been destroyed
by a landslide which has cut through it, and there is also
some landslide damage on the western margin of the block
(fig. 7.9). Quebrada channels have cut into the block from
the northeast and have damaged one of the domestic struc-
tures on the surface. Portions of the level adjacent to the
margins of the landslide cut have also been eroded, and
some of the original surface has been lost to this process.
Despite this, domestic structures and associated facilities
are present on the surface of the excavation block which,
including the area disturbed by landslide, totals 152 m 2.
Faunal Data Bone counts are relatively low in Level
PXIv, due probably to the disturbance the level has suf-
fered (table 7.5). This disturbance has lowered the density
of faunal remains (546/m 3), but the weight of the frag-
ments (1.1 kg) is high in relation to the counts. This is one
of the least fragmented assemblages at Asana, with only
70% of it composed of fragments less than 2 cm in maxi-
mum dimension. MNI counts are consequently somewhat
higher than in many levels. This low fragmentation rate
AA
O,r /~\
,
z ,I
I'
\ 00
4 /
(
y ~/,0 Midden
x
w
v
t I
33 34 35 36 37 38
Fig. 7.9. Plan view, Level PXIV
has also made it possible to identify more effectively dif-
ferent animal species; 7.6% of the NISP (N = 126) could
be identified as to species, and of these, 42% are remains
of taruca, while 58% have been assigned to the camelid
aggregate. No small or medium-sized mammals were en-
countered in the assemblage. Regarding age/size data,
7.6% of the assemblage could be identified as to age; 17%
of the faunal assemblage was derived from immature or
small animals. Finally, 41 % of the fragments were burned.
Packet and element data show a number of interesting
patterns. Given the size of the assemblage, the number of
phalanges, 36, is especially large and is greater than ex-
pected (fig. 7.10). This, plus expected frequencies of
metapodials and tooth fragments for the assemblage size,
suggests that whole animals have been returned to the site
for consumption and processing. The large number of
phalanges is something of a puzzle, but it may be explained
by the relatively high proportion of the NISP from fore-
and hindquarters, which in this case comprise 69% of the
NISP. These data suggest that elements from these pack-
ets were selectively consumed on site, while trunk, head,
and neck elements were either processed for future con-
sumption or taken away from the site to be consumed else-
where. This pattern of packet utilization is different than
the others observed in the Early Archaic levels at Asana.
In those levels, elements from the trunk and forequarters
were apparently consumed on site, while hindquarters were
Post G Ground Stone
Rock ~ Lands I i de
~
CD Hearth Quebrada
:f;~i~~~ Ash Stain
I I I
39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 185

Table 7.5. Faunal Data Summary, Level PXIV routinely absent or underrepresented in the assemblage.
The summed utility of the fore- and hindquarters packets
is equivalent or slightly greater than the summed utility of
Packet Data a the trunk packet (summed fore- and hindquarters packets
208-258; summed trunk packet, 209; see table 4.18), so
that in terms of economic value as measured by the FUI,
2 3 4 5
these packets are roughly equivalent. However, in terms
15 48 22 34 o of assessing the transport costs of each packet, there are
.13 .40 .18 .29 o some interesting differences. Using Mengoni's (1991: table
3) measures of the relative weight for each anatomical part
N = 1,660 of the llama, it is possible to calculate a weight-to-FUI for
MNl=5 each packet. This is accomplished by summing the rela-
tive weight of each element of each packet and dividing
Phalanges =36
this figure into the aggregate FUI for that packet. A higher
Metapodials = 24 weight-to-FUI ratio implies that there is more economic
Tooth fragments =68 value for each additional unit ofweight. The summed trunk
packet has a higher weight-to-FUI ratio (5:2) than the
summed fore- and hindquarters weight-to-FUI ratio (4:4
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that to 5:5). From an optimality perspective, it is clearly better
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the to transport the trunk packet than the other two if in fact
assemblage.
large quantities of meat and bone are desired. This expec-
tation is consistent with the model of high-mountain mo-
bility developed earlier, which argues that transport deci-
sions are generally made to maximize return while simul-
taneously minimizing effort.

AA
o/~ /~\ Post G Ground Stone

z I
r \
\ 00 Rock LE Londslide
am
/
4 I
(
@ Heorth Quebrado
y ///,(, Midden {~~~~ Ash Stoin

x
w

R
N
Q
0
I 3
I I I I
P Meters
"1 I I I I I I
27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

Fig. 7.10. Size 1 bone density, Level PXIv, interval = 10.

186 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

Lithic Data Counts of lithic material in Level PXIV are
extremely low (N = 92); both density (301m 3) and weight
(only 34 g) are correspondingly small. These findings can-
not be easily explained by invoking disturbance since fre-
quencies of faunal materials are relatively high despite this
problem. The most parsimonious explanation is that lithic
reduction was of almost no importance in the activity pro-
file of the site during the occupation of this level. Of the
materials present, those from the high sierra continue to
dominate the assemblage (85%), followed by puna rim
(11 %) and lower high-sierra (4%) materials. Puna raw
materials are absent from the assemblage. Only seven raw
material types are found, a figure that falls outside of the
95% confidence interval for all assemblages (14-23 types
per assemblage; mean number of types, 18.8). While it is
possible that this can be explained by noting that the sample
size is very small, this begs the question of why the lithic
assemblage is so small in the first place. Again, the most
parsimonious explanation is that reduction was oflittle im-
portance at Asana during the occupation of this level. Since
no raw material type exceeded a count of 50 reduction by-
products, no flake aggregate analysis was performed.
The Inicrowear analysis of the meager chipped stone
tool assemblage indicates that hide processing was the
dominant activity conducted on site (table 7.6). There is
no evidence ofbiface manufacture, wood or bone process-
ing, or other activities conducted with stone tools. The
number ofscraper types, as well as the kinds ofhide-work-
Table 7.6. Lithic Data Summary, Level PXIV
Tools (N = 4)
Scrapers 4 projection of the prepared clay-sand floor. No artifacts are
Types 3 associated with any of these features, nor are there any
Stage 11/111 percussion blanks o obvious changes in soil color or texture within them.
Edge tools o Structures 3 and 5. Given the lack of associated artifacts,
Projectile points o the function of these features is unknown, although some
Microwear Summary (4 tools examined)
Dry hide
Wet hide
Semidry hide
Indeterminate
ing traces present on them, continues to support the hy-
pothesis of clothing or shelter construction. This assem-
blage, at least in terms of the microwear evidence, is very
similar to the PXXX and PXXIX lithic assemblages and
less similar to those of PXXIV and PXVII.
The diversity of the ground stone tool assemblage is
likewise limited and includes five mano-type grinding
stones, one of which was used to process ochre, two hide-
processing tools, and five small stone balls probably used
as projectiles for weapons. No batanes or pounding or
crushing stones were recovered, although it is likely that
the latter use category may not have been easily recog-
nized in the assemblage if in fact the use of pounding or
crushing stones was situational and ad hoc.
Site Structure While there are a number of broad simi-
larities between Level PXIV and Level PXVII, there are
significant differences as well (fig. 7.9). Domestic struc-
tures continue to be constructed of the puddled clay-sand
mixture. They are essentially identical in form to those
found in PXVII (and to those in the Asana II/Khituiia
Phase), but they have a wider range of variability in size,
and their mean and median sizes are larger than those
found in previous levels (table 7.3). Unlike the structures
on either PXVII or Px::xIv, none of the structures on these
floors show any sign of reconstruction or re-Iaying. The
organization of internal space and facility placement are
similar in that there are no internal hearths used for light
or heat, although some of the structures have ash lenses
on their surfaces. The lenses may indicate the use ofsmall,
impermanent hearths within these structures on a situ-
ational basis. A new feature type-complex postmold pat-
terns in a circular or ovoid form-appears in a number of
structures. The best preserved is in Structure 1 and is com-
posed of a circular alignment of postmolds in a corner or
Cruder examples of this postmold pattern are found in
role in storage seems reasonable. There are few indicators
of activity performance within any structure (figs. 7.10,
7.11); no reduction or food consumption appears to have
occurred within them.
The organization of space on the site shows the great-
est differences between this level and PXVII. The most
obvious difference is that there is only one, relatively small,
midden complex on this floor. It is located in the extreme
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 187

AA /~\
, Post G Ground Stone

z \
I
00 Rock L2rl Landslide

@ Hearth ~ Quebrada
y
/;//- Midden :f~i.~~~ Ash Stain

x
w

S
t'"'
R
N
Q I
c- O 3
I I I I
P MeIers
~ I I I I I I
27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

Fig. 7.11. Size I lithic density, Level PXIV, interval = 5.

eastern margin of the excavation block (fig. 7.9). It con-
tains bone waste, both burned and unburned, and it com-
pares in density to the larger middens found on levels
PXVII and PXXN (fig. 7.12). The content of this midden,
with its mixture of different types of bone waste but pri-
marily burned small and crushed fragments, is consistent
with model predictions of wastes generated by bone grease
production. A dump of burned bone was found in a large
ash dump adjacent to Structure 3. Aside from these
middens, there are no other concentrations of lithics or
faunal materials on the PXIV floor. There are a number
of ash lenses scattered on the surface, with most located
within 2 m of domestic structures. These are likely to have
been generated by hearth cleaning and reuse and thus rep-
resent secondary refuse deposits.
Although artifact associations are lacking on this sur-
face, it appears that the exterior hearth pattern holds on
this level. Most of the structures have hearths located ei-
ther adjacent to their leeward side or northern margin.
\Vhile these are likely to be kitchen or food-producing
areas, they lack the feature associations, such as batanes or
kitchen rocks, seen on other Early Archaic floors. Because
of the lack of artifact associations, there are no obvious
uses of empty space, particularly that along the southeast-
ern margin of the site area. Some isolated postmolds are
found in this area, but no function can be assigned to them.
Interpretations Level PXIV presents a number of inter-
pretative challenges. Aspects of site organization and ac-
tivity profile continue to support an interpretation of the
site's place as a residential base. These include domestic
structures and their associated food preparation or kitchen
zones, the special purpose features found within them, and
the activity profile itself, which includes complex hide
preparation tasks presumably performed by females. If
Asana continued as a residential base during this occupa-
tion, however, the length of that utilization must have been
very brief. No significant lithic reduction ofchipped stone
lithics occurred on site, there is little evidence of retool-
ing or tool maintenance, and the range of activities per-
formed on site that left residues in the archaeological
record is limited to hide processing and preparation. In
this sense, this occupation is more similar to that ofPXXIX
than it is to the primary occupation of Levels PXXN and
PXVII, which were probably of greater duration.
The slight increase in the mean and median sizes of the
structures on this level does not appear to signal an im-
portant behavioral shift in the use of the site (table 7.3).
\Vhile the largest structure has a covered floor area of 7.4
m 2, there is no change in the organization ofinterior space,
nor are there substantially new features present that sug-
gest a change in the range of activities performed within
the structure. It is likely that the increase in size of this
188 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.p.

AA
o/~ /~\
, Post G Ground Slone

z ,
/
I
r
\
I
00 Rock 'tZ Landslide
4 @ Hearth ~ Quebrada
y
/~<0~ Midden f.~:M~~ Ash Stain

u
T

R
N
Q
0
I 3
I I I I
P Meters
., I I I I I
27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

Fig. 7.12. Total burned bone density, Level PXI\T, interval = 5.

particular structure represents a slightly larger group re- 7.50

quiring shelter. Likewise, the smallest structure on the floor
with an area of 4 m2 is not significantly different from the o
other structures on the floor, with the exception of the 6.25
absence of the ovoid or circular feature.
It is possible to place this variation in a broader per-
spective using ethnoarchaeological data. Yellen (1977) and o
o
Bartram, Kroll, and Bunn (1991) have accumulated data 5.00
on the sizes of wet and dry season camps of the Kua San,
and Syrett (1993) has measured the floor area from the
published plan views. While some error is to be expected 3.75
from this latter procedure, the data are valuable in that
they provide a sense of the range of variation in structure
size. As can be seen in figure 7.13 and table 7.7, there is
2.50
substantial variation in the size of rainy season structures
as indicated by the range (6.3) and the presence of three
outliers that exceed the 90th percentile on the box charts.
These data suggest that there can be a substantial amount 1.25
of normal variation in structure size that is of no behav-
ioral import beyond either larger or fewer numbers of in-
dividuals present or other minor situational factors. o
The range of the settlement system as monitored by
Structures
relative frequencies ofchipped stone lithic materials shows Rainy Dry
no real difference from those systems defined in Levels
PXVII and PXXIv. Puna raw materials are not present, Fig. 7.13. Kua San structure size and variation.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Table 7.7. Descriptive Statistics, Kua San Residential
Structures a
Summary statistics for rainy season structures b
NumNumeric = 25
Mean = 2.5620
Median = 2.2000
Standard deviation = 1.6023
Summary statistics for dry season structures
NumNumeric = 26
Mean = 2.8115
Median = 2.1000
Standard deviation = 1.5800
aFrom Syrett (1993).
bAll measurements are square meters of covered floor area.
however, and this may mean that no logistical parties
moved out from Asana to the puna or that no reduction of
these materials took place on site if in fact these parties
returned to and utilized the site. It is possible that the high
proportion of puna rim raw materials reflects a more in-
tense utilization ofthis environmental zone in place ofpuna
utilization during the occupation of the site in PXIV times.
Summary: Asana III!]ilaiia Phase
Throughout the Asana IIII]ilafia Phase, Asana appears to
have been used as a residential base, although the data sug-
gest that the term of this occupation varied somewhat from
use to use of the site. The data that speak to the use of the
site as a residential base are clear: substantial residential
structures, evidence that the entire coresidential group was
present, and structured use of space and refuse disposal.
Hide processing continues to be of major importance, and
the lithic assemblage is dominated by hide-working tools.
The range of scraper types and hide-working microtraces
suggests that clothing manufacture remained important
throughout the phase.
The data that indicate that the length of the residential
stay varied at Asana are not substantial. This inference is
based primarily on the linked evidence of artifact densi-
ties and site structure. On the PXVII floor, there are likely
to have been at a minimum two distinct occupations: one
that left behind virtually no material and another that had
a full range of materials present indicative of the use of the
site as a residential base. The residential architecture be-
tween these two putative occupations is essentially identi-
189
cal. A similar situation exists on PXIV in that while arti-
fact densities are low, the range of activities performed is
consistent with the interpretation of the site as a residen-
tial base. Variation in the duration of occupation was prob-
ably caused by variation in resource productivity typical
of high-mountain environments.
The scale of mobility as observed from the lithic mate-
rials continues to support the hypothesis that peoples of
this phase used the lower high sierra, high sierra, puna
rim, and puna in a pattern similar to that seen during the
latter portions of the Asana IIIKhitufia Phase. No other
residential base is known in the valley from this phase.
The general picture of utilization of the valley and its re-
sources during this phase is one of moderate residential
mobility of varying lengths of occupation. Resources are
used much as they were in previous phases.
Asana IVIMuruq'uta Phase
Eleven levels from the West Block (XXIII-XIV) and seven
levels (PVI-PI) from the East Block are included in the
Asana IV/Muruq'uta Phase. Because the levels in the East
Block have been heavily disturbed by landslides, however,
the fragmentary data recovered from them will not be dis-
cussed extensively, aside from a discussion of artifact types
and use. Instead, the focus now turns to the West Block,
which remains relatively undisturbed by these natural pro-
cesses for most of the remainder of the occupation of the
site. Excavation blocks of the West Block for these levels
range in size from 56 m 2 to 136 m 2 Although the 11 lev-
els of the West Block show substantial similarity in terms
of content (thus the basis for the definition of the phase),
there are subtle differences in residential architecture and
in chipped stone raw material frequencies that suggest the
separation of the phase into "early" and "late" components.
Thus Asana IV/Early Muruq'uta ranges from 7800 to 6500
B.P. (XXIII-XVIIa), and Late Muruq'uta ranges from 6500
to 6000 B.P. (XVI-XIV).
Middle Archaic Settlement Patterns
Based on the available data, there do not appear to be sig-
nificant changes in settlement patterns during most of the
Middle Archaic. The number of known Middle Archaic
sites in the Rio Asana valley, however, remains very small.
A single density located 5.2 km upstream from Asana can
be dated to this period on the basis of the discovery of a
Middle Archaic projectile point located within its bound-
aries, and four other stray finds of Middle Archaic projec-
tile points have been found in other locations in the valley,
190 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Arana from 8700 to 5000 B.p.

ranging from 5 km below Asana to the area just below 00

Cueva Quellaveco (Aldenderfer 1989c: 156). Two addi- M o
tional sites have also been discovered, both in different 0
o
environmental zones: Coscori in the lower high sierra and
El Panteon in the puna rim. The symmetry in location of
L

Coscori and El Panteon, both 15 to 16 km distant from
Asana and with roughly comparable travel times, as well
as their similar place, that of logistical camps, is impor-
tant. These two sites appear to define the limits of the
< ~~,
Middle Archaic settlement system in the valley. They likely ~o

served as staging bases for further trips into the puna and
lower extremes of the lower high sierra, and there is no
obvious data that suggest that either of the sites changed
their place in the presumed settlement system throughout
the Middle Archaic.

Level XIX (ca. 7100 B.P.)

The area exposed in Level XIX is 56 m 2 It is free of sig-
nificant natural disturbances, although its southeastern , .,. 4

corner has been destroyed by the changing course of the
Rio Asana sometime in the past 300 years after the block-
- _ .. Clay Basin
age of the river channel by a series of major landslides (fig. E
Ground
7.14). This will be a characteristic feature of all of the lev- [ } ) Rock G Slone
Kitchen
els of the West Block. @ Hearth KR Rock
D

Faunal Data Both counts and densities (l,428/m 3) of

faunal materials are relatively high in this level, but para-
doxically total weight (416 g) is very small, which can be
-, Meters
,
explained in part by the high frequency (86%) of bone 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

fragments less than 2 cm in maximum dimension (table

7.8). Although not quantified, the majority of these frag- Fig. 7.14. Plan view, Level XIX.
ments are very small and are less than 1 cm in size. As a
consequence, only 1% of the remains (N = 16) are identi-
fiable as to species and only 1.4% (N = 23) as to skeletal
element. NISP values for packet data, species identifica-
tion, and age/size data are unreliable since the frequencies
of identifiable skeletal elements are so small. Twenty-six
percent of the assemblage has been burned.
Despite the fragmentation of the assemblage, a few
observations on butchery and processing can be made.
Although the number of phalanges and metapodials falls
within expected values given sample size, the number of
tooth fragments is smaller than predicted. At least three
distinct hypotheses can be used to explain these findings:
there is a bias in the sample due to the placement of the
excavation block; all skeletal elements returned to the site
were fragmented for marrow processing; or there was a
greater incidence of field processing of animals, with head
elements and lower limbs left at the killibutchery locus.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 191

Table 7.8. Faunal Data Summary, Level XIX
Packet Data a
2 3 4 5
6 5 7 4
N = 1,599
MNI=O
Phalanges = 5
Metapodials = 2
Tooth fragments = 20
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the
assemblage.
The first hypothesis is impossible to evaluate, but it seems
implausible as an explanation since the area excavated in-
cluded food preparation areas and associated secondary
refuse deposits. Likewise, the third hypothesis is difficult
to evaluate since the packet data are so sparse. If there had
been marked asymmetries in the relative frequency of the
head/neck packet as compared to the trunk or forequar-
ters packets the second hypothesis would be more plau-
sible. Each example of the phalanges and metapodials re-
covered from the level was fragmentary, and none were
rials. The most parsimonious explanation for this is that
with increasing length of occupation, there is a tendency
to focus on the reduction of local or nearby, easily ob-
tained raw materials. One other level in the Early
Muruq'uta Phase-Level XVIIc-shows this trend.
The flake aggregate analysis of the three material types
with counts greater than 50 shows that each reflects tool
maintenance, small-tool production, and resharpening (fig.
7.15) and not early stage on-site reduction of bifacial tool
forms. However, the shaping and modification of Stage II
and III percussion bifaces made off site apparently took
place at Asana during the occupation of this level.
The microwear evidence for the first time shows a nla-
jor shift in the activity profile and in the kinds of tools
present on site (table 7.9). For the first time, scraping tools
and hide-processing microtraces do not dominate the ac-
tivity profile. Instead, bifacial tools are found in signifi-
cantly greater frequencies. In this level, 84% of the tools
recovered are either bifaces or projectile points, a figure
almost identical to the proportion of these tools (86 % ) for
the Early Muruq'uta Phase as a whole. In contrast, scrap-
ing tools account for only 6.25% of the tools in this level
and only 12.1 % of all tools in Early Muruq'uta Phase lev-
els. The proportion of scraping tools in this phase is sig-
nificantly lower than the average proportion of scraping
tools (61.6%) in the Asana I-III Phases. The reasons for
this change will be examined in greater detail later. The
number of identified microtraces is dominated by those
50

recovered whole or nearly complete. Further, the major-

ity of the phalanges and both of the metapodials were A Freehand
40 -
burned. While there may be some tendency toward greater
A B i face, Stage 2
field processing, it is more likely that whole animals were
..J
ABipolar
returned to the site and all elements processed for mar- <l
u
- 30 -
row extraction. ~
a::
0
u
~
Lithic Data The total amount of lithic material is mod- z
UJ 20 -
erately high (N = 1,408), and density is likewise high (1,257/ u
ex:
UJ
m 3). Total weight, however, is low (716 g). The assem- a..
ABiface, Stage 3-4 Small Tool
blage is dominated by high-sierra raw materials (78.5%), 10 - Small Tool
AMointenonce

followed by puna rim (15.4%), lower high-sierra (4.7%), A Production

and puna (1.4%) raw materials. The number of raw mate- A B i face, Stage 5
: I~ I~
rial types present falls within predicted limits for sample 0 I I I I
0 10 20 30 40 50
size, but the number of raw material types with counts
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-3 RATIO
greater than 50 is much smaller than expected. As I show
later, these types are either high-sierra or puna rim mate- Fig. 7.15. Flake aggregate analysis, Level XIX.
192 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.
Table 7.9. Lithic Data Summary, Level XIX
Tools (N = 32)
Scrapers 2 of this point form have been found at high-elevation sites
Types 1 in northern Chile, but these points are very similar to Rick's
Stage IIIIII percussion blanks 11
(1 Stage II;
10 Stage III)
Edge tools 3 though the style can be found throughout the Preceramic
Projectile points 16
(6 complete;
all either
Stage IVIV)
Microwear Summary (17 tools examined)
Bone scraping
Hide scraping
Butchery traces
Indeterminate
Projection traces or haft element, but used 13
associated with the use of bifaces, with all of these tools
exhibiting linear projection traces or obvious hafting traces,
including some examples of gum or mastic residues. Hide
processing is still present but is found on only a very small
minority of tools, along with butchery traces, bone scrap-
ing, and indeterminate, or generic, weak polish which in-
dicates that the artifact was used, although the material
worked cannot be determined. The large number of bifa-
cial tools, both finished bifaces as well as Stage II and III
percussion blanks, all used, is consistent with the reduc-
tion data, which indicate small-tool production, mainte-
nance, and resharpening.
There is an interesting diversity ofprojectile point forms
in this level and in the Early Muruq'uta Phase levels in
general (figs. 7.16, 7.17). Points are for the most part rela-
tively small and lanceolate in form and can be placed into
two general morphological categories that can be related
to point styles observed in the region. There is a single-
eared form (fig. 7.16d) that shows similarities to Patapatane
Phase points which date to ca. 8000 B.P. (Santoro 1989:
figs. 4.16, 4.17). The examples recovered from all levels at
Asana suggest that this point style's chronological range is
roughly 7700 to 6400 B.P. A second point style is a finely
worked lanceolate biface (fig. 7.16a, b, e, g, h, i, k) which
in some instances has been modified to take on a some-
what bipointed (doble punta) form (fig. 7.16j). No examples
(1980: 153-156) Types 3Band 3F, which date from 9000
to 5000 B.P., and Lavallee's (1985: 146) Type Bl1.a, which
shows considerable diversity and has two peak periods of
high frequency, 9200-7200 B.P. and 6800-5700 B.P., al-
levels at Telarmachay. Bipointed forms have also been dis-
covered on the north Chilean littoral at the Middle Ar-
chaic site of Camarones-14 and have been dated from ca.
7400 to 6600 B.P. (Schiappacasse and Niemeyer 1984: figs.
25, 26c). Rick (1980: fig. 7.6g, h) also illustrates a bipoint
style (Type Group 4C) which dates from ca. 7000 to 4000
B.P. Finally, there is an ovate form (fig. 7.16c, t) that unfor-
tunately has no clear referents.
In addition to these known projectile point styles, larger
bifacial tools appear at Asana for the first time (fig. 7.17).
These bifaces tend to be larger than projectile points, and
while some have linear projection traces indicating their
use as projectile or thrusting weapons (fig. 7.17a), others
are covered with classic silica gloss and have been inter-
preted as plant cutting knives (fig. 7.17b, c). While no
whole examples of these larger bifaces have been found in
Level XIX, there are at least two haft elements of a larger
bifacial form similar to the examples in figure 7.1 7.
The ground stone tool assemblage shows considerable
diversity and includes four mano-type grinding stones, one
small batan, a large stone ball used for pounding, and four
hide-processing stones, indicating that some aspects ofhide
working are an important part of the activity profile even
though chipped stone hide-processing tools are almost
absent from the assemblage. Two of the mano-type grind-
ing stones exhibit some traces of ochre embedded in the
microtopography of their surfaces, while one has clear
traces of a black resin. The ochre could have been used for
hide working, tool hafting, or as pigment for body or arti-
fact decoration, while the resin was undoubtedly used to
help haft stone tools since similar resins are found on many
of the discarded haft elements in the level's chipped stone
tool assemblage.
Site Structure Level XIX is for the most part intact and
relatively undisturbed. However, Structure 3 has been dis-
turbed by an intrusive midden which appears to have' been
cut into the floor from a subsequent occupation (fig. 7.14).
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 193

~
!I
/'

h k

eM

Fig. 7.16. Asana IV/Muruq'uta Phase projectle points. a: G27d-121XX; b: G27b-13IXIX; c: G26b-13/ XIX;
d: C29b-121XIX; e: K31d-4/ XX; f: H26c-4IXVIlb; g: LJOd-li XVI; h: M23c-5IXVIII; i: K27d-5/ XIX;
j: N22c-7IXVIIc; k:J3ld-4IXVIlb.
194 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.p.

b c d

eM

Fig. 7.17. Asana IV/Muruq'uta Phase large bifaces. a:J29a-3-2234, XIVb, projection traces; b: G29d-3-2185,
XVIIa, used to cut plants; c: J31 b-3-2217, XVIIb, used to cut plants; d: L3 3c-3-2224, XVIIb, not examined.

The cultural materials from this midden have not been
included in this analysis, and the only materials described
in the subsequent spatial analyses are those that have been
assigned with certainty to Level XIX. The eastern edge of
Structure 4 has been destroyed by the changing course of
the river or possibly excavations conducted by subsequent
occupants of the site.
Domestic architecture on this level continues the fa-
miliar circular or ovoid form constructed of puddled white
clay (fig. 7.18). The architecture on this level, however,
marks something of an innovation in that the floors are
now made solely of the locally available white clay and are
not mixed to any significant degree with the sand matrix
upon which they have been placed. The floors of the struc-
tures on this level range in thickness from 1 to 2.5 cm, and
each floor shows some evidence of having been relaid or
reconstructed at least once. Two of the three structures
have one or two postmolds along the edge of the prepared
clay surface, and each structure has a few colluvial rocks
along its edge that were probably used to support the brush
or hide walls. The size of the structures ranges from 4.5
m 2 to 5.1 m 2 These values are very similar to those seen
in the Asana IIIJ]ilafia Phase architecture on Levels PXVII
and PXIv, which suggests a similarity in the size of the
group using the structures in each occupation of the site.
The use of interior space in the three domestic struc-
tures is highly consistent. Each structure has a hearth some-
where within its boundaries or immediately adjacent to
one of the edges of the floor (fig. 7.14). Two structures
have kitchen rocks within them, and in both instances the
rocks have been placed immediately adjacent to the inte-
rior or edge hearths. Inspection of the distribution of
burned bone (fig. 7.19) and bone fragments less than 2 cm
in maximum dimension (fig. 7.20) shows that burned bone
is concentrated in the hearth in Structure 2, and there are
substantial concentrations of small bone fragments in and
adjacent to the hearths within Structures 1 and 3. There is
also a concentration of burned bone in the midden area
immediately east of Structure 3. The proximity of the
kitchen rocks and concentrations of burned and small bone
fragments to these hearths suggests the hearths are best
interpreted as food preparation areas. This pattern marks
another change in the use of these domestic structures in
the Early Muruq'uta Phase. In previous phases, while there
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 7.18. Typical residential structure found on Level XIX.
may have been hearths inside domestic residences, they
were rarely devoted to food preparation. In this phase,
however, these areas are within the structures and spatially
isolated from other, similar features. Interior food prepa-
ration areas may suggest that a different set of social fac-
tors structured the use of space during this occupation.
Lithic reduction apparently also took place within these
structures. Small concentrations of small reduction by-
products are found within Structures 2 and 3, especially
near the hearths (fig. 7.21), and lithic debris of all sizes is
found in each of the structures (fig. 7.22). Although small
lithic debris tends to indicate in situ activity performance,
deposits of larger lithic materials may also reflect this in
situ reduction if these loci have not been cleared or swept
and if the debris is not too large. The majority of the larger
lithics in Structure 1 range in size from 1 to 2 cm in maxi-
mum dimension, a finding generally consistent with in situ
activity performance.
The use of exterior space is relatively simple. Deeply
stained organic soils are found east of the structures, which
suggests that organic trash was thrown between them.
Other secondary refuse deposits are found scattered across
195
the surface of the site; a dense deposit of burned and un-
burned bone is found in a midden just south of Structure
4, while a very dense concentration of bone waste of all
sizes is found just west of this structure (figs. 7.19, 7.20,
7.23). Deposits of lithic materials are found along the
northern margin of the excavation block beyond the area
labeled in the field as midden (figs. 7.21, 7.22), and a light
scatter of lithics can be found between most of the struc-
tures. This light scatter may represent incidental deposi-
tion of these materials or, more likely, the blurring of once-
denser concentrations of lithics through repeated use of
the surface over a number of occupations.
Unlike the floors of previous levels, there are essen-
tially no hearths found exterior to the domestic structures,
and there are no discrete ash deposits scattered between
them. There is also no evidence for other sorts of use of
exterior space, such as hide-processing areas, drying racks,
or other loci of activity performance. This lack ofevidence
suggests that the use ofspace on this surface is more highly
structured and organized, a significant contrast when com-
pared to other levels.
Perhaps the most interesting feature on the Level XIX
196 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.p.

M o
o 0

G
4

00
M o
0
o
E
()[) Rock G
Ground
Stone
Kitchen
L

6IJ) Hearth KR Rock
D
~/ .tb
N
(--, Midden
House
Floor O
Ash Sto in
Bone
K

I?
.... _J Oensi I)'
c 2I 3I
Meters
I
25 26 27 2B 29 30 31

Fig. 7.19. Total burned bone density, Level XIX, interval = 5.

.-
_ u

G
4

E
()[) Rock G

Kitchen
6IJ) Hearth KR Rock
D
N ~/ Midden ~ Ash Stain

- I 0'--' House
l... _J floor O Bone
Density
C 2 3
I I I
Meters
I
25 26 27 2B 29 30 31

Fig. 7.20. Size 1 bone density, Level XIX, interval = 10.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 197

M' o
I
0
o

--... _..
H

M o
o
00 Rock G
Kitchen
GEJ Heorth

'.
KR Rock
D
N ~/ Midden ~ Ash Stain

- I 0'--' House
l.... _ I Floor O Lithic
Density
C
I
Meters
2I 3,
o
, \)0
25 26 27 28 29 30 31
o

Fig. 7.21. Size 1 lithic density, Level XIX, interval = 5.

--
... -

00 RoCk G
Kitchen
GEJ Hearth KR Rock
D
~/ ~
N
,--,
t.... _J
Midden
House
Floor o
Ash Stain

5~~hSii~Y
c
-,
I 9
Meters
,
2
I
3
I

25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Fig. 7.22. Total lithic density, Level XIX, interval = 5.

 198 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

00 postmolds within it. These may have been used as struc-

M o tural supports or possibly to erect an internal partition.
e.o Three large ash lenses are found on the structure, each of
o
L
which is found near the structure's western side. None of
these lenses have a depth that exceeds 0.5 cm. It is pos-
sible that these lenses are in fact large but very shallow
K surface hearths since they contain only a consolidated white
ash. The only other feature on this floor is three small
clay-lined basins embedded in the surface of the northern
half of the structure. In their simplest construction, the
basins are no more than shallow, round-based basins 3 to
4 cm in depth and 5 to 10 cm in diameter. The basins have
been scooped or dug into the floor, and the white clay has
.-
... _. been poured and spread into them to create a smooth sur-
H
face. Each of the three basins on the Level XIX floor is of
simple construction, but as shown later, there are more
complex constructions of these basins on other floors of
4 similar structures in the Early Muruq'uta Phase. No arti-
facts or other features were found within these basins.
F
It is important to note that there are no domestic fea-
tures, such as food preparation areas, kitchen rocks, or
E batanes, found either within the structure or near its west-
()[) Rock ern margin. There are, however, a number of features spa-
Kitchen

0
GID Hearth KR Rock tially proximate to the structure. There is a large midden
composed almost exclusively of bone waste found just south
N 'i'/ Midden ~~ Ash 5to in
- ,--, House
t .... _J Floor
o Bone
Dens ity
of the structure, and there is a very dense midden also filled
with bone found just outside the presumed doorway of
C
I 0
I
1
I
Meters
2
I
3
I
the structure (figs. 7.19, 7.20, 7.23). The midden resembles
-, I
25 26 27 28 29 30 31 a doorway toss zone frequently seen in the residential struc-
tures of foraging peoples, and the bone could represent
Fig. 7.23. Total bone density, Level XIX, interval = 10. the accumulated waste of floor cleanup following food
consumption within the structure. There are no concen-
trations of either lithics or bones within the structure, and
floor is Structure 4 (fig. 7.14). The structure's floor is made the contours that pass through it are very small and have
from the same prepared white clay used to construct floors been generated by single counts of bones or lithics that
in the domestic structures. The shape and size of this struc- are found in various places on the floor. Scanning the dis-
ture, however, are quite different than the others. Although tribution of the morphological tools shows that none are
the structure's eastern margin has been destroyed by the located on the floor itself, but two are found just outside
Rio Asana, a conservative reconstruction of the floor sim- the doorway off of the edge of the prepared clay floor.
ply connects the two margins of the structure in a single It is clear that this structure is not a typical domestic
line without architectural details. If this reconstruction is residence. It has none of the features, such as food prepa-
valid, the covered floor area of this structure is 13.1 m 2, a ration loci or other interior activity areas, associated with
figure 2.5 to 3 times larger than the floor areas of any do- some other activity, it is considerably larger than known
mestic structure on this level or any other floor in the Early domestic structures and has a very different shape, and
Muruq'uta Phase. The structure is a large ovoid with an there are special features-the small clay basins-found
indentation or notch along its western side. There is no on the floor that have not been found in any other struc-
evidence that any feature or floor extended into this notch, ture of this or any other phase. Saying that the structure is
which resembles a doorway. Although there are no not domestic does not assign a clear function to it, but it is
postmolds that surround the structure, there are five clear that it represents a communal or public structure of
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
some kind. Possible functions and analogs for this struc-
ture will be discussed at length later.
Interpretations The place ofAsana during the Level XIX
occupation continues to be a residential base. Although
the block is relatively small, there is no evidence of differ-
ent kinds of residential or possibly logistical occupations
of the surface as were seen on Levels PXVII and PXIV of
the Asana IIII]ilafia Phase. The evidence for the residen-
tial occupation of the site is substantial and includes the
consistent placement of facilities and the investment in
the construction of the prepared clay floors, with multiple
reconstructions of each floor; the clear organization of the
use of space, in that facility placement is redundant; and
the diversity of the activity profile, which shows the con-
tinued presence of hide processing, bone working, the
grinding of ochre and resins, and tool resharpening, pro-
duction, and maintenance. The grinding and hide-pro-
cessing tools signal the probable presence of females on
site during this occupation.
Despite this impressive continuity of the place of the
site, there are a number of important changes observed in
the Level XIX occupation of Asana that also signal new
and very important differences in the nature of activity
performance and site organization. More activities, such
as food preparation and tool maintenance and production,
appear to have moved within the structures. In earlier lev-
els, food preparation was located exclusively exterior to
the domestic structure, although it may have been imme-
diately adjacent to it. While a small amount of lithic re-
duction took place in some structures in these earlier oc-
cupations of the site, it does not resemble the intensity of
reduction that took place within these structures on the
Level XIX floor. Furthermore, there do not appear to be
any obvious exterior or outdoor activity areas on this floor,
again a significant change when compared to earlier lev-
els. These changes in the locus of activity performance
correlate with a new principle of site organization, the tight
packing of domestic structures. Finally, a new structure
type, an apparent public, or communal, structure appears
for the very first time.
The organization and range of mobility remain essen-
tially the same as observed in Asana IIIlJilafia Phase times,
with a continuing emphasis on the utilization of the lower
high sierra, high sierra, puna rim, and puna. Although
neither the season nor length of occupation of Asana dur-
ing this occupation can be directly observed, it is probable
that the length was substantial, possibly as long as three to
four months or even more.
199
Level XVIIc (ca. 6850 B.P.)
A total of 136 m 2 has been exposed in Level XVIIc. The
relatively little natural disturbance in this level consists
mostly of a large patch of landslide disturbance along the
extreme northern edge of the excavation block (fig. 7.24).
There is a minor amount of quebrada cutting that has de-
stroyed some middens in the center of the block. As in
other levels of this block, the moving river course has de-
stroyed a number of structures, such as Structure 13, and
midden areas along the eastern edge of the block. Cul-
tural disturbance factors include a number of intrusive
middens that have disturbed some of the prepared clay
floors of this level, particularly Structures 10, 11, and 12.
Once again, intrusive cultural materials are not included
in the spatial or other analyses of this level.
Faunal Data Counts of faunal remains in Level XVIIc
are relatively high, as are the density (1822/m 3) of frag-
ments as well as their total weight (1.4 kg). MNI counts
are relatively high, but as in previous levels, there are no
small mammals represented in the assemblage (table 7.10).
This assemblage is highly fragmented, with 86% of it less
than 2 cm in maximum dimension. A substantial propor-
tion of the assemblage is even smaller, with fragments less
than 1 cm in size. This extreme fragmentation has made it
Table 7.10. Faunal Data Summary, Level XVIIc
Packet Data a
2 3 4 5
13 6 22 25 o
.20 .09 .33 .38 o
N = 4,956
MNI=6
Phalanges = 26
Metapodials = 8
Tooth fragments = 144
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the
assemblage.
200 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

Post

00 Rock
H
CD Hearth
'/
/ / Midden
G .. Cloy Basin

G Ground Stone
F
KR Ki Ichen Rock
N
~:ri Quebrada
E
Qj Landsl ide
(~\
_/ House Floor
D
~;l\;;; Ash Stain
0 2 4
I I I
C
Meters
I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Fig. 7.24. Plan view, Level XYlIc.

difficult to identify the species present, and only 12 frag-
ments could be placed in any species category with cer-
tainty. Deer are present, but the majority of the assem-
blage can only be placed within the camelid aggregate. A
somewhat larger proportion of the assemblage (1.8%; N =
88) could be placed into age/size categories. Of this group,
67% are from immature animals, while 33% are from older,
larger, and mature animals. A rather low proportion of
bones (8%) has been burned.
Since the assemblage is so fragmented, the packet and
skeletal element data are of limited value (table 7.1 0). While
there are roughly equivalent proportions of the head/neck,
trunk, and hindquarters packets, the forequarters and tail
packets are underrepresented. These figures suggest that
forequarters were removed from the site or were dried or
otherwise stored for future consumption. Whole animals
continue to be returned to the site as evidenced by the
continued presence of teeth, phalanges, and metapodials.
Lithic Data Counts oflithic data are relatively small (N
= 669), and correspondingly both density (246/m 3) and
weight (352 g) are very low. The assemblage continues to
be dominated by high-sierra raw materials (66.9%), fol-
lowed by puna rim (20.6%), lower high-sierra (6.9%), and
puna (5.6%) raw materials. There are 25 different types of
raw materials, but of these, only 3 have counts greater than
50 (Types 4, 11, and 18), a figure that falls below predicted
values based on sample size. While the number of types is
slightly larger than predicted given the sample size, there
are substantially fewer than predicted types with counts
greater than 50. These numbers tend to suggest a focus
on the use of certain types (two high-sierra types and a
puna rim type) at the expense of other local or nonlocal
material types. A flake aggregate analysis of the three with
counts greater than 50 shows that the reduction debris of
all three reflects small-tool production, maintenance, and
resharpening (fig. 7.25). These data are consistent with
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 201

50
Table 7.11. Lithic Data Summary, Level XVIlc

.. freehand
40 -
.. Biface, Stage 2
Tools (N = 15)
.
..J

u
.. Bipolar Scrapers 2
-
t-
30 - Types 1
Il:
0
U Stage JIIIII percussion bifaces 5
t-
Z (all Stage III)
w 20 -
u
a:
w Projectile points 5
0..

.. Biface, Stage 3-4 Small Tool (all broken;

10 -
.. Maintenance all Stage IVIV)
Small Tool
.. Production
ell 18
Indeterminate 3
.. Biface, Stage 5 e
e4 Microwear Summary (6 tools examined)
0 I
I I
0 10 20 30 40 50
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-3 RATIO Bone scraping
Wood whittling
Fig. 7.25. Flake aggregate analysis, Level XVIIc.
Hide scraping 2
(1 dry hide,
1 indeterminate
hide)

the presence of the Stage III percussion bifaces and pro- Linear projection traces 2
jectile points, which were either worked and shaped dur- Haft elements 8
ing the occupation of this level or were discarded during
retooling (table 7.11).
The microwear data obtained from the chipped stone
tool assemblage show significant diversity in the activities
performed. While hide-processing tools continue to be
found in the assemblage, there is only one type of scrap-
ing tool present, and scrapers make up only 13 % of the
assemblage. Butchery tools, bone- and woodworking tools,
and tools with linear projection traces are all present. As
in Level XIX, each of the bifacial tools is a projectile point,
haft element, or point tip, and all those examined have
signs of use, a finding consistent with the reduction data.
The ground stone tool assemblage includes two mano-
type grinding stones, three hide-working tools, two
batanes, and three ovate, pecked pounding tools. Another
feature on these floors is the numerous kitchen rocks, some
of which appear to have been used as anvils for the crush-
ing of bone. One of these in Structure 6 has been propped
up by a number of small colluvial rocks and shows signs of
crushing and pounding on its dorsal surface (figs. 7.24,
7.26). At least three structures have these rocks in situ on
their floors, and a number of other structures have flat
colluvial rocks on their floors that could have served as
kitchen rocks but for which no special construction fea- Fig. 7.26. Kitchen rock, Structure 6, Level XVIIc floor.
tures or traces of use could be observed. Note how it has been elevated using other, smaller rocks.
202 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P
Site Structure Level XVIIc is one of the most complex
floors excavated at Asana. It is clearly a palimpsest, in that
there are a number of overlapping prepared clay floors
found on the surface, particularly Structures 5, 7, 8, 9,10,
and 11 (figs. 7.24, 7.27). Also, Structure 11 has been heavily
disturbed by an intrusive midden cut in at some time dur-
ing the XVIIc occupation, and a similar disturbance has
destroyed the southwestern corner of Structure 12. Aside
from the destruction wrought by the course of the river,
the remaining structures and features on this surface are
relatively undisturbed.
The domestic architecture on this floor is very similar
to that in Level XIX and Jilana Phase structures. This
floor's structures are ovoid to circular in shape and are
generally well constructed (fig. 7.28). The floors them-
selves are composed of the typical prepared white clay that
has been poured or puddled on the natural matrix of the
level. Virtually none of the structures are surrounded by
postrnolds, but many ofthem have a single post found near
the center of the structure. These may have been used to
Fig. 7.27. West Block showing multiple levels open; the deepest level is XYlIc.
support walls made of hide or brush. Most of these floors
show clear signs of reconstruction aside from the obvious
palimpsest occupations described earlier. For instance,
Structure 6 has at least two distinct reconstructions within
this level, while Structure 8 has three if each of the over-
lapping floors is seen as an attempt at reconstruction. Com-
plete structures range in size from 3.9 m 2 to 5.5 m 2 of
covered floor area, with a mean of 4.9 m 2 and a median of
4.7 m 2 (table 7.12). These figures are very close to the
median structure size of Level PXVII (5.1 m2), somewhat
smaller than those ofPXIV (5.8 m2), and roughly equiva-
lent to those found on XIX.
There are similarities and differences when the use of
interior space on Level XVIIc is compared with such use
on XIX and other Early Muruq'uta Phase levels. Like the
residential structures on Level XIX, most of the intact
structures have interior hearths, often surrounded by ash
lenses, as well as rock features such as the kitchen rock
features described previously. In many cases, the kitchen
rocks are directly adjacent to these hearths, such as in Struc-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 203

tures 4 and 6. Interior hearths tend to be located along the

eastern side of the structures. And like the structures of
XIX, there are concentrations of small bone found either
in or near the hearths or kitchen rock features on these
floors, particularly in Structures 1,3,4,5, and 6 (fig. 7.29).
Almost all of this bone is crushed and is consistent with
the use of these kitchen rocks as anvils upon which the
bone was smashed for consumption for marrow. The
kitchen areas have relatively little burned bone within
them, however (fig. 7.30). Unlike the XIX structures, there
is virtually no lithic reduction inside the XVIIc structures.
The smallest lithic debris is found between the structures
and not within them (fig. 7.31). The pattern does not look
like cleanup or the creation of secondary refuse deposits
but instead a minor amount of reduction around the struc-
tures since these small concentrations of lithics are gener-
ally not spatially coterminous with most concentrations
of bone on the surface. I see a continuation of the pattern
of food preparation taking place within structures, while
reduction appears to have moved to the exterior.
Middens dominate the use of exterior space, and many
of the domestic structures are surrounded by deeply
stained, organically derived soils. Much of this midden area
is relatively free of bone or lithic waste, which when exte-
rior to structures is generally found in clear concentra-
tions. The area along the southern edge of the excavation
Fig. 7.28. Structure 6, XVIIc, excavated in 1987. block in particular appeared to be a favored dumping zone.
Burned and unburned bone as well as lithics of all sizes
were thrown into the crevices of the large colluvial boul-
ders found here, and it seems clear that this area is a clas-
Table 7.12. Structure Sizes, Level XVIIc
sic secondary refuse dump that was used over a long pe-
riod of time since bone densities are so great (figs. 7.29,
Structure Sizes 7.30). Somewhat smaller discrete dumps of similar com-
position are found in other parts of the site, and these
Structure 2 3.7 m 2 dumping areas tend to be found on the margins of the
Structure 3 4.1 m 2 area occupied by the domestic structures. This pattern of
secondary refuse disposal is consistent with a longer term
Structure 4 5.5 m 2
utilization of the site in which the use of space, including
Structure 5 3.9 m 2 refuse disposal, is well organized and structured. Other
Structure 6 4.9m 2 exterior features include a series of hearths found between
structures as well as large ash dumps near them. Aside from
Structure 8 5.5111 2
some reduction found around the hearths in the western
Structure 11 5.1 m 2 and northern portions of the excavation block, most of
14.3 m 2
the hearths have no artifacts within or surrounding them,
Structure 12
suggesting that they may have been foci of activities that
Median structure size 4.9m 2 left no durable remains in the archaeological record. Ex-
Mean structure size 4.7 m 2 cept in one instance, most of the hearths are located very
(excluding Structure 12) close to the structures, implying that the hearths were used
by the occupants of the structures. In some cases, ash has
204 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P

0 Bone Density

Post
00 Rock
H
CD Hearth

// Midden
G ._- Clay Basin

G Ground Stone
F
N KR Ki tchen Rock

~ Quebrada
Q) Lands! ide
(-,
House Floor
D -'
~~~ Ash Stain
0 2 4
I ! !
Meters
-, I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Fig. 7.29. Size 1 bone density, Level XVIlc, interval = 25.

0 Bone Density

Post
00 Rock

CD Hearth

// Midden
.- Cloy Basin

G Ground Stone

N KR Ki tchen Rock
~ Quebrada
Q) Landslide
(~; House Floor
~l~ Ash Stain
0 2 4
I I I
Meters
I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Fig. 7.30. Total burned bone density, Level XVIlc, interval = 25.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean A1"chaic 205

L '

o Lithic Density

Post
00 Rock
H
@ Hearth

G
>'/ Midden
C loy BaSin

G Ground Stone

N KR KItchen Rock

~ Queb'odo
Q) Landsl ide

o House Floor

Ash Stoln

c o 2
!
4
t
1
Meiers
I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Fig. 7.31. Size 1 lithics, Level XVIIc, interval = 1.

been pushed to the sides of structures, such as is the case
in Structures 3, 4, 6, and 13. This is probably related to
floor cleaning and sweeping. There is little evidence for
other outdoor activities. A few postn1olds are found near
Structures 3 and 9, but their function cannot be discerned.
The large communal or public structure continues to
be found on this level (figs. 7.24, 7.32). This structure is
14.3 m 2 in covered floor area and is ovoid in shape. While
similar in construction technique and size to the structure
first observed on XIX, this structure has two very impor-
tant differences: there is a new hearth feature on the floor,
and there are changes in the construction of the clay ba-
sins. The hearth consists of a series of colluvial and river
rocks placed in a rough ovoid or circle on the floor along
the eastern side of the structure (fig. 7.33). Some of these
rocks show evidence of pyroclastic damage like spalling or
cracking. While there is a very small amount of white ash
associated with these stones, there is no accumulation of
ash or carbon here, and neither is the prepared clay floor
surrounding the feature burned or otherwise hardened.
Instead, the floor directly under and adjacent to the rocks
is "melted," as if water had been poured on this portion of
the floor. Away from this feature, the prepared clay floor
is of a uniform rough consistency derived from weather-
ing and exposure. Features like this are found only in simi-
lar structures on Levels XVIlb and XVIIa, and importantly,
they are not found in any residential or domestic structure
of any time period. The special aspects of these features,
combined with their appearance within these presumed
public structures, suggest that they have a specialized func-
tion, one which will be explored later. Some of the clay
basins on the structure's floor have been changed from
smoothed, shallow ovoids scooped from the floor to square
or rectangular "boxes" with straight sides and more or less
right-angled corners (fig. 7.34a). Ofthe five basins on this
floor, two are of this almost formal construction (fig. 7.34b,
c). As on the Level XIX floor, none of the basins had any
artifacts found within them, and very few artifacts were
found on the floor as a whole.
Interpretations There seems little question that the oc-
cupation of Level XVIIc continues as a residential base.
There is considerable diversity in both the chipped stone
and ground stone tool assemblages, and a number of ac-
206 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

Fig. 7.32. Structure 12, the public structure on Level XVIIc. Note the special hearth
feature in the left-center of the photograph.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 207

Fig. 7.33. Hearth in Structure 12, the public architecture, on Level XVIIc.

Fig. 7.34. Straight-walled clay basin from the floor of Structure 12 public architecture, Level XVIIc. a: basin in
situ on the floor of the level; b: interior of the basin showing overall shape and depth; c: exterior of the basin.
208 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.
tivities are present in the activity profile. Residential struc-
tures are well constructed, and several show evidence of
having been relaid or rebuilt a number of times during the
occupation of this level. Further, this evidence is sugges-
tive of anticipated return to the site since considerable ef-
fort is expended in floor construction and reconstruction.
The use of space is also consistent with an interpretation
of a residential base. There is considerable redundancy in
the use of interior space, with a number of structures pos-
sessing evidence of food preparation and lithic reduction
within their boundaries. Moreover, food preparation ac-
tivities are focused upon the use of facilities (kitchen rocks
and pounding stones) generally found along the western
margins of the prepared floors or well away from the cen-
ter of the structures. Likewise, the use of exterior space is
well organized. While there is little evidence of extensive
exterior activity performance, there are few dumps of ei-
ther large lithic or bone waste found between most of the
residential structures. Instead, what dumps are found ap-
pear to be those generated by the routine clearing of house
floors of the food preparation waste generated within or
beside them and the removal of ash from interior hearths
and its disposal along the margins of the floors. The ap-
pearance of the nonresidential, public structure signals a
residential base as well as a potentially longer span of oc-
cupation of Level XVIlc. Special-purpose structures such
as these are rarely constructed at logistical camps, field
stations, or short-term residential bases. Therefore, it is
probable that the occupation span at Asana during this
occupation is significantly longer than any seen prior to
the Early Muruq'uta Phase.
The scale of land use is essentially the same as that seen
in Level XIX and the Asana IIVJilafia Phase. Although
Asana appears to have been occupied longer, there is con-
tinuing use of the lower high sierra, puna rim, and puna.
If the term of occupation at Asana in fact has increased,
this suggests that the settlement system has become more
logistical in its character, further implying a decrease in
residential mobility and a change in regional-scale land
use when compared with previous phases. While the struc-
ture of mobility has not changed since Asana IllKhitufia
times, with probable movement into other valley systems
when resources have become too costly to obtain, the fre-
quency of residential moves into these other valleys ap-
pears to have diminished.
What may have caused these changes is unclear. Envi-
ronmental change may have had some role. The climate
around 7000 to 6500 B.P. was relatively warm, but there
was an increasing trend toward further desiccation which
culminated in the Climatic Optimum that began some-
time after 6000 B.P. If this warming and drying trend is an
accurate description of regional climate at this time, it is
probable that resource density began to diminish during
this period. This would have made resource patches, like
the bofedal at Asana, more attractive, although it is un-
clear whether it could have fully supported the size of a
coresidential group indicated by the XVIlc occupation of
Asana for a considerable portion of the year. Another causal
factor that could have exacerbated this trend is the initia-
tion of the process of regional packing through steady,
long-term population growth, a hypothesis I offered a
number of years ago (Aldenderfer 1989a, 1989c). Popula-
tion growth in the surrounding valley systems may have
made it more difficult for groups of foragers to move into
these valleys as local resource availabilityworsened.1Vhile
plausible, this hypothesis is speculative since there are no
comparable data from these nearby valleys that indicate
that populations within them were indeed growing. We
are left, then, with archaeological indicators of a decreased
frequency of residential mobility but with little data avail-
able with which to determine exactly what caused this shift.
The activity profile at the site continues to be diverse.
Wood- and bone-processing tools are present, as are a lim-
ited number of hide-working tools. Although no examples
were recovered from this assemblage, the presence of the
large bifacial cutting tools with microtraces consistent with
cutting plants appears to indicate a greater importance of
plant foods in the diet.
Level XIV (ca. 6000 B.P.)
A total of 112 m 2 has been opened on Level XIV (fig. 7.35).
l"'he level is essentially intact, although there are small
patches of landslide disturbance found in the northwest-
ern corner ofthe block. These do not appear to have caused
any significant damage to the features and structures vis-
ible in the block.
Faunal Data Bone counts in Level XIV are very small,
and consequently MNI counts, bone weight (181 g), and
density (254 fragments/m 3) are also low (table 7.13). This
assemblage is somewhat less fragmented than those from
other levels, although 80% of the material is less than 2
cm in maximum dimension. Approximately 7% (N = 40)
of the assemblage can be identified to skeletal element,
and a somewhat smaller proportion (3.3 %; N = 19) can be
placed into age/maturity categories. Of these elements,
53% are from immature animals, while 47% are from adult,
mature individuals. Unfortunately, the number of elements
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 209

I
o I
'" I
. , 0'/
G '- .>
N

M f/!:
o

J
I

"" Q (J
0.. . -Q__ 0 / /
H ..~

' ...
' <::::'

,"-. b.. .
G
G ,f)
F
o
,'!!i G
'

Q::J Post
Rock
C3D Hear t h
G Ground Stone C_-) House Floor
~ Quebrada ~~~ Ash Stain
oI 3
I
6
I
Meters
1 I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Fig. 7.35. Plan view, Level XIv.

identifiable as to species is very small (1.1 %; N = 6), and
consequently little can be said of the proportion of differ-
ent species in the assemblage. However, five of the six el-
ements identifiable as to species are taruca, so it does ap-
pear that deer are well represented in the assemblage. A
relatively small proportion of the faunal remains (18%)
has been burned. Although the numbers are small, the
packet and skeletal element data show a number of inter-
esting patterns (table 7.13). The NISP in the trunk packet
dominates the assemblage, while the remaining packets-
head/neck, and fore- and hindquarters-are found in
roughly equal proportions. The presence of phalanges,
metapodials, and tooth fragments suggests the return of
whole animals to the site.
Lithic Data . Counts oflithic materials are likewise small
in Level XIV (N = 47), with low total weight (335 g) and
density (155 fragments/m 3). Raw material types in the as-
semblage are dominated by high-sierra materials (71.8%),
followed by puna rim (17%), puna (7.7%), and lower high-
sierra (3.5%) materials. A fragment of obsidian and a single
example of a far nonlocal material are also present. Al-
though the number of types of raw material (N = 19) falls
within the 95% confidence interval predicted by sample
210 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

50 -po--------------------,
Table 7.13. Faunal Data Summary, Level XIV

Freehand
40 -
Packet Data a A Biface, Stage 2
..J
<[ ABipolar
u
1 2 3 4 5 ....- 30 -
0:
0
u
4 3 28 4 1 ....
z
w 20 -
.10 .075 .70 .10 .025 u
a:
w
a..
N= 570 A B iface, Stage 3-4 Small Tool
AMaintenance
10 - S rna II Too I
MNI= 1 Production
.4
Phalanges = 4 A B i face, Stage 5 21

o ~---.,-I----~I----,I-----.I-----;
Metapodials = 3 o 10 20 30 40 50
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-3 RATIO
Tooth fragments =5
Fig. 7.36. Flake aggregate analysis, Level XIv.
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the
assemblage.

size, the number of types with counts greater than 50 (N =
2) falls well below these limits. As might be expected, these
two types (Types 4 and 21) are both high-sierra raw mate-
rials. The smaller number than expected, however, sug-
gests that lithic reduction was of relatively little impor-
tance in the activity profile during the occupation of this
level. This inference is indirectly confirmed through the
flake aggregate analysis of these two raw material types
(fig. 7.36). The reduction by-products of both raw mate-
rial types are very consistent with minor retooling and
resharpening of tools or nearly finished bifacial blanks
brought on site from elsewhere.
The chipped stone tool assemblage and microwear data
show an assemblage of limited diversity in both tool forms
and activities performed (table 7.14). Although scraping
tools are present, there is only one type in the assemblage
(Type 3). Further, this tool shows signs of multiple use,
having been used to process hides and scrape bone. One
of the points (broken haft element) has linear projection
traces, a clear sign of use as a projectile. Two of the other
points examined have traces of use, but the contact mate-
rial could not be determined. No whole or broken Stage
II or III percussion bifaces are found in the assemblage, a
finding consistent with the flake aggregate analysis.
The ground stone tool assemblage is likewise of very
limited diversity. Three mano-type grinding stones are
present, as are four hand stones with traces of hide-pro-
cessing wear. A single small batan is located near one of
the prepared clay floor structures along the eastern mar-
gin of the excavation block (fig. 7.37). All of the ground
stone tools are found along the eastern margin of the ex-
cavation block, either near or within the two prepared clay
floor structures or the midden area found to their south.
There are no ground stone tools found with the western,
postmold-defined structures on this floor. The implica-
tions of this pattern are explored later.
Site Structure Level XIV has clear evidence of a pal-
impsest reoccupation as well as some important variabil-
ity in the construction technique of the residential struc-
tures and the organization of used space. There are two
different styles ofresidential architecture on this floor: two
examples of the now-familiar prepared clay floors and a
style defined by patterns of postmolds very similar to the
sorts of structures found in the Early Archaic (fig. 7.35).
The prepared clay floors are ovoid in shape, and their cov-
ered floor area is estimated to be 4.2 m 2 and 4.6 m 2, re-
spectively. They are similar in construction to the floors
seen in the Early Muruq'uta Phase, but there is no evi-
dence of reconstruction or re-Iaying of the Level XIV
floors. Both of the floors have small colluvial and river
rocks surrounding their margins, and it is likely these were
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 211

Table 7.14. Lithic Data Summary, Level XIV used to support wall materials. A single postmold is found
at the edge of the most recent structure. Although neither
of these structures has an interior hearth, the most recent
Tools (N = 10) of the overlapping structures has two hearths near its south-
Scrapers 2 ern side. Aside from the colluvial rocks, the only other
Types 1 feature on the interior of either of these structures is a
small ash lens in the most recent structure.
Stage II/III percussion blanks o The second architectural style is defined by a set of
Edge tools o postmolds in a roughly circular or ovoid shape. Within
Projectile points 4 the boundaries of these presumed structures, there is no
(3 broken, trace of prepared clay or any other flooring material. In-
1 whole) stead, the natural soil matrix served as the floor. Although
posts appear to have been the primary means of support-
Indeterminate 4
ing wall materials, most of the structures have colluvial
Microwear Summary (4 tools examined) rocks between the posts which likely served as supports.
Hide processing/bone scraping From north to south in the excavation block, these struc-
tures have the following covered floor areas: 4.8 m 2, 4.8
Linear projection traces m 2, and 4.5 m 2 They are very similar in size to the pre-
Used, but indeterminate 2 pared clay floor structures on this floor and to those found
on Levels XIX and XVIIc (table 7.12). There are a num-

Fig. 7.37. Batan on surface near prepared clay floor structure on Level XIv. The batan is in the center of the
photograph; the floor extends to the top of the photograph.
212 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P

ber of posnnolds between the southernmost structures that
could indicate yet another house. If in fact the posts delin-
eate a structure, it was occupied before or after the use of
the other two structures, given its proximity to the two.
While none of the structures have an interior hearth, each
has an ash lens immediately adjacent to it or, in one case, a
lens within the structure. While labeled ash lenses, it is
possible these are in fact very shallow surface hearths.
There is a single definite hearth located 1.2 m from the
center structure in the block.
There is relatively little evidence for the use of interior
space on this surface. None of the small bone fragments
and reduction by-products are distributed within any of
the postmold-style structures (figs. 7.38, 7.39). Likewise,
there are very few remains within either of the two pre-
pared clay floors. There is a small concentration of small
reduction by-products in the northeastern corner of the
most recent prepared clay floor structure, and this likely
represents resharpening and retooling within the struc-
ture, albeit of a very low intensity.
The use of exterior space is somewhat more complex
but also of relatively low intensity, especially when com-
pared to the occupations seen in the Early Muruq'uta
Phase. There is very little burned bone on this surface,
and what exists is found either in very small concentra-
tions or in a small dump northwest of the earlier prepared
clay floor structure (fig. 7.40). Other dumps of unburned
bone are found in this area as well, and there is a very

I
o I
I
., I 0.>'/

N G '1 '-

~
Post
E
(b Rock
Heorth 0
, -, Bone Density
D G Ground Stone'_'- House Floor
N
- f2J",95 Quebrodo .~.At~ Ash Sto;n

c I 0
!
3
!
Meters
6
!

l I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Fig. 7.38. Size 1 bone density, Level XIv, interval = 5.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 213

large dump found along the southern edge of the excava- facts associated with them, and it seems unlikely that the
tion block well away from the prepared clay floor struc- lenses represent hearth sweepings or cleanings since there
tures (fig. 7.41). The concentration of bone immediately are so few true hearths on the surface. A possible explana-
south and adjacent to the prepared clay floor structure is tion is that at least some of the lenses are in fact small,
probably a result of exterior food preparation, while the shallow surface hearths. Most of these small ash lenses are
concentration of bone on the surface of the earlier pre- near the postrnold-defined structures (fig. 7.35). If they
pared clay floor structure is most likely a result of casual, are in fact small hearths, their large number may be ex-
secondary refuse dumping after that structure had been plained in part by the likely palimpsest nature of the occu-
abandoned. The distribution of all lithic materials sug- pation on this surface or by an activity performed that left
gests a pattern oflow intensity, in situ lithic reduction with no permanent residues in the archaeological record.
no cleanup (fig. 7.42). Aside from these by-products, there
are no special dumps of any kind oflithics on this surface. Interpretations A number of significant changes can be
The distribution of the very large number of small ash seen in the occupation of Level XIV when compared to
lenses has no obvious explanation. Very few have any arti- Early Muruq'uta Phase levels. Perhaps the most impor-

I
o . I
I ./1

N G .: 'i .9-'
I

M f/f.:
o

G
~\~
G
~ 0
F '.'/:.::'
G

'(.~:

~
Post
E
Q:::) Rock '"0
C[J) Hearth 0
, -, lithic Density
D G Ground Stone' _ ./ House Floor
N
- l2l'ff> Que bra do ~~~ Ash Stain

C I 0
I
3
!
Meters
6
I

1 I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Fig. 7.39. Size 1 lithic density, Level XIv, interval = 1.

214 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

I
o I
I
., 09.>0/
N G

M ~
o

F t'l/:.:J

~
Post
E
Cb Rock
C3D Heorth 0, -, Bone Density
D G Ground Stone ~ - -" House Floor
N
- !2J~ Quebrodo 1.A1~ Ash Stoin
c I 0
1
Meters
3
I
6
I 0

01
1 I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Fig. 7.40. Total burned bone density, Level XIv, interval = 5.

tant of these is the disappearance of the public architec-
ture which was first seen in Level XIX. This is accompa-
nied by changes in the style of residential architecture as
well as the organization of space at the site. While it is
possible that the public, nonresidential structure has moved
elsewhere on the site, this is improbable. This further im-
plies a significant reduction in the occupation span of the
site, an inference supported by the limited set of chipped
stone and ground stone tools present and the range of ac-
tivities performed with them. In addition, the quantity of
cultural materials as measured by number, weight, and
density is significantly smaller than seen in the Early
Muruq'uta Phase levels. The conclusion, then, that there
was a major change in the place of Asana during the Level
XIV occupation is inescapable.
The change in domestic architecture suggests that there
are two distinct places in this palimpsest occupation of the
site. The prepared clay floors represent a simplified con-
tinuation of patterns seen in both the Asana IIIIJilana and
the Early Muruq'uta Phases: the well-constructed floors
imply the anticipation of return, and while the quantity
and range of artifact types and activities performed have
decreased, the kinds of activities performed-some hide
preparation, bone working, and unspecified grinding tasks
using mano-type stones-are similar to those activities seen
in other occupations described as residential bases. While
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 215

I
o . I
.i ./
N
G :'-+ .9'>
M !!:
o
~< !
L

G
G(};)

;'/:;:
o
F G

~
Post
E <:>
Q::) Rock o
c:IJ) Hearth 0 -,~
Bone Density
D G Ground Stone' - ./ House Floor
N
- ~ Quebrada ~Xt~ Ash Stain
c I 0
I
3
I
Meters
6
I

1 I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 31 32

Fig. 7.41. Total bone density, Level XIv, interval = 5.

the prepared clay floors may represent a residential base,
there is no question that the length of occupation at the
site has decreased when compared to earlier levels.
The postmold-defined structures, however, appear to
represent a very different kind of use of the site. There are
no ground stone or chipped stone tools found associated
with these structures, and the amount of bone waste and
reduction by-products associated with these structures is
negligible. The structures themselves are poorly con-
structed when compared to the prepared clay floors, which
implies that return to the site to reuse these structures may
not have been anticipated by the coresidential group or
that any reoccupation was likely to have been in the dis-
tant future. Likewise, the virtual absence ofartifacts around
these structures suggests that their occupation was of an
extremely short duration.
Although the place of Asana may have varied during
the Level XIV occupation of the site, the regional-scale
settlement pattern has not changed. Debitage of raw ma-
terials from all major environmental zones other than the
coast indicates that mobility ranged from the lower high
sierra to the puna. Looking more carefully at the relation-
ship between tool form, debitage frequencies, and raw
material type, it is clear that many of the tools discarded at
Asana were in fact made in different environmental zones
(table 7.15). There is no statistically significant relation-
216 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

I
0 I
I
., .g//
N
G

M ~
0 ~
L
~'. '~F

\ cP CJ
" . . . -<1>- _0" /
0.
@ .o.~
......
,
H
", ...... b.. .

G
G l;
o
F t'l!::1 G

~
Post
E Q

CO Rock o
C3) Hear t h , -, Lithic Density
D G Ground Slone ~ - " House Floor
N
- ilJ'2f Quebrada ~.tt~~ Ash Stain
C I 0
!
3
I
Meters
6
!

1 1
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Fig. 7.42. Total lithic density, Level XIv, interval = 5.

ship between tool form and raw material type, indicating assemblages aggregated by phase show a clear trend: the
that there was no apparent preference for any particular relative frequencies of scraping tools become smaller
raw material type to make a particular tool form. These through time. In the Asana IIPuruma and Asana IIIKhituiia
findings suggest that some tools of lower high-sierra and Phases, scrapers compose almost 70% of the assemblage,
puna raw materials were made elsewhere, brought on site, but by the Asana IIIIMuruq'uta Phase and beyond, the
used, and then discarded. The small amounts of debitage proportion ofscrapers drops below 20% and settles around
of these raw material types are consistent with tool main- 10% during the last two phases of occupation at the site.
tenance, resharpening, and some retooling. As the proportions of scrapers decline, those of projectile
points and bifaces increase and eventually dominate the
The Demise ofthe Scraping Tool
content of the assemblages (fig. 7.44).
One of the most interesting patterns seen in the material Looking at scraping tools, however, is only part of the
culture at Asana is the relative disappearance of the scrap- picture, for the uses of these tools must be considered as
ing tool through time. As can be seen in figure 7.43, the well since, as I demonstrated previously, there is no con-
proportions of scraping tools in the chipped stone tool sistent relationship between scraper function and morphol-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 217

Table 7.15. Late Muruq'uta Phase Tool and Debitage Comparisons

Tool and Raw Material Type Comparisons

Raw Material by Zone

Lower High Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim Puna Total

Biface 1 6 1 0 8
0.64000 5.12000 1.60000 0.64000 8
0.45000 0.38890 -0.47434 -0.80000 0
Edge 0 2 0 0 2
0.16000 1.28000 0.40000 0.16000 2
-0.40000 0.63640 -0.63246 -0.40000 0
Point 1 7 2 1 11
0.88000 7.04000 2.20000 0.88000 11
0.12792 -0.01508 -0.13484 0.12792 0
Scraper 0 1 2 1 4
0.32000 2.56000 0.80000 0.32000 4
-0.56569 -0.97500 1.34164 1.20208 0
Total 2 16 5 2 25
2 16 5 2 25
0 0 0 0 0
Table contents
Count
Expected values
Standardized residuals
1 = 6.911 with 9 df
Chi squared = 6.911, 9 df, not significant

Tool, Raw Material, and Debitage Comparisons

Lower High Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim Puna

Tools 8%a 64% 20% 8%

Debitage 8.6% 67% 17.8% 6.6%

apercentage values refer to proportion of tools and debitage made of raw materials from
each zone.
218 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P

Awoti

o Wood
Ohuno
1:::::::::1 Bone

Pis! Morc Pisi Mara _ H,de

Late Muruq'ufo

Early Muruq'uto
Late Muruq'ula
Early Muruq'ula
i!~~: /I

Jjlono Ji lana
{---(J
Khituno K hi luna

Purumo

o 20 40 60 80 o 20 40 60 80 100
PERCENTAGE OF ASSEMBLAGE PROPORT ION OF SCRAPING TOOL USES

Fig. 7.43. Proportion of scraping tools by phase. Fig. 7.45. Scraping tool use through time.

Awoti

Ohuno

Pisl Mora
-- .' 'J
Awoli

Ohuno

PISI Mora

Late Muruq'uto
V Lote MurUQ'uto

U Early Muruq'ufo
Early Muruq'uto

I/}I Jilo"o

-
Jilono
IL
, :::;;,
Khituno
V A CJ Point Khituno

1L:::7l Blfoce
~~~==;:====:;:::===:::;:====tl
V /I
Purumo Purumo

o 20 40 BO 60 100 o 10 20
NUMBER
PERCENTAGE OF ASSEMBLAGE

Fig. 7.44. Proportions of points and bifaces by phase. Fig. 7.46. Number of ground stone hide-processing tools
through time.

ogy (see fig. 4.5). That is, except for one scraper type, each
scraping tool has at least five distinct uses. As can be seen
in figure 7.45, of the three major uses of scrapers, the fre-
quency of their use as hide scrapers also decreases through
time, and after the Late Muruq'uta Phase, what few for-
mal scraping tools remain in the assemblage are used to
process either wood or bone. Does this mean that hide
processing is unimportant in the later phases of the occu-
pation of the site? Apparently not, because except for the
Asana VIIIAwati Phase, there are ground stone tools in
the assemblage that were used to process hides (fig. 7.46).
However, the frequency of these tools decreases signifi-
cantly through time.
What can explain the disappearance of the scraping tool,
particularly the hide-processing scraper, in the later phases
of the occupation at Asana? Two hypotheses can be of-
fered. The first is that the place of Asana in the regional-
scale settlement system changed significantly so that hide
processing, while still occasionally practiced, was no longer
one of the primary activities performed on site. This hy-
pothesis has very weak support. As we have seen, Asana
moved from a short-term residential base in the Asana II
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Puruma Phase to a longer-term residential base in Asana
IIlKhitufia Phase times at least through the end of the
Late Muruq'uta Phase, and while I have not presented the
data for the Asana VI/Qhuna Phase, the site remains a
residential base during that phase as well. Therefore, a
change in place per se is not a sufficient explanation for
the decline in scraping tools, although it is possible that
the length of the residential occupations of the site may
well have affected the rate of discard of scraping tools into
the archaeological record. This may be the explanation
for the lack of scraping tools in the Asana V/Pisi Mara and
Asana VIIIAwati Phase occupations of the site.
A more parsimonious explanation may be that elabo-
rate hide clothing is no longer important for life in the
highlands. The scraping tool assemblage in the later phases,
beginning in Early Muruq'uta times, has become very
simple with minimal diversity. Such assemblages are typi-
cal of the simplest hide-processing tasks and would thus
be consistent with the simple cape model of clothing pro-
posed by Hayden (1990). If this explanation is correct, what
are the causes that suggest a shift in clothing? The first
obvious explanation is that temperatures do increase
through time. Although there are no precise measure-
ments, estimates of Asana I/Puruma Phase and Asana IV
Khitufia Phase temperatures are well below those of the
modern era, and clothing would have been required for
permanent habitation in the highlands during these phases.
Temperatures begin to increase significantly around 8000
B.P. near the end of the Asana IIVJilafia Phase, but even
during the Climatic Optimum of ca. 6000 to 5000 B.P.,
they never reach modern levels. Since clothing is still used
by the modern indigenous inhabitants of the Andes, it
seems unlikely that their ancestors abandoned their use.
Another possibility for the simplification ofclothing and
the consequent decrease in hide-processing tools begin-
ning in Early Muruq'uta times is the biological acclimati-
zation to environment of highland dwellers. While I have
postulated that the earliest migrants to the New World in
general and South America in particular would have been
preadapted to cold due to their Asian genetic heritage,
permanent habitation at high altitude would have also re-
quired acclimatization to the combined effects ofcold stress
and hypoxia. Just how long this acclimatization process
would have taken is far from clear. If permanent habita-
tion in the south-central Andean highlands by 9500 B.P. is
assumed, the decline in scraping tools is initiated by ca.
7800 B.P., a period of roughly 1,700 years. Since it is known
that some changes in human physiology as a response to
high altitude, such as increased maximal oxygen uptake,
219
can occur in individuals not born in the highlands but who
have lived most of their lives in them, it does not seem
unreasonable to assume that a population-level response
to these stressors could have developed over that time
frame. However, I must stress that biological and other
empirical indicators of this process, aside from the decline
in scraping tools, do not exist, and it is certainly possible
that acclimatization could have been achieved well before
some putative date in Early Muruq'uta times.
Another fascinating possibility for the demise of the hide
scraper is the replacement of hide clothing with woolen
clothing. The transition to woolen clothing obviously was
made at some point in the past, but the crucial question,
of course, is when. There has been a tendency to assume
that the appearance of woolen clothing was concurrent
with, or slightly after, the presumed date of camelid do-
mestication. If this is correct, and if for the sake of argu-
ment it is assumed that the diffusion of both the process of
domestication and the making of clothing was not wide-
spread (cf. Jensen and Kautz 1974), woolen clothing should
appear in the central Andes by ca. 6000 B.P. (Wheeler 1984),
in the northern portion of the south-central Andes by ca.
4400 to 4000 B.P. (Aldenderfer 1989c; Kuznar 1990), and
in the southern reaches of the south-central Andes after
4000 B.P. (Hesse 1982). Even if a rapid diffusion is granted,
using this logic, woolen clothing should not appear before
6000 B.P. Yet in the south-central Andes, domesticated
camelids are not seen until about 2,000 years after the dis-
appearance of the hide-processing scraping tool.
Whatever the process, the Archaic Period evidence for
wool processing in the Andean highlands is extremely lim-
ited. While there is very clear evidence for the twining of
various plant fibers as early as 10,600 to 10,000 B.P. at
Guitarrero Cave in the Callej6n de Huaylas (Adovasio and
Maslowski 1980: 253-254) and at various sites in the high-
lands of Ayacucho ranging from ca. 8000 to 4000 B.P.
(MacNeish 1980), there is practically no good evidence of
wool processing. MacNeish (1980: 322) discovered small
bundles of cut camelid wool in a number of Chihua Phase
sites (ca. 6400-5300 B.P.) but suggests these had been de-
rived from the scraping of camelid hides since they had no
evidence of further processing. He also describes bone
artifacts, such as weaving swords and a small bone comb
(MacNeish and Nelken-Turner 1980: 318-319,320), and
suggests these tools may in fact be part of a weaving tech-
nology. The weaving swords are said to be Piki Phase (ca.
8000 to 6400 B.P.) diagnostic artifacts, while the bone comb
was found in a Chihua Phase deposit. He also speculates
that the significant increase in certain types of bone tools
220 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.
in Piki Phase times and the simultaneous decline in num-
bers of bone tools useful in processing hides may signal
the appearance of a weaving technology as early as 8000
B.P. (MacNeish and Nelken-Turner 1980: 309). This date
corresponds closely to the date at which hide-processing
tools begin to disappear from the assemblages at Asana.
Unfortunately, it is not possible to discuss the evidence
for scraping tools themselves since a comparable high-
power microwear analysis was not performed on them.
The problem, ofcourse, is obtaining empirical evidence
that can be used to determine whether woolen clothing
was being made. Since clothing itself is unlikely to survive
in most high-elevation sites in the Andes, indirect indica-
tors must serve. Note that the question is not one of herd-
ing or domestication per se but rather the use of fiber and
its accumulation in sufficient quantity to make useful,
warm, and effective clothing. Therefore, traditional indi-
cators ofdomestication, such as demographic shifts in bone
frequencies or site structural and feature associations typi-
cally associated with herding, may not necessarily reflect
fiber utilization, especially if meat is thought to be the pri-
mary rationale for domestication. If features and faunal
remains are of limited value, it is then necessary to rely
upon artifactual evidence, which would include raw wool,
wool processed into yarn through either twining or the
use of whorls, and weaving implements such as weaving
swords made of bone or wood, needles, or spindle whorls.
Yet another artifactual indicator would be stone tools with
distinctive traces of wear on them derived from cutting or
"shearing" camelid wool. Since no camelid wool or bone
or wooden tools indicative of a weaving technology were
found at Asana, microwear data are the only evidence avail-
able to approach this problem.
To that end, a detailed and exhaustive experimental and
analytical program was developed to discover whether wool
cutting leaves distinctive microtraces on chipped stone
materials and to determine whether archaeological ex-
amples of this wear do in fact exist in the Asana assem-
blages. The logic of this approach assumes that while there
may have been some wool cutting prior to the intensive
use of this material for clothing, there should be more tools
with wool-cutting traces in the post-7800 B.P. levels at
Asana. A series of wool-cutting experiments were con-
ducted in 1991. Using large, hand-held flakes of a very
fine grained material, Type 7 red volcanic andesite, two
individuals cut all the wool off of two large, gritty, dirty
alpaca hides that had been previously obtained to conduct
hide-processing experiments. The wool was carefully cut
from the hide, and every effort was made to avoid con-
tacting the dry hide. Eight experiments were conducted,
with each tool being used at least one hour. The tools were
then cleaned and examined using the techniques described
in chapter 4. The examination showed that wool process-
ing produced a deeply invasive but nondiagnostic generic
weak polish on the edges of the experimental tools. In some
cases, polish extended over 100 microns into the body of
the tool and persisted along a significant portion of the
edge of the tool. Unfortunately, generic weak polish is just
that-it can be produced by low intensity, short-term con-
tact with a variety of materials. The key feature of wool
polish is its invasive character, but it is important to note
that the wear only appears after extensive use of the tool.
Archaeological specimens were selected using the fol-
lowing criteria: they had to fit comfortably in the hand, be
large enough for long-term use, and have usable edge
angles of less than 30 degrees. Of the 38 tools examined,
half were from either the Asana IIIKhitufia and Asana 1111
Jilafia Phases and half were from the Early and Late
Muruq'uta Phases. Very few of the tools showed any sign
of use, although three tools from Early Muruq'uta levels
showed invasive generic weak polish. As noted earlier,
however, these tools cannot be unequivocally assigned to
a wool-processing function, but their presence in the post-
7800 B.P. assemblages is suggestive. It should be stressed
as well that no presumptive wool-processing tools have
been recovered from the Asana VIIIAwati Phase assem-
blages, a period when it is highly probable that camelids
had been domesticated at Asana. Given the equivocal data,
a hypothesis of early wool processing, while possible, can-
not be demonstrated by the materials from Asana. The
demise of the scraping tool, then, appears to have been
caused by a combination of ameliorating temperatures and
the biological acclimatization of highland inhabitants to
the combined stressors of cold and hypoxia. The wool-
processing hypothesis, however, remains tantalizing.
Early Public Structures
Public or nondomestic structures are seen first in Early
Muruq'uta Phase times in Level XIX and are also found in
Levels XVIII, XVIIc, XVIIb, and XVIIa. This spans a pe-
riod from roughly 7100 to 6500 B.P. It is possible, but un-
likely, that structures of this type existed in the earlier lev-
els of this phase (ca. 7800-7100 B.P., including XXIII-XX).
Large-scale block excavations in the West Block through
Level XXI failed to discover any such structures, although
it is possible that they could have been constructed in some
other portion of the site. Likewise, these structures are
not seen in any level after XVIIa, until a new form of pub-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
lic or ceremonial structure appears in Level IXc-1 in Asana
VIlQhuna Phase times, ca. 4800 B.P.
The structures in these five levels are essentially identi-
cal, varying primarily in the number and construction of
the clay basins on the floors, their size, and the range of
facilities present within them (table 7.16). Unfortunately,
the structures in Levels XVIIb and XVIIa have been heavily
disturbed by the excavation of features from upper levels
and from landslide damage, and therefore I will have rela-
tively little to say about them. The construction technique
in each case is the puddling of the locally available white
clay, which has also been used in these levels for the con-
struction of residential architecture. Doorways are visible
in each of the structures. The v-shaped doorways are nar-
row and deeply cut into the structure. Although these struc-
tures are incomplete and have been partially destroyed by
the Rio Asana, enough of their shape and directionality of
the existing prepared clay floor exists to reconstruct them
as large ovoids that vary only slightly in size. Although all
of them have small clay basins on their floors, these vary
in both number and construction technique. While the
structures in XIX and XVIII have ash lenses and postmolds,
the XVIIc structure does not and instead has a large stone-
lined hearth complex. It is very possible that this feature
type was present in the structures in the previous two lev-
els but that it was destroyed by the river. Each of these
public structures is found on the edge ofthe tightly packed
residential core typical of Early Muruq'uta site organiza-
tion. In each case, the distance to the nearest contempora-
Table 7.16. Comparison of Public Structures, Levels XIX, XVIII, and XVIIc
XIX XVIII
Size 13.1 m 2 14.1 m 2
Number of 3 2
basins on floor
Interior facilities small ash lenses small ash lenses
5 postmolds 3 postmolds
Basin construction all shallow and all shallow and
basin shaped basin shaped
221
neously occupied structure is less than 1 m.
There are clear differences between the public struc-
tures and the contemporaneous domestic structures. The
mean structure size for all Early Muruq'uta Phase domes-
tic structures is 4.9 m 2, whereas the median structure size
for the presumed public structures is 14.1 m 2 Approxi-
mately 50% of the domestic structures in the Early
Muruq'uta Phase have interior food preparation areas with
small batanes or kitchen rocks, and the majority of the
remainder have hearths and food preparation areas within
1 m of their floors. Likewise, many of the domestic struc-
tures have clear evidence of activity performance, such as
lithic reduction, within them. In contrast, none of the three
intact public structures have features similar to food prepa-
ration facilities within or near them, and there is no evi-
dence of interior activity performance. The XVIlc struc-
ture has a facility-the stone-lined hearth-that is not seen
in or near any domestic structure in any phase of occupa-
tion at Asana. It is obvious, therefore, that these struc-
tures have no real domestic functions. Calling these struc-
tures "public" by default, while probably accurate, is not
enough, and some effort must be made to assign a func-
tion to them. Since it is unlikely that an unambiguous set
of universally applicable criteria useful for the definition
of public or ceremonial architecture in foraging societies
will be developed (Aldenderfer 1991a), I must turn to the
use of analogy developed within a comparative and con-
textual framework (Wylie 1989). This approach has been
anticipated by Flannery and his coworkers in their work
XVIIc
14.3 m 2
5
stone-lined hearth
2 rectangular,
straight-walled
construction;
3 shallow and
basin shaped
222 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.
on the origins of public or civic buildings and the devel-
opment of ceremonialism and religion in the Valley of
Oaxaca (Drennan 1976, 1983; Flannery 1976; Flannery
and Marcus 1976). A careful reading of these works shows
that the term "public architecture" is not defined but in-
stead is illustrated by ethnographic analogy and compari-
son of presumed public structures with contemporaneous
domestic residences and specialized activity or processing
areas. While careful definition is to be desired in any sci-
entific exercise, precision must be tempered with utility.
Public or nondomestic structures are well known from
many foraging societies, and they appear in a bewildering
variety of forms and locations. Even the briefest glance at
the ethnographic literature demonstrates the remarkable
diversity of ceremonial or ritual structures found in forag-
ing societies. Structures can be as simple as the open space
around a campfire, as in traditional Basarwa society (Lee
1979), or as complex as permanent feasting and ceremo-
nial halls, potlatching halls, and chief's residences among
the sedentary foragers on the Northwest Coast of North
America, such as the Tlingit (de Laguna 1983) and Haida
(Blackman 1990: fig. 3). While some ceremonial structures
are built off site, such as the fandango of the Great Basin
Shoshone (Steward 1938; Thomas 1983a: 83-87), the hain
of the Selk'nam (Chapman 1982), and the varied dance
grounds of many Australian aboriginal groups (Spenser
and Gillen 1899; Warner 1937), others are surrounded by
domestic structures or are in the center of clusters of resi-
dences, such as among the Chumash, Gabrielino, Cupeiio,
and Luiseiio of California (Bean and Shipek 1978; Bean
and Smith 1978; Blackburn 1974), various Algonkian-
speaking groups in the upper Great Lakes region such as
the Chippewa (Hickerson 1970), Ojibwa (Landes 1968),
Salteaux (Steinbring 1981: fig. 10), and Menominee
(Spindler 1978), and subarctic groups such as the Ingalik
(Snow 1981: 604). Often, ceremonial structures are used
as residences by lineage heads, such as on the Northwest
Coast, while in other instances they are used only for ritual
or ceremonial purposes, such as in southern California.
California, because of the quality and quantity of eth-
nographies of its foraging peoples, is an excellent source
for the search for analogs of the public structures at Asana.
Although this review is neither systematic nor exhaustive,
it nevertheless provides a sufficiently broad overview of
California forager public structures that can be used to
define the function of the Early Muruq'uta Phase public
structures. There are three types of public structures of
California foraging peoples: dance or assembly halls, cer-
emonial halls, and sweathouses. Frequently, these struc-
tures have overlapping functions. The Wiyot, a northern
California group, had sweathouses that were used by men
for sleeping, gambling, and men's activities but could also
be used for general public ceremonies when required
(Elasser 1978: 158). In contrast, many other groups, such
as the Tolowa (Gould 1978: 131), Hupa (Wallace 1978:
166-167), and Karok (Bright 1978: 183), had sweathouses
used solely for sweating and men's activities. In addition,
adult men and boys beyond puberty would frequently sleep
in these structures. The Tolowa used the sweathouse for
sweating, gambling, net and bow making, and other male-
related activities (Gould 1978: 131). Women were pro-
hibited from entering the house for any reason. Although
there was some variability, such as the Shastan groups that
had family-owned sweathouses in which females would be
permitted entry, the sweathouse in most California forag-
ing groups was a focal point for males and their activities.
Males, while they may often have slept and spent consid-
erable time in these houses, would generally return to their
domestic dwellings to eat and conduct family business.
Sweathouses varied considerably in size and range of
internal features depending on the extent to which they
were used for sweating. Most such structures were similar
in size to domestic dwellings, although they had a much
smaller range of features within them. For instance, if
sweating was accomplished only by very hot, direct fires,
sweathouses would have one or two large hearths within
them, whereas those that relied upon steam would have
different features, such as piles of rock or sunken, steam-
producing hearths. The key, however, is that these struc-
tures did not have typical domestic features within them,
such as cooking hearths, storage areas, and food prepara-
tion areas. This difference in facilities should be useful in
distinguishing domestic dwellings from sweathouses.
At the other end of the continuum of public structures
of California foraging groups are assembly halls and cer-
emonial structures. While some of these may in fact have
been used for sweating, such as with the Cahto (Myers
1978: 246), or for men's activities, such as with the Wtntu
(LaPena 1978: 325), most were used for group integrative
ceremonies, such as with the Miwok (Levy 1978: 409), the
Cahuilla (Bean 1978: 577-578), and the Chumash (Grant
1978: 510), among others. These buildings were far larger
than domestic dwellings; for example, the Eastern Miwok
built a semisubterranean assembly hall that ranged from
12 to 15 m in diameter, which is a minimum of 116 m 2 of
covered floor area. Structures of this size often had a single
large hearth in their centers.
Given this brief review, it is plausible to assert that the
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Early Muruq'uta public structures probably served as men's
houses and possibly as sweathouses, although the data for
the latter are lacking. It is improbable that they are assem-
bly or ceremonial structures given their relatively small
size. They have, however, almost three times the covered
floor area of the median size of domestic dwellings in this
phase, and they lack virtually every food preparation fea-
ture or facility seen in the domestic structures. The small
basins are not found in domestic structures, only in these
public buildings. The rock hearth feature seen in Level
XVIIc is interesting because there is no other similar fea-
ture found on the site, and it contains heat-fractured or
spalled rock but without burned or charred soil or the
buildup of ash within it. It is possible these rocks were
heated and water poured upon them for steam, thus pro-
ducing the fracturing and spalling. Whether or not actual
sweating was a part of activity performance within them,
these structures are best interpreted as men's houses and
not larger domestic structures or ceremonial buildings.
If this interpretation is valid, a new question must be
considered: why do these structures appear when they do?
Their appearance can be correlated with a change in site
organization from the paired structure pattern to the tightly
packed residential core. When the paired structure pat-
tern returns in Late Muruq'uta times in Level XVI (and
illustrated here by Level XIV), public structures such as
these are no longer constructed. It is not the change in
site organization per se that "causes" the construction of
these structures but instead what the change in site orga-
nization implies. Once again, a review of California forag-
ers is useful. Although the reconstruction of either scales
or frequencies of residential mobility is difficult, it never-
theless seems clear that structures like these, as well as as-
sembly and ceremonial halls, are built when groups have
relatively low frequencies of residential mobility or have
long occupation spans at their residential bases. If this anal-
ogy holds, it appears that Asana during Early Muruq'uta
Phase times was a residential base with a relatively long
span of occupation each time it was used.
Summary: Asana IVll\1!uruq'uta Phase
The Asana IV/Muruq'uta Phase at Asana, and indeed the
Rio Asana valley, shows a mixture of continuity and change.
Continuity is expressed through the continued use of the
site as a residential base, the range of activities performed,
and the scale of land use. The organization of the use of
space is the strongest indicator that Asana continues to
see use as a seasonally occupied residential base. While we
are no closer to knowing that season owing to the paucity
223
of botanical materials, the well-defined placement of resi-
dential structures on site, the patterned disposal of trash,
and the separation of activity performance on site all speak
to its use as a residential base. The activities performed
are typical of those seen at residential bases-tool mainte-
nance, food preparation, and gear manufacture or replace-
ment-and it is probable that the entire coresidential group
used the site. Finally, the scale of land use is similar to that
seen in previous phases-lithic materials from the lower
high sierra to the far puna attest to the probable logistical
use of these environmental zones by the inhabitants of
Asana. This inference is strengthened by the clear logisti-
cal use of two sites-Coscori in the lower high sierra and
EI Panteon in the puna rim-during this phase. In this
sense, the place ofAsana seems to have changed little when
compared to the two previous phases.
There are, however, significant and important changes
in the way in which the site was used. Perhaps the most
important of these is the appearance of public architec-
ture by ca. 7100 B.P. Based on ethnographic analogy from
mobile foraging societies, such architecture appears when
the length of occupation increases substantially. In other
words, increased length of occupation at a site is a neces-
sary, but not sufficient, condition for the construction of
public architecture. While the precise function of this ar-
chitecture is not well understood-it could have been used
as a sweatlodge, men's house, or communal meeting site-
the identification of its function is somewhat less impor-
tant than the recognition that the architecture signals a
longer stay at the site when it is used. This inference is
supported by the data from site structure, which attest to
the more formal, more organized use of space.
Just why the length of occupation increases is not clear,
but it is probable that climate change is in some way im-
plicated. According to the best continent-wide climatic
reconstructions available, the climate began to deteriorate
in South America sometime after 8000 B.P. The rapidity
of that deterioration, as well as its severity, is hard to mea-
sure since so few areas in the south-central Andean high-
lands have detailed paleoenvironmental reconstructions.
If the climate did deteriorate, archaeological evidence
suggests that Asana, and by extension the Rio Asana val-
ley, remained attractive through much of this phase.
Groups of foragers may have been attracted to the rela-
tively high densities of resources in this area, and these
densities appear to have been sufficient for them to in-
crease the length of stay on site. Alternatively, there may
have been fewer alternatives for long-term habitation ow-
ing to this climatic trend.
224 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.
After ca. 6500 B.P. there are major changes in the ways
residential structures are built (they become simpler to
make), public architecture is no longer built, and the ac-
tivity profile shrinks. While the site continues to serve as a
residential base, the length of occupation decreases sub-
stantially when compared to earlier in the phase. This may
well be a reflection of increasing climatic deterioration
when even the environs of Asana became less attractive.
Asana VlPisi Mara Phase
There are four cultural levels contained in the Asana VI
Pisi Mara Phase-XIII, XII, XI, and X. These levels are
found primarily within the West Block, although there are
small fragments of Level X and related soils in the Central
and Eastern Blocks. Levels XI-XIII are found primarily
in the colluvially derived soils of Complex Iv, while Level
X is interbedded in the water-ponded soil horizons of
Complex III. Although 132 m 2 of these levels were ex-
posed, only 104 m 2 are described here because most of the
northernmost excavation rows (N and 0) have been dis-
turbed by landslides. Since aside from the domestic archi-
tecture and inferred place ofAsana during this phase there
are no facilities, principles of site organization, or artifacts
that can be said to be diagnostic of the Asana VIPisi Mara
Phase, there are no data on settlement patterns beyond
what has been excavated at Asana. Inferences as to the likely
structure of settlement during this phase are discussed
through the use of chipped stone raw materials.
Level XlI (5345 B.P.)
Aside from the northernmost row of excavation units, Level
XII is essentially intact, although a large finger of land-
slide debris cuts into the level running northwest to south-
east (fig. 7.47). This channel does not appear to have sig-
nificantly disturbed the features or artifact concentrations
on this surface. Since only fifteen fragments of faunal ma-
terial were recovered, there will be neither a discussion of
them nor a distributional analysis of their location.
Lithic Data Counts of lithic material are very small in
Level XII (N = 249), and correspondingly, weight (89 g)
and density (120 fragments/m 3) are also low. As in most of
the preceding phases, the majority of the raw materials
are from the high sierra (90.8%), followed by the puna
rim (6.8%), puna (2.0%), and the lower high sierra (0.4%).
The proportion of high-sierra materials in this assemblage
is much higher than that seen in the previous phases. In
contrast, material from the lower high sierra has almost
disappeared from the assemblage. The number of raw
material types, both in terms of the total number of types
(N = 11) as well as those with counts greater than 50 (N =
2), falls within predicted limits. The two types with high
counts are Type 4 from the high sierra and Type 23, a
puna rim material. A flake aggregate analysis of these two
types reveals that the reduction debris of both is indicative
of tool resharpening, retooling, or minor small-tool pro-
duction (fig. 7.48). No chipped stone tools were recov-
ered from the level. The ground stone tool assemblage
contained four mano-type grinding stones, two hide-pro-
cessing tools, and one small batan.
Site Structure The use of space on this surface is rela-
tively simple, especially when compared to that seen in
earlier phases of occupation at the site. This trend toward
simplicity was begun in Late Muruq'uta times. Residen-
tial architecture is inferred from the circular-to-oval
postrnold patterns. Unlike the structures seen in the Asana
IIlKhituiia, Asana IIII]ilaiia, and Early Muruq'uta Phases,
the structures ofthis phase do not have prepared clay floors.
The interiors of these structures have floors that are some-
what hard packed through use and in some instances have
slight organic staining, which helps to distinguish them
from the surrounding soil matrix. In some cases, rocks are
also found along the presumed edges of these structures
and were likely used as supports for wall coverings. The
two complete structures on the Level XII surface have
covered floor areas of 4.9 m 2 and 4.8 m 2 , and the median
structure size for all Asana VIPisi Mara Phase structures is
4.8 m 2 On this surface, there is no evidence for overlap-
ping structures or a palimpsest reoccupation, although it
is possible that some structural remains, indicated by
postrnolds, are present along the northern edge of the ex-
cavation block. There is very little indication of activity
performance within the two complete structures. Only one
structure has a feature-an ash lens/possible surface
hearth-within it, and distributional analyses of both lithic
reduction by-products and bone residue show that only
one structure has lithic material within it (fig. 7.49). It ap-
pears that these structures were used primarily for shelter
or sleeping or possibly activities that left no permanent
residues in the archaeological record.
The use of exterior space is likewise straightforward.
Numerous ash lenses are found scattered across this sur-
face. While larger, more irregular lenses are likely to be
dumps for hearth sweepings, other, particularly small, oval-
shaped lenses may in fact be small surface hearths. Only
one "true" excavated hearth is found on this surface, and
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 225

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/ !, 0"\ ,... \

H ~<:J
\
\
"/ . .- -_.---
"
"-
. D 0\

.
G

/--.--.L-- ' .......,

F
"
\ "

~
E
(b
Post
Rock
<f?) Hearth
o ~ Quebrada
N ,-)
~- House Floor
;?:~l:i Ash Slain

c
-,
I 0
!
I
I
Meters
2
1
3
1

I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Fig. 7.47. Plan view, Level XII.

~O -r-----------------------.
it is located well away from any of the structures. The dis-
tribution of large, irregular ash lenses to the east of the
a Freehand
40 - hearth suggests these reflect cleaning and secondary dump-
a Biface, Stage 2
ing of hearth contents. No middens were found on this
~ 6Bipolor surface, suggesting relatively brief occupations of the site.
u
- 30
.... The distribution of chipped stone reduction by-products
'"o
u is limited to only one part of the site-in and near the
.... complete structure near the western boundary of the ex-
z
UJ 20
u
cavation block. This debris appears to be in situ or possi-
'"'"
Q.
bly pushed to the edge of the structure itself.
aBiface, Stage 3-4 Small Tool
aMaintenance
10 - Small Tool
a Production Interpretations The paucity of artifacts and facilities
a Biface, Stage 5 4 both simplifies and makes more difficult an assessment of
23
o -f-----Ir------r----"TI------"r-----f place of the Level XII occupation of Asana. The presence
o 10 20 30 40 ~o
of mano-type grinding stones and hide-burnishing tools
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-3 RATIO
suggests the continued presence of females at the site. This
Fig. 7.48. Flake aggregate analysis, Level XII. pattern has not changed since the very earliest occupation
226 Growth, Emergent Complexity, and Decline: Asana from 8700 to 5000 B.P.

..',-,

c:>

~
Lithic Density
E Post
Q::) Rock
@ Hearth
D r:5i:J Quebrada
N (.=) House Floor
.:'~:~~~ Ash Stoin
oI \I 3
c I Meters
I

-, I
17 \8 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Fig. 7.49. Total lithic density, Level XII, interval = 5.

of the site in Asana I/Puruma Phase times. Asana, then,
appears to remain a residential base, although what dis-
tinguishes this residential use of the site from many others
seen at Asana is that it appears to have been of extremely
brief duration. No tools were discarded into the archaeo-
logical record, no midden deposits were developed, and
there were almost no secondary deposits of bone or lithic
materials on this surface. While there were large numbers
of ash lenses, these may argue only for reoccupation and
not significant intensity ofactivity performance within any
single use of the site. The picture presented by the data
suggests very brief, transitory uses of the site in which ac-
tivity performance was very limited and did not lead to
the accumulation of residential middens and other kinds
of secondary refuse dumps. These findings in turn imply
that Asana and its environs were less attractive to foraging
groups than they had been in previous phases.
Indeed, sources of chipped stone raw materials suggest
a change in the nature ofland use during this phase. Lower
high-sierra raw materials are virtually absent from the as-
semblage, whereas in previous levels and phases the pro-
portion of these materials ranged from 3% to 10%. Like-
wise, tools made of lower high-sierra materials exhausted
and discarded at Asana implied that in these earlier phases
the lower high sierra was an important part of the regional-
scale settlement system. The absence of both tools and
raw materials suggests that the lower elevation portions of
the valley have fallen out of the settlement system or were
used very sporadically at most. The Level XII occupation
of the site falls within the period labeled hy Nunez and
Santoro (1988) the silencio arqueo16gico, the time in which
they argue that the high sierra has been abandoned in fa-
vor of the littoral. While the data from Asana do not sup-
port a hypothesis of abandonment, they do support one
that argues for a shift in settlement away from the use of
the lower and upper high sierra, at least within the Os-
more drainage. From an ecological perspective, the Level
XII occupation of Asana falls within the Climatic Opti-
 Montane FOTageTs: Asana and the South-CentTal Andean ATchaic
mum, a period of increased temperature and intensified
aridity. These conditions would have certainly reduced
useful biomass in an already low productivity environmen-
tal zone. Therefore, when viewed from this perspective, a
shift from the use of the lower high sierra would seem to
make ecological sense.
The obvious question to be asked, then, is to where did
settlement shift during this phase if Asana is no longer a
long-term residential base? What seems clear from the
limited data from Asana is that there is a focus on higher
elevations. Both puna rim and puna raw materials con-
tinue to be found at the site in proportions not substan-
tially different from earlier phases. Although aridity would
227
have probably made the high sierra, puna rim, and to some
extent the puna somewhat more risky, each of these envi-
ronments nevertheless would have had higher useful bio-
mass and more water in it than any other environmental
zone in the region. While the data do not support a major
change in the axis of mobility and land use-i.e., one fo-
cused on puna rim or puna residential bases-they do sug-
gest that residential mobility may have increased substan-
tially in this period and that the Rio Asana valley was not a
major focus for human occupation in this phase. A plau-
sible hypothesis is that settlement was increasingly focused
upon the best resource patches in these high-elevation
environments but in different surrounding valley systems.
Rapid Transformation:
Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.
This chapter discusses the final two phases of occupation
at Asana: the Asana VIlQhuna Phase (5000-4400 B.P.) and
the Asana VII/Awati Phase (4400-3600 B.P.). This time
frame at Asana witnesses two remarkable transformations
in the use of the site, its place within a regional settlement
system, and subsistence strategies: in Asana VI/Qhuna
Phase times, residential mobility is confined to the high-
sierra environment, plants are intensively utilized, and most
important, a series of ceremonial structures are built from
roughly 4800 to 4400 B.P.; in Asana VIVAwati Phase times,
ceremonial structures are abandoned, plants appear to drop
out of the subsistence mix, residential mobility once again
connects the high sierra to the puna rim and puna, and
most important, the inhabitants of the site appear to have
domesticated camelids, presumably the guanaco. What is
perhaps most interesting about these changes is that they
take place within a very short period of time: if it is as-
sumed that the earliest date for the construction of the
ceremonial architecture is 4800 B.P., ever more complex
structures are constructed until 4400 B.P., when they, as
well as the subsistence system that supported them, are
abruptly replaced with a pastoral way of life. This repre-
sents a span of 400 years, a relatively short period of time
when one considers the magnitude of the changes that oc-
curred. In this chapter, the data that support these claims
are described, and the observed trends are placed into a
broader regional perspective.
Asana VIlQhuna Phase (5000-4400 B.P.)
There are eight cultural layers included in the Asana VII
Qhuna Phase-IXc, IXb, IXa, VIII, VIIb, VIla, VI, and V.
Each of these layers shows signs of significant disturbance,
although it worsens through time, with disturbance rela-
tively minor in Levels IXc-VIII while increasing in sever-
ity from VIIb to V. In the earlier levels, disturbance is found
in two areas: along the northern margin of the site and
along the river bank. In the later levels the disturbance is
far more dramatic. Most of Levels VIlb and VIla have
been destroyed, while only small fragments of Level VI
remain after having been scoured by a major landslide.
Level V is similar to VIla and VIlb, with some portions
remaining intact. While most of the Qhuna Phase levels
are found in the West Block, small portions of these lev-
els, particularly Levels IXc-VIII, are found and are con-
tiguous in the Central and East Blocks. However, land-
slides have destroyed most of the levels above Asana IV/
Muruq'uta Phase times.
Asana VI/Qhuna Phase Settlement Patterns
In 1989 (Aldenderfer 1989c: 138) I postulated that the high
sierra of the Rio Asana valley (which would now include
my new designation of the puna rim) was part of a logisti-
cally organized settlement system that had base camps on
the puna. As I pointed out earlier, while the data remain
sound, my original interpretation was simply wrong. I now
offer a more current and improved model of settlement
systems of the Asana VI/Qhuna Phase based on data re-
covered between 1988 and 1991.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
What I now call the Qhuna Phase is perhaps the best
understood settlement pattern simply because there are
more sites other than Asana known from this phase than
from any other. In addition to the substantial occupation
of Asana, three rockshelters (Quellaveco, Cueva 4, and
Tala) have Late Archaic materials associated with them,
and eight of the densities found during survey in 1985 can
be assigned to the Late Archaic.
Rockshelters Each of the rockshelters-Quellaveco,
Cueva 4, and Tala-is located within the high sierra. None
of these lie beyond 10 Ian from Asana, and their to-and-
from travel times are less than three hours in either direc-
tion (table 8.1). While each of them was tested, only Cueva
4 had diagnostic Late Archaic/Qhuna Phase cultural ma-
terials in a secure archaeological context. The other two
sites, while they had deposits likely to date to the Late
Archaic, had neither sufficient carbon nor diagnostics in
situ to warrant an extended discussion of them. Both, how-
ever, had fragments of typical Qhuna Phase points found
on their talus slopes.
Cueva 4 is one of the larger rockshelters in the high
sierra. As noted in chapter 3, a Qhuna PhaselLate Archaic
point blade was found in Level 9 (Lot 351-10, 80-85 cm
BS). Consequently, I will describe the cultural materials
recovered from this level in some detail. Of the seven raw
material types present, five are from the high sierra (Types
4, 11, 14, 17, and 21), while two are from the lower high
sierra (Types 7 and 32). There are no puna rim or puna
raw materials in the assemblage. Lower high-sierra raw
Table 8.1. Distances and Travel Times from Asana to Late
Archaic Rockshelters and Densities in the Rio Asana Valley
Shelter Distance Travel Time~
Quellaveco 6.29 km
1.54 hours
Cueva 4 7.81 km 2.74 hours
Tala 5.68 km 1.25 hours
Densities 5-6km 1.16-
1.44 hours
aAll travel times computed with the walking function; unburdened
travel only.
229
materials account for 32.3 % of the assemblage (N = 34),
while the remainder (67.7 %) comes from the high sierra
(N = 71). Since no raw material type has a count greater
than 50, a flake aggregate analysis cannot be performed;
however, a simpler if less precise measure of the nature of
lithic reduction in this level of the site can be chosen. Us-
ing the count/weight ratio, a picture of the degree to which
the earlier or later stages of reduction were practiced can
be obtained. Count/weight ratios approaching 0 indicate
the later stages of reduction (fine finishing ofbifaces, trim-
ming, or shaping; possibly some minor resharpening or
retooling), while ratios greater than 1 suggest earlier stages
of reduction in which fewer, larger flakes are removed from
the source material. The three most numerous types in
level 9 (Types 4, 7, and 17) have count/weight ratios of
.086, .019, and .265, respectively (Aldenderfer 1989c: table
11). Each of these values is consistent with a tool mainte-
nance/resharpening activity pattern. None of these reduc-
tion by-products are cortical fragments. The count/weight
ratio of Type 17 material is larger than the other two ma-
terial types due to the presence of five tertiary flakes greater
than 2 cm in maximum dimension; this suggests that the
reduction of Type 17 material in Level 9 at Cueva 4 in-
cluded the shaping of Stage III bifaces in addition to tool
sharpening and maintenance.
Faunal remains are relatively abundant for the small
size of the excavation unit (table 8.2). Although the total
weight of these remains is low (63.9 g), their density is
very high (1,278 fragments/m 3). The majority of the fau-
nal remains (87.5%) are less than 2 cm in maximum di-
mension, a figure comparable to most of the faunal as-
semblages from Asana. The remains can be placed into
three categories: the typical large mammal aggregate and
two others almost never seen at Asana, the small mammal
aggregate and rodents. Regarding the large mammal ag-
gregate, since identifiable skeletal elements are very scarce,
it is not possible to discuss packet data. However, the pres-
ence of tooth remains suggests that the head/neck packet
of an animal was consumed on site. Unfortunately, the
vertebrae and long bone fragments cannot be assigned to
a packet. The bones are splintered and broken, which in-
dicates that marrow consumption was important, and it is
likely that most were cooked on site; 30% of the bones of
the large mammal aggregate were burned.
Less can be said about the small mammal and rodent
aggregates. Small mammals, mostly vizcacha, are conspicu-
ous at Asana by their absence, and thus finding them in an
archaeological site elsewhere in the valley suggests a pos-
sible difference in activity performance or food procure-
230 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.
Table 8.2. Faunal Data Summary, Level 9, Cueva 4
Skeletal Elements Present
Large Mammal Aggregate Long bone fragments
N = 181 Vertebrae
MNI= 1 Tooth fragments
Unidentified fragments
Small Mammal Aggregate Tibia
N= 7 Femur
MNI=2 Radius
Pelvis
Rodent Aggregate Scapula
N = 61 Vertebrae
MNI=5 Ribs
Maxilla
Mandible
Unidentified fragments
ment strategy when Cueva 4 is compared to Asana. None
of the bones in either of these two aggregates are burned,
and rodent bones are known to accumulate in the region's
caves and shelters since these are frequent nesting grounds
for raptors and owls that live in this area. It is probable,
then, that the rodents are natural additions to the cultural
bones found in Level 9 at Cueva 4. The interpretation of
the small mammal aggregate is more equivocal. The counts
are very small in comparison to the other aggregates, and
unlike them, the small mammal bones are mostly whole.
None of these bones have cutmarks or evidence of animal
gnawing. Although there are no utility indices for this ag-
gregate, it seems clear that of the bones present, only the
femur is a high meat part, whereas the others are either
from the lower fore- and hindlimbs or body itself and are
generally low meat parts. It is likely that these bones are
the remnants of a chance encounter with vizcacha by mem-
bers of a hunting or logistical party which were consumed
on site. Other skeletal elements may have been tossed down
the talus slope or in other portions of the shelter.
No feature, hearths, or other facilities were found in
the level, and no morphological tools, either chipped or
ground stone tools other than the biface fragment, were
found. Although a I-m 2 unit is not a sufficient basis to
offer definitive conclusions on activity performance, I can
nevertheless offer these tentative conclusions. Given the
limited diversity of the assemblage, it appears that Level 9
Number
119
3
10
49
2
2
1
2
2
7
1
5
6
40
at Cueva 4 reflects a logistical use of the site. The distance
from the stream bottoms, combined with the poor line-
of-sight to the bottoms from this location, makes this site
an unlikely candidate for a hunting blind or station. Activ-
ity performance is simple and is primarily devoted to the
rough and fine percussion and pressure flaking of Types 4
and 7 raw materials. There is little evidence for retooling
in this level. Cueva 4 appears to be an alternative to an
open-air or boulder field location for a logistical camp and
may have been used on an opportunistic basis during bad
weather. Alternatively, it may have been used as a way stop
for travel up and down the valley. It is likely that the other
two rockshelters were used in a similar fashion through-
out the Qhuna Phase: as temporary shelters, way stops, or
logistical camps.
One observation to be made of Cueva 4 is the relatively
large proportion of lower high-sierra raw materials in the
assemblage (32.3%). The proportion of this material in
Qhuna Phase assemblages at Asana ranges from a maxi-
mum of 15.9% (Level IXa) to a minimum of none (Levels
IXc and IXb). In the other levels that have lower high-
sierra raw materials, the proportions range from 3.4% to
0.9% (table 8.3). Cueva 4 is located near the lower limits
of the high sierra and is significantly closer to the known
sources of lower high-sierra raw material than is Asana
(13 km to 25 km, respectively). The implication of these
differences will be explored later.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 231

Table 8.3. Asana VIlQhuna Phase Raw Material Types by Level

Material Type by Zone

Levels Lower High Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim Puna

IXc 83.2 8.4 8.4

IXb 87.0 8.7 4.3

IXa 15.9 74.8 9.3

VIII 3.4 96.6

\11 1.1 97.8 1.1

VI 1.3 98.7

V 0.9 99.1

Densities More densities-eight-can be assigned to the
Qhuna Phase than to any other phase. Each of them is
located from 5 to 6 km upstream of Asana. Consequently,
travel times are relatively short to these sites (table 8.1).
Since these surface assemblages are not directly compa-
rable to the excavated samples from Asana, little definitive
can be offered as to activity performance at them. It is
obvious, however, that each of them served as a locus for
reduction and some retooling if the assumption that the
projectile point fragments found near and in them were
discarded during retooling. No other morphological tools
were found in or near them, and it is probable that these
densities served as small logistical camps, field camps (stag-
ing areas for hunting), or convenient stopping points dur-
ing the pursuit of other activities.
In summary, Qhuna Phase settlement focused strongly
upon the high sierra, with limited use of the lower high-
sierra environment. No evidence from the Rio Asana val-
ley suggests that either the puna rim or puna environments
figured importantly in the settlement system of this phase.
Level VIII (4610 BoP.)
A total of 176 m 2 of Level VIII has been exposed, and
disturbance is found in the northern and eastern portions
of the excavation block (fig. 8.1). As can be seen, distur-
bance to this level has been substantial and has destroyed
an unknown but significant amount of the large ceremo-
nial structure that occupies most of the block.
Faunal Data Although a large number of faunal mate-
rials were recovered in this level, a distinct change from
the Late Muruq'uta and Asana V/Pisi Mara Phase levels,
the great majority (86%) are less than 2 cm in maximum
dimension, making this one of the most fragmented as-
semblages found at the site (table 8.4). This observation is
reflected in the relatively low weight of the fauna materi-
als (970 g), while their density is very high (1,000 frag-
ments/m 3). MNI counts are correspondingly low, and no
small or medium-sized mammals were recovered. Only
1.3 % (N = 40) of the fragments could be identified as to
species, and thus it is difficult to make statements about
proportions of species present. Deer are present, however,
and are represented by antlers and a single radius. The
remainder of the identifiable bone is placed in the gua-
naco category, while the vast majority can be placed in the
large mammal aggregate. Slightly more fragments (2 %; N
= 57) could be identified as to their age and size. Of these,
7.4% are from small or immature animals, while 92.6%
are from larger, mature or adult animals. A very small pro-
portion of these bones-3.7%-has been burned.
The packet and element data show a number of pat-
terns (table 8.4). A total of 4.1 % (N = 119) of the assem-
blage can be identified as to element, and while this figure
is relatively small, it is sufficient for a number of tentative
observations to be made. While head/neck and forequar-
ter NISP proportions are almost identical, the assemblage
is dominated by trunk NISP. In contrast, both hindquar-
232 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P

Destroyed

/
o .....
I \
I ~
\ I
\
0, I
'0 t
'0
\
I
I
3
\ I
~, \, I
\ I
:. ~
I " ....... _'y / Eastern
,,/
/. ....: 'j Altar
..... ~
-...... 2 ~."
".,1
: ,~;';!,. :~~:;
.............. ~
I, ,
r{';'
.
'i
Altar

\ Destroyed
~

.,
I

., I
(

"" Post
" .... _---- /
/' C Rock
\) Wall
c:::; Trench
@ Hea r t h
;.;('~.~.::: Surface Hearth
:;/// Sheet Midden

N Clay Basin
G Grinding Stone
, --.,
'- ,- Structure
f;,it1t;\ Ash Stain
a, 2
I
4
Meters

Fig. 8.1. Plan view, Level VIII.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 233

Table 8.4. Faunal Data Summary, Level VIII gregate analysis of these six types shows some very inter-
esting variation (fig. 8.2). The reduction by-products of
four types (Type 7 from the lower high sierra, Types 4, 17,
Packet Data a and 22) are consistent with small-tool maintenance, re-
tooling, or replacement. In contrast, two types-Types 11
and 21-reflect the final stages of biface or small-tool
2 3 4 5
manufacture, a finding supported by the relatively large
14 13 87 5 o number of broken Stage 111111 bifaces found in the assem-
.12 .11 .73 .04 o blage (table 8.5). This is the first appearance of this type
of lithic reduction at Asana since the reduction of Type 1
N = 2,881 materials in Level PXXIV of the Asana IIIKhitufia Phase.
MNI= 3 Thirteen morphological tools were recovered from this
level, with the majority of them either projectile points or
Phalanges = 8
bifaces (table 8.5). Of the 10 artifacts examined through
Metapodials = 11 microwear analysis, the only clear microtraces discovered
Tooth fragments = 159 were woodworking or whittling and butchery traces. No
scraping tools were found in the assemblage, and no hide-
working traces were found on any of the points, bifaces,
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that or edge tools. None of the bifacial fragments had traces of
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the wear, either through use or hafting. These tools were prob-
assemblage. ably generated through in situ reduction and were broken
during the reduction process.
In contrast to earlier phases and levels, there is a lim-
ters and tail packets are almost absent. However, whole ited diversity of projectile point styles in the Asana VII
animals are being returned to the site. Frequencies of Qhuna Phase. One style is characterized by triangular
metapodials and phalanges fall within the 95% confidence bladed, contracting stemmed points with slightly rounded
intervals for the size of the faunal assemblage, but the num- or straight bases (fig. 8.3a-d). There is also a small, or
ber of tooth fragments is slightly larger than would be pre- miniature, variety of these points, which are found associ-
dicted. The best explanation for the absence ofhindquar- ated only with ceremonial features and never with domes-
ters and tail NISP is that these portions of the carcass were
not consumed on site and were either stored for future
consumption or taken off site. 50

Lithic Data Counts of lithic material in Level VIII, like

A Freehand
those of faunal materials, are high (N = 2,666). While the 40 -

density is high (757 reduction by-products/m 3), the weight A Bi face, Stage 2
...J
of these materials is very low (501 g). As I will show else- <I ABipolor
(,)

where, the total weight of lithic materials has been signifi- -

~
:30 -
~
0
cantly affected by the very large number of very small re- u
~
duction by-products in the assemblage. The assemblage is z
~ 20 -
almost wholly dominated by high-sierra raw material types u
~
~

(96.6%), while the remainder is made up of lower high- ~

6Biface, Stage 3-4 Small Tool

sierra materials (3.4%). There are no puna rim or puna 10 - Small Tool
6Mo\o'eoonce

materials reduction by-products. Only 10 raw material A Production

.21
types are found in this assemblage, and this figure falls 68iface, Stage 5 22 7
." 17.. .4
o .........---"T""I-----y--I----.,I----lIL...",;;;~I~~----t
outside the 95% confidence interval for the number of
material types predicted by sample size. The number of o 10 20 :30 40 50
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-:3 RATIO
raw material types with counts greater than 50 (N = 6),
however, falls within the predicted values. The flake ag- Fig. 8.2. Flake aggregate analysis, Level VIII.
234 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.p.
Table 8.5. Lithic Data Summary, Level VIII
Tools (N = 13)
Stage IIIIII percussion blanks 6
(all broken)
Edge tools
Projectile points 5
(3 whole,
2 broken)
Indeterminate 0
Microwear Summary (10 tools examined)
Wood whittling/scraping 2
Butchery traces 2
Haft element 2
Indeterminate/unused 4
tic structures or residential deposits (Aldenderfer 1991aj
see fig. 8.3c-g). These miniature points are made of
nonlocal raw materials, generally from the puna, or of very
high quality local raw materials, such as Type 10 red chal-
cedony or Type 9 aplites. Miniature points show no signs
of wear, such as hafting traces or linear projection traces.
In contrast, the larger examples of this point style are made
ofcommonly available local raw materials, especially Type
II volcanic andesite, and are frequently broken or heavily
resharpened; most show clear signs of use, including lin-
ear projection traces and hafting traces. A search through
the literature reveals that Qhuna Phase points are very
similar to points assigned to the Hakenasa Phase of north-
ern Chile, which is said to date from 6000 to 4000 B.P.
(Santoro 1989: figs. 6, 39,43,44). Points of similar mor-
phology do not appear in the assemblages that date to this
period from the central Andes, including Telarmachay,
Pachamachay, and the Ayacucho sites. In one sense, then,
this style appears to have a limited regional distribution-
the south-central Andes.
The ground stone tool assemblage on Level VIII has
three functional types: mano-type grinding stones, small
to medium-sized batanes, and large pecked and ground
pounding tools that are found exclusively within ceremo-
nial features (fig. 8.4). The manos found in residential ar-
eas are typically small and fall toward the lower extremes
a
........",
~
_
g '
.
1 ~""
".~
'
eM
Fig. 8.3. Asana VIlQhuna Phase projectile points.
a: M24blVIIIj b: L22dlVIIIj c: L22cIVIII; d: talus slope,
Quellavecoj e, f: M3ldlIXa; g-i: various locations on IXa
and IXb-l ceremonial hearths.
ofsize and weight for these tools (fig. 4.9b). Most are made
on naturally flattened river cobbles. Batanes are of two
types: small, naturally flattened and unmodified river
cobbles, or larger flaked and ground colluvial rocks that
have been shaped into a roughly rectangular form (fig.
4.11). There is no apparent functional or temporal dis-
tinction between these two types, and they are found con-
temporaneously in many of the residential structures of
Qhuna Phase levels. Both were used for heavy push-pull
grinding, and all those recovered have been used inten-
sively. This is a marked contrast to earlier phases in which
batanes used for grinding have been recovered. In the ear-
lier levels, while grinding use could be observed by the
crushing of the surface of the artifact, it was generally nei-
ther extensive nor intensive. This suggests that grinding
was of greater importance in Qhuna Phase times. Unfor-
tunately, there is no direct evidence from the artifacts them-
selves that indicates what was being ground upon them.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Fig. 8.4. Ground stone pounding tool, Level IXb-l. Tool is found within a clay-lined basin.
Site Structure The use of space on Level VIII is com-
plicated by the presence of the large ceremonial structure
in the eastern portion of the excavation block (fig. 8.1).
This structure, as well as its antecedents, is discussed at
length later, and the discussion here will focus primarily
upon the domestic architecture.
The domestic architecture in this level marks a major
change when compared to residential structures in previ-
ous levels. Although in terms of construction they are simi-
lar to the structures found in Late Muruq'uta and Pisi Mara
times, Level VIII structures, as are all of the residential
structures in the Qhuna Phase, are substantially larger than
those of any other phase at Asana. Qhuna Phase struc-
tures are defined by ovoid to rectangular patterns of
postmolds and have no prepared floors of any kind. In some
cases, the floors have been packed through repeated use,
although this is not a true diagnostic feature of these struc-
tures. In some structures, such as Structures 1 and 3 of
VIII, small rocks are found along the presumed edge of
the floors; these stones were probably used to support per-
ishable wall materials. Covered floor area of the domestic
structures in this level ranges from 9.4 m 2 to 12.6 m 2, with
a median structure size of 10.1 m 2. These are the largest
235
structures found in the Asana VIlQhuna Phase (table 8.6).
The structures have a number of features within them,
including hearths, thin sheet middens composed of organi-
cally stained soil and in some cases containing small quan-
tities of lithic reduction by-products and small bone frag-
ments, postmold alignments that appear to delineate inte-
rior space, and small batanes embedded in the floor sur-
face. While this defines the range of typical features, there
is significant variability in the contents of these structures.
For instance, Structure 1 has none of these features,
whereas Structure 4 has all of them. The other incom-
plete structures show varying combinations of them. There
is also variation in these features when looking at other
levels of this phase. Unlike the surfaces in other levels, ash
lenses are relatively uncommon on Level VIII, and there
are no large, deeply stained soils indicative of the buildup
of middens or extensive secondary refuse deposits.
As with the distribution of features in these structures,
there is some evidence for variability in activity perfor-
mance within them as well. Some structures appear to have
been cleaned or well maintained, while others have large
quantities of reduction debris or bone within them. For
instance, Structures 2 and 5 have large concentrations of
236 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.

Table 8.6. Covered Floor Area, Asana VIlQhuna Phase in maximum dimension. These findings support the in-
Domestic Structures ference ,that this is primarily differential cleanup and ac-
tivity performance and not extensive redeposition ofrefuse
by later occupations.
Covered Floor Area The small batanes on the floors of Structures 4 and 5
Level (in square meters) Median
have strictly push-pull wear on them and exhibit no con-
sistent signs of having been used as anvils since none show
9.4 10.1
impact fractures or flake scars from use. Since formal
VIII
10.1 pounding ground stone tools are essentially absent from
12.6 any Asana VI/Qhuna Phase assemblage aside from cer-
emonial features and since manos are found in abundance,
IXa 7.4 8.0
the use of these stones as batanes seems highly probable.
8.0
Of even greater importance is that these tools are literally
10.8
embedded in the floors of these structures. Unlike the
IXb-1 7.0 7.9 kitchen rock features, anvils, or batanes found in other lev-
(estimated only) 8.8 els, which tend to be found resting on the floor, the batanes
IXc-1 7.9 8.0 of level VIII are in it. This sort of placement suggests two
8.0 things: the reuse of these structures over time and conse-
8.6 quent redundancy of the locus of activity performance
Phase mean = 8.96 within the structures. That is, the area around the batanes
is likely to have been a food preparation area and remained
Phase median = 8.60 so throughout the occupation of Level VIII.
This reuse and redundancy are coupled with a number
of instances of the division of internal space. For example,
Structure 4 has a line ofsmaller postmolds running roughly
east-west in the southern third of the structure. Although
small bone within them (fig. 8.5), while Structures 1, 3, no artifacts were found within this area, there is the im-
and 4 have similar concentrations immediately exterior to pression of the intentional bounding of this space. It may
them. In contrast, Structure 1 has a very large concentra- have been used for storage of food or equipment. There is
tion of small reduction debris near its center (fig. 8.6), a very similar but less well defined area within Structure 2.
Structures 2 and 4 have concentrations of similar debris Structure 5 has a row of postmolds on one side of the inte-
adjacent to them, and Structures 3 and 5 have no lithics rior hearth. This set of posts probably supported a screen
within them. The cultural processes that have led to these or shield either to reflect heat and light or to separate food
different concentrations of material are somewhat diffi- production activities from others that may have taken place
cult to define. Small bone and lithic material within struc- along the southern side of the structure. Whatever the
tures suggests in situ eating or bone cracking for marrow interpretation, the use of interior space has clearly become
and stone tool manufacture, respectively, while the distri- more formal by the redundant placement offacilities within
bution of similarly sized materials adjacent and exterior to structures, especially when compared to the relatively open
structures suggests intensive cleanup. This situation is spaces within structures found on previous levels.
complicated because distributions of all bones and lithic The use of exterior space on this surface is heavily con-
reduction by-products are essentially identical to those of strained by the presence of the ceremonial structure. There
the small materials (figs. 8.7, 8.8). This pattern suggests are a number of bone dumps immediately adjacent to the
that we are looking at a palimpsest reoccupation of these ceremonial structure but none within it (fig. 8.7). The
floors since bone and lithic debris across all size categories dumps are composed of small bone fragments only; virtu-
is present. However, a closer look at the sizes of these ally none of the bones on this level are burned, and what
materials suggests that this hypothesis is incorrect. Sev- are present are spatially dispersed. These data suggest that
enty-five percent of the lithic material is less than 1 cm in bone grease or juice making was unimportant during the
maximum dimension, while 95% is less than 2 cm. Simi- use of the site. It is probable that the dumps adjacent to
larly, 98% of the bone debris on the level is less than 2 cm the ceremonial structure are reflections of activity perfor-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 237

Destroyed

..:...'i,'
'. ,~

..,.::..

I
~
I
r
I
I
.
I

Eastern
J. Altar
I
~
\
\
~ :Western Altar
I
I. De s t royed
I
\
\ 0 Bone Density
'-\ Post

..... _--- ...... /

/ OJ
\)
Rock
Wall
c;::J Trench
CD Hearth
;{~.:.> Surface Hearth
~/~ Sheet Midden
N Cloy Basin
G Grinding Stone
-- ,-
'- ....
~
Structure
{,~{r;\ Ash Stain
0 2 4
I
Meters

Fig. 8.5. Size 1 bone density, Level VIII, interval = 10.

 238 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.p.

Destroyed

/

I
~
I
o .....
I \ r
I ~ I
t:':';';';'i:,'

\~'o.'
I
f
o I

, f
I
:Stage 3
, I I
"', I. I i
\ I I
:. ~ \., /
I ....... _ Y L. Eastern
.1 'j Altar
2
"'" ' - .-;'
/0
: {c.c
./
I ...

i";""
:Western Altar
'i
\ De s t royed
~
I
"I
I C> Lithic Density
~
e.

\
f
....
....
Post
I
Ie
....
.... _--- ....... /
/' 00 Rock
\.,) Wall

~.--~~oJ) '~:t~
c::;J Trench
Hearth
~, ;.{~'~.>: Surface Hear t h
5 \ //'/ Sheet Midden
\ _ u
._ ..
\ Cloy Basin
N
G Grinding Stone
, --,
'- .... Structure
{,Fit~\ Ash Stain
0
I
2
I ,
4
Meters

Fig. 8.6. Size 1 lithic density, Level VIII, interval = 10.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 239

Destroyed

I
o
I
I

Eastern
Altar

.-;s;;:.:./:" . Wes tern A Itar

Dest royed

c::> Bone Density

I

"" Post
" ...... _---- O? Rock
\,) Wall
c::J Trench
Hearth
<:~':.~.::: Surface Hearth
~// Sheet Midden
- -.--
N Clay Basin
G Grinding Stone
, -......,
'- .... Structure
f,~~t;1' Ash Stain
0
!
2
I
4
,
Meters

Fig. 8.7. Total bone density, Level VIII, interval = 10.

240 Ropid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.p.

Destroyed

r- _.- ...
I
~
I
~

,(.",::,
I

o' ,
f
I
~
I
,
,
:Stage 3 IStage ,Stage
I I 2 \ I
~ \
i I \
I
L. , l' i
J. I .,B 0 Eastern
'j Altar
I .{:.r. I ,I. ~ 0 ...

I ~ , "0 Q ""0
"00'

r{'~'
I :.

.
\ T~ /:;;~
:Western Altar
'i
\ De s t royed
~
I
"I
..,
I C) Lithic Density
(
,, Post
.... _---- /
/ O? Rock
'\,) Wall
C:J Trench
Hearth
;';:::::"~):': Surface Hearth
/'// Sheet Midden
- _. --
N Cloy Basin
G Grinding Stone
\
- ....
,_ ~
Structure
f,~fir;\ Ash Stain
0 2 4
I I I
Meters

Fig. 8.8. Total lithic density, Level VIII, interval = 10.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
mance within it and have not been generated by typical
domestic activity or food preparation. As noted earlier,
most of this food preparation debris is either within do-
mestic structures or immediately adjacent to them. One
ash lens to the east of Structure 5 has a high concentration
of both bone and lithic material, and this appears to be the
only secondary dump on the surface that was generated
by domestic activity. The ceremonial structure is a space-
consuming facility that obviously has a different range of
functions than the nearby domestic structures.
Interpretations It seems clear that Asana during Level
VIII times continues to serve as a residential base. The
architecture, while seemingly less complex in terms ofcon-
struction techniques because there is no substantial invest-
ment in the laying of prepared clay floors, is nevertheless
impressive, especially in the way interior space has been
partitioned and in the redundancy of feature placement,
particularly the food preparation areas within structures.
These latter two features have been identified through
ethnography and ethnoarchaeology as probable indicators
of residential bases. This inference is also supported by
the presence of the large ceremonial structure. As I noted
earlier in discussing the Early Muruq'uta Phase "men's
houses," structures of this complexity, if built at all, are
generally constructed only at residential bases that are
occupied for significant portions of the annual round.
While Asana may remain a residential base, there are
important changes in the activity profile when compared
to previous phases. Lithic reduction of local raw materi-
als, especially Type 11 volcanic andesites, is significantly
more important in this level, and reduction in general re-
flects not only a pattern of retooling but also the manufac-
ture of fine bifaces on site. Hide preparation is of very
limited importance in this level and in the Qhuna Phase
in general. Other activities observed include butchery of
animals and wood whittling and scraping, presumably as a
part of gear construction or maintenance. Grinding is
strongly represented with the large number of manos and
batanes in the assemblage.
The increase in the size of the domestic structures also
suggests that an important change has taken place in the
way in which the site is now used. Larger structures, among
other things, can house larger numbers of individuals, and
this may be at least one of the causative factors in their
increase in size. Whether this possible increase in num-
bers of people is caused by population growth or some
other social process remains unclear. Another possible fac-
tor is that the site itself was occupied for a longer period
241
of time. Longer occupation spans also tend to lead to more
formalization in the use of interior space. Both of these
factors, however, are proximate causes of the increase in
house size, and the obvious question is what is the ulti-
mate cause of this change? I have argued elsewhere that
during the Qhuna Phase there is a significant decrease in
both the range and frequency of residential mobility and a
simultaneous transformation in the way in which high-
sierra dwellers deal with surrounding populations (Al-
denderfer 1993 a). This topic will be discussed at greater
length in the final chapter of this book.
The scale of land use in Level VIII appears to be much
more limited than in previous phases. The inhabitants of
Asana were confined to the lower high-sierra and high-
sierra environmental zones if debitage frequencies are a
good indicator of regional scale mobility (table 8.7). In
terms of Level VIII, most of the tools discarded on site are
of high-sierra raw materials (84.6%), while the remainder
are of lower high-sierra sources (15.4%). Although tool
counts (N = 13) are extremely low and therefore too much
reliance should not be placed on the interpretation, the
significant difference between the amount of lower high-
sierra debitage and proportion of discarded tools made of
these materials (more tools than debitage) suggests that
most of these tools were made off site at logistically occu-
pied sites like Level 9 at Cueva 4. This tendency is also
reflected in the aggregated data for the entire Qhuna Phase,
although the discrepancy is not as severe (table 8.7).
There is a shift in debitage frequencies at Asana through
time, one that suggests that in the earlier levels of the
Qhuna Phase, the scale of land use may in fact have been
somewhat greater. Although debitage counts in Levels IXc-
IXa are small (85, 137, 189, respectively), puna rim and
puna raw materials are found in these levels, indicating a
continued use of the higher elevation environments of the
valley. By Level VIII times this pattern changes, with these
higher zones dropping out of the settlement system.
A close look at the relationship between tool form, deb-
itage frequency, and raw material types for the entire phase
provides other important insights (table 8.7). The rela-
tionship between tool form and zone of raw material is
highly significant (chi square 41.42, p < 0.0001), and a care-
ful review of the standardized residuals shows that three
cells-miniature points/puna material, projectile points/
lower high-sierra material, and edge tools/puna rim ma-
terial-have significantly greater than expected frequen-
cies of occurrence. A comparison of debitage frequencies
and sources of tool materials supports this general ten-
dency as well, except for the puna rim materials. There is
242 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.

Table 8.7. Asana VIlQhuna Phase Tool and Debitage Comparisons

Tool and Raw Material Type Comparisons

Material Type by Zone

Lower High Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim Puna Total

Biface 0 9 0 0 9
0.64286 6.42857 0.32143 1.60714 9
-0.80178 1.01419 -0.56695 -1.26773 0
Edge 0 3 1 0 4
0.28571 2.85714 0.14285 0.71429 4
-0.53452 0.08452 2.26779 -0.84515 0
Indeterminate 0 4 0 0 4
0.28571 2.85714 0.14286 0.71429 4
-0.53452 0.67612 -0.37796 -0.84515 0
Mini Point 0 0 0 5 5
0.35714 3.57143 0.17857 0.89286 5
-0.59761 -1.88982 -0.42258 4.34659 0
Point 2 4 0 0 6
0.42857 4.28571 0.21429 1.07143 6
2.40040 -0.13801 -0.46291 -1.03510 0
Total 2 20 1 5 28
2 20 1 5 28
0 0 0 0 0
Table contents
Count
Expected values
Standardized residuals
Chi squared = 41.42, 12df, significant at 0.05 level

Tool, Raw Material, and Debitage Comparisons

Lower High Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim Puna

Tools 7.1 %a 71.4% 3.6% 17.9%

Debitage 3.2% 91.1% 3.9% 1.8%

apercentage values refer to proportion of tools and debitage made of raw materials from each zone.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
virtually no puna debitage in most of the levels ofthe phase
(table 8.3), and each of the miniature projectile points is
made of puna raw material. This asymmetry suggests that
a mechanism other than direct access to raw material
sources was responsible for the appearance of these finely
made puna raw material points in the assemblage at Asana.
Recall that these points are found only within features or
contexts labeled as ceremonial. Therefore, while direct
access to puna sources of raw material may have charac-
terized the earlier levels of the phase, it is clear that it was
no longer an option by Level VIII and later times.
Asana VI/Qhuna Phase Ceremonial Structures
Ceremonial structures are found in Levels IXc-1, IXb-1
and IXb-2, IXa, and VIII (see figs. 8.4, 8.9-8.12). While it
is likely that they also existed in Level VII, VI, and V times,
a landslide has destroyed the context that once existed
between the domestic structures found on these levels and
the ceremonial structures. I have argued that ceremonial
structures persisted until Level Iv, but at present the data
that support this assertion are tentative. Unfortunately,
since the landslide has been so destructive, it is unlikely
that definitive data useful for a "final" answer to this ques-
tion will ever be recovered (Aldenderfer 1991 a).
The ceremonial structures at Asana contain the follow-
ing features and facilities: prepared clay floors, altars, stone
circles and ovals, trenches, clay-surfaced basins, surface
hearths, miniature ovals and circles of posts, and artifacts.
Temporal variability in the presence of these features is
presented in table 8.8. Since most of these features have
been described at length elsewhere (Aldenderfer 1991 b:
231-240), I will briefly summarize them and then inter-
pret their probable functions.
Floors made of a locally available white clay are com-
mon to each of these structures. Their thickness varies
from 0.5 to over 8.0 cm, and it is likely that the thickest
floors are probably palimpsest re-Iayings of the floor. The
floors were constructed by puddling lumps of damp clay
and then smoothing it into place. Each of the floors is sur-
rounded by postmolds which have been used to demar-
cate different construction episodes within levels. The
postrnolds vary from 2 to 5 cm in diameter and from 2 to
3 cm in depth. With the exception of Level IXc-1,
postmolds are frequently found paired. Many of the
postrnolds in all levels have carbon chunks and flecks within
them, suggesting they were burned in situ. The walls of
the structure were probably brush that was secured to the
upright posts. This is indicated by the size of the posts,
the relatively large distance between them, and the ab-
243
sence of burned daub or other wall fillers. Furthermore,
there is no evidence that the structure was roofed in any
manner. The distances between posts and the regularity
of their spacing varies through time (table 8.9). Until Level
IXa, the mean distance to nearest neighbor remains more
or less constant and fairly large. The median, however,
varies substantially. The greatest distance between posts
likewise remains high. In IXa and the three stages of Level
VIII construction, the mean and median distances between
posts, as well as the value of the greatest distance between
posts, decline dramatically.
At least one and quite possibly two elevated or raised
platformlike constructions are associated with the Level
VIII floor (fig. 8.13). The western platform appears to have
been constructed in two stages: the first stage consists of
an elevated platform of soil 20-30 cm in height capped by
two thick layers of prepared white clay (fig. 8.14). The
second stage consists of an addition of a 70-cm-high plat-
form built around a core of rough, angular rock and soil
(Aldenderfer 1991 b: fig. 6). The first stage of the western
platform is roughly rectangular in shape and has two dis-
tinct horizontal surfaces, or steps, that can be observed in
profile (figs. 8.14, 8.15; Aldenderfer 1991b: fig. 6). The
platform has an arm, also constructed of a core of soil and
patchily covered with smoothed white clay, that extends
to the north. Whether a similar arm extended to the south
cannot be determined since this side of the feature has
been destroyed by natural processes. This platform has
been built directly atop the Level IXa prepared clay floor.
The uppermost level of the platform is surmounted by
a large, pyramidally shaped rock of unknown type but of
local colluvial origin, split perpendicularly to its long axis
(fig. 8.16). The rock's exterior is rough, and the split re-
veals that the rock is filled with bright mineral inclusions
that sparkle when exposed to sunlight. Below the split rock
is a circular depression excavated into the uppermost level
of the altar (fig. 8.14). This depression is lined on its sides
and base with small, unbroken rocks of the same brilliant
stone as found atop the platform, and of interest is the
presence in this depression of two miniature stones simi-
lar in shape and breakage pattern to the larger split rock
that surmounted the platform. One of these stones is on
the western lip or edge of the depression, while the other
is in the center on the floor of the depression. The soil
within the depression is not burned and is probably fill.
The arm that extends to the north terminates in a stone-
lined, clay-walled, and clay-lined oval that shows evidence
of light burning as defined by the presence of small char-
coal flecks and white ash embedded in the surface of the
244 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.p.

v o Rock
Post
u a Hearth
Surface Hearth
T N Clay Basin
-,
~_I Structure
S
o
I :'-;\~ Ash Stain
2 4
I I

R Meters

,tt::,
.. :r.::'; .
Q /~"., Destroyed

P

o
I

N
I
I Stage 2
I I
tf I
/ 0 I
'- /
' ..... , J / D I
ii:J I
/
I
K I

J
Dest rayed

H
-.--("""--"'.\
I
G /.
_.A- _ _ ... e -

D ':.:,"
"
--, 19 1
20 1
21 1
22 I 23 I 24 1
25 I 26 I 27 1
28 29 30

Fig. 8.9. Plan view, Level IXc-I.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 245

v
Post

u o Rock
Surface Hear th

T 1,
N ~,

I
C lay Basin
'- ..- Structure
S I ~:'~)" Ash Stain
4
0 2
I I I

R Meters

Q Destroyed

P
..~.~
...--~."",.
,.:."
.. :.

o .
N

K
Destroyed

Excavated before IXb-2 Palimpsest Recognized

H

D
-, I I I I
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Fig. 8.10. Plan view, Level IXb-2

246 Ropid Transfonnation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.

~
Post

u 0 Rock
S u dace Hearth
T -- Clay Basin
N ,- ...,
'- Structure
S J ~~~
.;

Ash Stain --.... ".'.r '.>.

0 2 4 "~:2:~ - - - -
I I I

R Meters

o
N

,-
K
Destroyed
J
"\
\
\
\

o
\
\
H 1
I"
I
I
--_ ....
G
...... L ......
",
I

".
. \
\
\

F
" \

I 19 1 20 1 21 1 22 I 23 I 24 1 25 I 26 I 27 I 28 29 30

Fig. 8.11. Plan view, Level IXb-l.

 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 247

Post
V 0 Rock
Surface Hearth
U
10
N
/ / / Midden

- ---
T re nch
Clay Basin
T
~ -
"'- ) Structure
S
I ~t?:t? Ash Stain
0 2 4
I I I
Meters
R

Q ----_.
~

P ----"";"

I
~ .
o .';j",
I

N .... ... ""- -----

\~ " . '.,

I . .i
,
" . ..
' "".

I I
/
~, I ", . .. ~1i:
'-
_.-- _ _ J I ',: -.':'

.,
,"
;".

~:
.",
K
".
J "..--_--.----- ...... "\
~
Destroyed
....
\.
\
".

G r
".. -.. -- -.-",
~ I
, I
" I
F
.:;r-;'.
" J
E

I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I 24 I 25 I 26 I 27 I 28 29 30

Fig. 8.12. Plan view, Level IXa.

248 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.

Table 8.8. Temporal Variability in Features clay, surface hardening, and in a few cases, color changes
on Ceremonial Floors typically observed when clays are lightly fired (fig. 8.17).
A number of small "pockets," some lined with stone, were
found along the edge of both the arm and the platform.
Level Most of these features are also lined with clay, and most
have evidence of light burning.
A second possible platform can be found at the eastern
IXc-l IXb-2 IXb-l IXa VIII
end of the complex (fig. 8.13). Because this area is at the
edge of the landslide zone, it is possible that this platform
Prepared clay floor x x x x x has been extensively damaged. Like the second stage ad-
dition to the western platform, it is constructed of a core
Platforms x
of angular colluvial stones and soil and has not been sur-
Stone circles/ovals x faced with clay, although it may have been abraded away
Trenches x x
by the landslides. Much taller than the western platform,
this platform is approximately 50 cm in height.
Clay-surfaced basins x x x x At least 50 ovals made of a combination of rock, clay,
Surface hearths x x x x x and mud are found between, atop, and beside the plat-
forms (figs. 8.13, 8.17). It is difficult to estimate the exact
Miniature circles/ovals x x
number due to the disturbance of parts of the complex by
Miniatures x x landslides. Also, portions of the western platform were
vandalized before they could be recorded in detail. The
ovals range in size from 18 to 65 cm along their long axis,
with most measuring 30 to 40 cm. They are shallow, usu-
ally no more than 3 em deep, and many have bases and
sides lined with a thin lens of white clay or mud. For the
smaller alignments, this has the effect of creating a mud
Table 8.9. Postmold Distances on Ceremonial Floors "pocket." Some of the coated alignments show ash and
carbon staining, but none show evidence of having been
heavily burned. Frequently the stones that form the edge
Largest of one alignment are used to create the side of another.
Level Median Mean Distance a These stones are generally found either on the south or
east walls or in the center of the stone ovals. Although no
artifacts have been found within these ovals, most of them
IXc-1
contain either a chunk of red or gray stone with brilliant
Stage 1 1.9 1.3 9.5
Stage 2 2.0 1.3 9.0 mineral inclusions, similar to the larger split rocks found
atop or embedded within the western platform.
IXb-2 Trenches are found in two cultural levels: the VIIalVIIb
Stage 1 4.2 1.5 5.4
series and VIII (fig. 8.13; Aldenderfer 1991 b: fig. 5). Four
Stage 2 1.9 1.3 10.5
trenches are found in Level VIII and range from 2.1 to 2.9
IXb-1 2.5 1.2 5.5 min le!lgth and from 30 to 52 cm in width. Each has been
IXa 1.6 0.9 5.0
cut into the soil matrix of CL VIII to a depth of IOta 30
em. The southernmost trench is the longest and deepest.
VIII It has straight-sided, parallel walls and is V-shaped in cross
Stage 1 0.6 0.6 1.1
section (Aldenderfer 1991 b: fig. 5). While the entire length
Stage 2 0.8 0.7 1.9
of this trench has been covered with a thin (1-1.5 em) lens
Stage 3 0.5 0.5 1.9
of smoothed mud and clay laid in a fashion similar to the
construction of the prepared clay floors, this layer is thick-
aAll distances in meters; distances between nearest neighbor est at the south end, which is also the location of light fire
measured across contiguous floor surfaces only. staining identical to that described for the ovals. Finger
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 249

~0
(' \
1~(l(1)f Wall

Trench
N 9~
/.0 Stone Oval

I Brilliont or Colored M,nefol

0 I 2
I I I

Meters

Fig. 8.13. Detailed plan view of the clay-soil and rock platforms, Level VIII. Note the location of the pyramidal rocks near
the termini of the remaining complex and atop the clay-soil platform.
250 Rapid Transforntation: Asanafrom 5000 to 3600 B.p.

Fig. 8.14. View of profile cut through the western clay-soil platform, looking south. The
prepared white clay soils are clearly visible.

Fig. 8.15. The westernmost platform, Level VIII, showing the relationships between the northern
arm, circles, and ovals, and the added stone altar to the rear. The large, split pyramidal rock is in
the upper left, while the added platform of colluvial rock is at the top center. Small ovals and circles
can be seen atop the arm, at its terminus, in the left-center of the photograph, and along the lower
edge of both the arm and the altar. The stains in the foreground are postmolds from Level IXa.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 251

Fig. 8.16. Frontal view showing the split pyramidal rock atop the western clay-soil
platform, Level VIII.

Fig. 8.17. Closer view of the terminus of the northern arm of the western clay-soil platform. The built-up
clay-rock oval can be seen to the left, and two small excavated stone-lined pockets can be seen in the
foreground.
252 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.
impressions in the clay surface are also found at the south
end of the trench. The three northernmost trenches are
considerably shorter and shallower and while lined with
mud and clay, have no evidence of fire staining or light
burning within them. Unlike the sharp, straight walls of
the southern trench, the walls of these are less straight
and resemble basins. The two trenches found in Level
VIlalVIlb are similar in construction to the CL VIII
trenches but are even more sharply cut into the soil ma-
trix, with very straight walls. They are found south of the
western platform. Unfortunately, little more can be said
of the Level VIlalVIlb trenches features owing to their
extensive disturbance by the landslide.
It is extremely unlikely the trenches have been created
by some natura~ process such as mass wasting and are thus
no more than "boulder grooves" that have scoured the
surface of the site. The boulders on the surrounding slopes
are angular, not smooth, and it is very unlikely that such
boulders would have created narrow trenches with very
parallel, straight walls, like those found in the trenches, as
they rushed down slope. Furthermore, the evidence for
burning in the largest trench is not redeposited on its sur-
face but instead embedded within it. Although other,
deeper layers of the site have also been subjected to ero'"
sional action, there are no other similar features to be found
in any other layer of the site.
Three shallow basins are found only in Level IXa (fig.
8.12). These basins, roughly ovoid or circular in shape,
range in maximum dimension from 80 cm to 1.1 m and
from 10 to 15 cm in depth. They have been excavated from
the natural soil matrix of this level and are not lined with
clay or stones. Their interiors have been smoothed, how-
ever. While none of these basins show any evidence of
burning, each has at its base a number of small (2-5 cm in
maximum dimension) discrete lumps and patches of a ho-
mogeneous white soil. Superficially, these lumps resemble
consolidated wood ash. Similar lumps of ash do not ap-
pear in the domestic areas of the site nor in ash stains
thought to be associated with the activities performed in
the ceremonial structures. Ash from these contexts is dif-
fuse and unconsolidated. Materials from the basins have
pH values of 8.5, indicating their alkaline nature and
strongly suggesting that these materials are either con-
solidated wood ash or calcium carbonate. The surround-
ing soils have a pH of 7.5.
Clay-lined basins, while showing considerable variability
in size, have a consistent pattern of construction and de-
sign, suggesting comparable function. The basins are lay-
ered with' a series of interbedded clay lenses separated in
many instances by a thin layer of ash and carbonized wood.
Most are oval to circular in form and range in size from 24
cm to 3 m in maximum dimension. There is a clearbimo-
dality in size, with one group measuring from 24 cm to 1
m and the other group ranging from 1.5 to 3 m. The ba-
sins range in depth from 8 to 17 cm and in general, the
larger the basin the deeper it is. The basins have been ex-
cavated from the natural soil matrix and form shallow,
bowl-shaped depressions.
The pattern of interbedding of the basins' levels con-
sists of a layer of white clay (the same type, color, and con-
sistency as that of the prepared clay floor) ranging in thick-
ness from 5 mm to 1 cm, followed by a very thin lens of
pink or salmon-colored clay (Munsell color 5YR5/3) no
more than 1 to 2 mm thick, followed by a thin lens of ash.
In many cases, this pattern is repeated up to nine times,
strong evidence for intentional reuse or, at a minimum,
resurfacing. Most basins were used from two to four times,
while a small number show only a single use. The distinc-
tive salmon-colored lens was probably poured on in a liq-
uid form since it is extremely thin and tends to fragment
in small, thin pieces. It does, however, separate from the
white clay layers relatively easily. Whatever was burned in
these basins was burned lightly because the surrounding
clay has not been hardened or modified in color to any
significant degree.
Most of the basins are devoid of artifacts, but one of
them on the IXb-1 floor had a large ovoid pounding stone
embedded in the floor (fig. 8.4). Associated with it were
small 2 cm maximum dimension) scraps of unidentifi-
able bone that were also embedded in the clay lenses. The
pounder and bone scraps are probably associated with the
feature. The pounder appears to rest directly on one of
the palimpsest reconstructions of the basins, while the bone
is found both within the clay layers and in the ash and
carbon lenses that separate the clays.
A large number of shallow surface hearths are found
associated with the ceremonial structures. These hearths
range in depth from 1 to 3 cm and have been simply
scooped out of the surrounding soil matrix. They tend to
be basin-shaped in cross section, although some are large
and irregular in form. None have been lined with either
rocks or clay, and while most are oval, they do not appear
to follow a formal design or specific plan for construction.
While all of them contain varying quantities of burned
soil, ash, and small pieces of carbonized wood, a minority
also contain bone scrap and lithics, both debitage and
finished tools. Although most of the bone from these fea-
tures has been burned, very little of it has been calcined or
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
heavily charred. As can be seen from table 8.10, there are
apparent differences in the contents of these features when
compared to hearths and surface middens from the do-
mestic areas of the site. In general, the surface hearths ei-
ther within or around the margins of the ceremonial floors
contain only small 2 cm maximum dimension) bone
scrap, and the density of bone is very low. In contrast, the
domestic hearths and middens contain both large and small
scrap, as well as more identifiable bone and far more lithics
(Aldenderfer 1991b: 248). While bone crushing and splin-
tering are present in both types of features, crushed and
burned bone dominates the contents of surface hearths,
implying a pattern of activity performance different from
domestic contexts. Few of the hearths show signs of in-
tentional reuse, although a small number of them have
either irregular cross sections or show clear evidence of
having been dug out slightly deeper at one end, suggest-
ing they had been cleaned and reused.
Miniature ovals and circles are the most curious fea-
ture type found on the floors of these structures. Begin-
ning in IXb-1 and continuing to IXa times, a very large
number of small carbonized twigs or branches were found
embedded in situ either on the prepared clay floor or im-
mediately adjacent to it. Each of these twigs has been bro-
ken off at the surface of the existing floor. They resemble
very small posts. Because of their number and small size,
accurate measurements were not obtained, but a sample
of the twigs found on the IXb-1 floor ranged in diameter
Table 8.10. Contents of Surface Hearths
IXc-l IXb-2
Number of hearths present 5 15
Percent of hearths without artifacts 80 73
Number of identifiable skeletal parts a 4
Proportion of splinters <2 cm 100 99
Lithics present?a no no
aLithics present in IXb-l and IXa include only miniature projectile points and no reduction by-products.
253
from 1 to 2.5 mm. When first encountered, it was assumed
that these twigs were nothing more than pieces of carbon-
ized wood associated with nearby hearths and clay-sur-
faced basins or possibly charred brush roof fall. However,
as they were mapped and as the amount of floor area ex-
posed was increased, it became clear that most of the twigs
were arranged in roughly circular and oval patterns (fig.
8.18). In many cases, the walls of an existing pattern were
used to form the walls of a subsequent construction. Al-
though it is difficult to determine with accuracy, most of
the circles or ovals do not appear to be totally closed and
are thus open on one side. In two instances on the IXa
floor, these tiny ovals surround a small piece of a broken,
smooth river cobble that had been placed in the center of
the oval. Aside from these stones, no other artifacts were
found associated with these circles or ovals. There is con-
siderable similarity between these tiny wooden circles and
ovals and those made of stone found in VIII times.
Relatively few artifacts are found on the floors of the
ceremonial structures, and some of the floors have none.
Aside from the stone pounding tool described earlier, only
small bone scrap is found on the floors. All of this bone is
either adjacent to a clay-surfaced basin or a surface hearth
or immediately exterior to a presumed entrance of the
structure. There is no suggestion of a thin scattering of
debris indicative of postabandonment trash disposal. The
total lack of lithic debitage argues forcefully that the bone
on these floors is related to whatever activities pertained
Level
Domestic Hearths
IXb-l IXa VIII VIII
12 18 26 6
67 67 100 a
4 5 n.a 6
98 98 n.a. 85
yes yes n.a. yes
254 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.

,
..... I
"'-\
'-'-
l
/ .
.... -'

J
v..--""
""

25
Edge of "'-
Cloy Floor--"-..

26
-.........

" 27
.-
...-
.- 28
-"-"
J

~
Post

(JJj) Hearth

N - - - Cloy Basin

I ~
. Burned
......,.
I
Twigs
oI I
Mete r s

Fig. 8.18. Plan view of Level IXb-l showing therelationships of the tiny twigs burned in situ on the floor.

to the use of the clay basins or surface hearths, and fur- made on site: no reduction debris of the material types
ther, it is likely that their use differed from typical domes- used to make the points is to be found in the associated
tic activity. Further, as I have already noted, it is probable Qhuna Phase Late Preceramic domestic middens.
that the bone dumps found immediately adjacent to the The small carving is made of a very soft dark stone of
Level VIII ceremonial structure were generated by activi- unknown type. It is unfortunately broken, which has made
ti es within it.
Some finished tools were discovered in the surface
hearths: miniature projectile -points in IXa hearths (fig.
8.3g-i) and a small stone carving in a IXb-l hearth (fig.
8.19). One of the miniature points is complete, while the
broken ones are represented only by their stems. None
have been burned, and unlike the larger points, high-power
microwear analysis demonstrates that none have been used
or obviously hafted. While the points from the domestic eM
middens are made of local raw materials, mostly volcanic
andesite, the miniatures are made of nonlocal raw materi-
als from high puna sources or of very high quality local Fig. 8.19. Views of small stone carving interpreted as a
raw materials. There is no evidence that these points were bird at rest.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 255

it very difficult to interpret what it is intended to repre- the structure in IXb-1 times but appear to be gradually
sent. If the only flat surface of the carving is interpreted as moved outside during IXa times. In IXb-l they are spread
the base, the carving has a vertically segmented body sur- across the floor, while in IXa they are for the most part
mounted by a flattened ovoid. On the upper surface, two found just inside or outside the postulated doorway. By
lines converge toward one end of the piece. It is possible VIII times, they appear to have been transformed into the
that the figurine is meant to represent a bird at rest. The stone circles and ovals found on and between the altars
panels with vertical segments may be wings, and the tri- constructed during this occupation of the site.
angle atop the body may be the head or beak of the bird, S. The size of the structure grows through time but
turned back, which is commonly done by many species stabilizes in size relatively early, by IXb-2 times. It actu-
when sleeping. Like the miniature points, it is not burned. ally shrinks in the Stage 1 and 2 constructions ofVIII times,
An examination of the plan views of the structures of but by Stage 3 it has expanded considerably (table 8.11).
each level (figs. 8.9-8.12) as well as table 8.8 demonstrates 6. There are changes in the diversity of activity perfor-
a number of changes in the use of features through time. mance inside the bounded space through time. IXc-l is
1. It appears that the space demarcated by the prepared the simplest, with no traces of activities remaining. IXb-2
clay floor has always been bounded, and this in turn sug- has a single inside activity involving use of the clay-sur-
gests there is an inside-outside dichotomy of activity per- faced basins. There is a dramatic increase in the range of
formance in the use of the floors and the features within features present in IXb-1 and IXa-surface hearths, min-
the structure as they change through time. Furthermore, iature postmold patterns, and clay-surfaced basins. Min-
there is a qualitative change in the way in which the struc- iature artifacts are also found in the surface hearths of these
ture is bounded through time. In the earliest levels, from levels. In VIII times, the floor is cleared, and the platforms
IXc-1 through IXb-1, exterior bounding appears to be and their associated features appear to dominate activity
somewhat haphazard. Distances between posts are rela- performance within the structures.
tively great, and moreover, they are irregular (table 8.9).
While there is a greater degree of regularity on Level IXa,
post spacing and distance become extremely regular in the Table 8.11. Estimated Floor Sizes of Ceremonial
different construction stages of the Level VIII complex. Architecture
2. With one exception, surface hearths are found out-
side the bounded space of the floor in Levels IXc-1 and
IXb-2. In Levels IXb-1 and IXa, hearths are found both Estimated Dimensions a
inside and outside the bounded space. By VIII times, sur-
face hearths have once again been moved outside the
Level N-S E-W
bounded space. There are also changes in hearth contents
through time based on this inside-outside dichotomy. In
IXc-1 and IXb-2 times, hearths both within and without IXc-l
the structure contain bone splinters and fragments. In IXb- Stage 1 6.4 3.4
1 and IXa times, only surface hearths within the struc- Stage 2 9.0 4.2
tures contain bone, and in VIII times, none of the exterior
IXb-2
hearths contain bone.
Stage 1 11.2 6.0
3. The patterning of clay-surfaced basins is similarly 11.2 9.2
Stage 2
clear. If the two questionable basins of IXc-1 are omitted,
it appears that these basins, which make their first appear- IXb-l 11.2 9.2
ance in IXb-2 times, are used both inside and outside the IXa 12.0 9.2
bounded space. This pattern continues until Level VIII,
VIII
when again all basins are found outside the structure. The
Stage 1 4.4 2.1
bimodal~ty of size noted previously also follows an inside-
Stage 2 8.8 5.7
outside dimension: basins found within the structures are Stage 3 12.0 11.0
larger and show signs of repeated use, while those outside
are smaller and have been used only once or twice.
4. Miniature postmold patterns are first found within aAll measurements in meters.
256 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.

Table 8.12 summarizes these changes. For the use of symbolized, it appears that their place in ritual activity did
interior space, it is possible to differentiate between open not change dramatically as long as they were outside. These
and busy. "Open" means that the prepared floor itself has basins were brought inside during IXb-1 and IXa times,
no facilities placed upon it, whereas "busy" means that the but they were better constructed, used repeatedly, and were
floor is crowded with features. This distinction is sugges- much larger than their exterior counterparts. It is appar-
tive of different uses of space. Open space would be more ent that while the meaning assigned to the clay basin may
conducive for the aggregation of individuals within the not have changed through time, its place in ritual did.
space, whereas busy spaces imply that an activity involv- The question that remains to be answered pertains to
ing the use of some feature (clay-surfaced basin or minia- the functions of these structures and the activities per-
ture structure) in the space is most likely and that depend- formed within them. Elsewhere (Aldenderfer 1991 b: 247-
ing on the size and number of features, the aggregation of 250) I have made the claim that these structures are in-
a large group of people would have been difficult. deed ceremonial, and therefore I will not repeat that ar-
Levels IXc-1 and IXb-2 are characterized by open in- gument here aside from a briefsummary. These structures
terior spaces, while the remaining species are busy, with are wholly different in construction technique, size, and
the possible exception of the third construction stage of contents when compared to contemporaneous domestic ar-
VIII. Although the facilities (platforms, trenches, etc.) are chitecture found in each level. Further, the ceremonial
clearly the focus of activity, the large amount of empty structures contain no obvious special-activity areas that
space surrounding them in the final construction stage pertain to some set of utilitarian activities, like the situa-
suggests that aggregation is once again an important ac- tion at the Cementerio de Nanchoc in the Zafia Valley of
tivity. However, other changes, such as the formal bound- northern Peru (Dillehay, Netherly, and Rossen 1989).
ing of the space, suggest that interior space is perceived in While the absence of obvious domestic or utilitarian func-
a different way than the open spaces of earlier times. tions does not automatically make the prepared clay floor
In contrast, the use of exterior space remains constant structures ceremonial, these negative data, combined with
through time, with surface hearths and clay-surfaced ba- data obtained through analogy, do make a more compel-
sins found in virtually all levels. Whatever these features ling argument that these structures were in fact ceremo-
nial in their function.
It is clear, however, that these ceremonial structures do
not represent a single sort of ceremonial or ritual activity
Table 8.12. Uses of Interior and Exterior Space at Asana but instead show change through time, with the ceremony
through Time
and the ritual that took place within them moving across a
continuum from open and public in the earliest levels to
Level Interior
closed and private in Level VIII times. This transforma-
Exterior
tion can be illustrated with ethnographic descriptions of
the ceremonial and ritual structures of two southern Cali-
IXc-l "open" hearths fornia foraging groups, the Gabrielino (Bean and Smith
1978) and the Tipai and Ipai (Luomala 1978). These groups
IXb-2 "open" hearths
reside in an arid environment very similar to Qhuna Phase
clay basins
Asana, and while displaying a range of residential mobility
IXb-l "busy" Ihearths hearths and sociopolitical complexity from the highly mobile and
clay basins clay basins relatively simple Tipai and Ipai to the relatively sedentary
miniatures
and politically complex Gabrielino, they are nevertheless
miniature houses
useful models for interpreting the prepared clay floor cer-
IXa "busy"Ihearths hearths emonial structures from Asana. These examples illustrate
clay basins clay basins two different organizational principles for the use of cer-
miniatures emonial structures: open, public ritual for the Tipai and
miniature houses Ipai versus closed, secret ritual for the Gabrielino.
VIII "open"/platforms hearths The Tipai and Ipai used two simple variants of dance
clay basins floors. An unroofed, leveled dance floor surrounded by
rock-supported brush walls was used by multifamily ag-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
gregations at fall nut-harvesting sites (Luomala 1978: 597).
Dances and integrative rituals controlled by shamans were
performed in these structures when more than one family
was present in the nut grove. At winter sites, a similar struc-
ture, the keruk, was constructed for the Annual Feast of
the Dead. In this case, while the floor was leveled and
maintained, it was roofed, and in some instances walls were
not erected. Various curing ceremonies, dances, and other
rituals conducted by shamans took place within them and
were witnessed by the entire resident population (Luomala
1978: 603-605). The keruk was constructed within the vil-
lage near the lineage head's residence and was maintained
by his lineage. Neither structure was used as a residence
and when not used for ceremony was simply left open.
The Gabrielino used a single ceremonial structure, the
yuvar. Like the keruk, the yuvar was built within the vil-
lage, again near the village headman's residence. The struc-
ture was carefully walled with woven brush and willows
supported by posts, and feathers, skins, and other decora-
tions were attached to the walls. It was also frequently
roofed (Blackburn 1962). The yuvar was the site of major
rituals, such as the annual mourning ceremony, in which
the entire resident population participated (Bean and Smith
1978: 545-546). However, a portion of the structure was
devoted to worshipping the cult of the god Chingichngish.
This interior area was walled and screened, and in some
cases platforms and altars were built and the image of the
god placed atop them. Access to this inner sanctum was
restricted to powerful elder males, shamans, and the vil-
lage headman, and it was the scene of secret ceremonies
devoted to the god which could be witnessed only by these
few individuals (Bean and Smith 1978: 548).
If these structural parallels are valid, activity perfor-
mance in CLs IXc-1 and IXb-2 strongly resembles the
Tipai and Ipai pattern of openness and aggregate ceremo-
nial activity performance. As table 8.12 shows, there are
very few features within the structure in these levels. The
haphazard bounding of the floors is very similar to the
pattern observed at the Tipai and Ipai winter and fall vil-
lages. The space probably served as a focus for dances and
group ritual at times of seasonal aggregation. Activity at
this time appears typical of the face-to-face ritual practice
of relatively simple, mobile foraging peoples insofar as it
is known from the ethnographic record.
In contrast, the use of space in IXb-1 and IXa times
appears to focus more upon the use of the features within
the structure rather than as a locus of group aggregation.
Because of the large number of features on the floor, it
would have been difficult to admit large numbers of people
257
within the structure. However, since the walls continue to
be irregular in form, it is possible that whatever took place
within the structure could have been viewed from beyond
the boundaries of the prepared clay floors. This use ofspace
appears to be something of a mixture of the open Tipai
and Ipai format and the closed Gabrielino pattern.
In Level VIII times, the use of space has changed sig-
nificantly. The space is clearly and regularly bounded, and
focus of the activity in the structure is the platform and its
associated features. The interior of the structure is now
devoid of artifacts, and the small size of the first construc'-
tion stage suggests that access to the platform was highly
restricted. Features that had once been inside, such as clay-
lined basins, are now found outside only, along with sur-
face hearths. All of this speaks to a formalization of activ-
ity performance with a clear inside-outside dichotomy.
Although the structure increases dramatically in size in
the second and third construction phases, the pattern of
activity performance remains the same, with the focus of
activity being the platform. "While larger numbers of people
could have been admitted to the structure, it is possible
that the platform was shielded from view by a wall sup-
ported by the posts of the first construction stage. In fact,
the placement of bone dumps along the Stage 3 construc-
tion suggests that just such a wall existed (fig. 8.7). This
strongly resembles the Gabrielino pattern of a closed sanc-
tuary combined with a larger public area.
As I will show later, these changes in the form and con-
tent of ceremonial architecture parallel major changes tak-
ing place in Asana VIlQhuna Phase times related to sub-
sistence, mobility, and the nature of external relationships.
In this light, then, the ceremonial structures at Asana il-
lustrate important cultural historical changes in the re-
gion while simultaneously providing insight into different
theoretical explanations of why they appeared when they
did and what ends they served.
From a strictly cultural historical perspective, it is use-
ful to describe the ceremonial structures at Asana in the
context of modern Aymara religious practice and belief.
As I have argued elsewhere, these ceremonial structures
are fundamentally "Aymara" in their historical origin, and
the features can be interpreted on the basis of this assump-
tion (Aldenderfer 1991b: 250-252). I will recapitulate the
main points of this argument.
"While it is unquestioned that the effects of the Spanish
conquest on Aymara systems of belief have been substan-
tial' numerous authors-such as Bandelier (1910), Paredes
(1963), La Barre (1948), Tschopik (1951), and Bastien
(1978)-have maintained that elements of Aymara ritual
258 Rapid Transformation: Asanafrom 5000 to 3600 B.P.
and ceremonial practice, especially at the individual, house-
hold, or community level, have survived substantially in-
tact from preconquest times. While it is yet another (long)
step from the agricultural and pastoral Aymara to the for-
agers of Late Preceramic Asana, there are nevertheless a
number of intriguing parallels between these groups. I do
not, however, argue that the ceremonial structures at Asana
are in any real sense "Aymara," but the possibility that
Asana represents an early expression of "proto-Aymara"
culture cannot be discounted.
Three aspects of Aymara ritual practice are relevant to
this discussion: the oft-recognized telluric nature ofAymara
ritual and belief; the structure, content, and use of shrines;
and the alasita, an annual trade and barter fair also de-
scribed as the ''fiesta of the miniatures."
The use of stones of all kinds figures prominently in
Aymara ritual practice. Apachetas, or stone cairns, are fre-
quently used as offertories by travelers. These begin as
small piles of stones that through time can grow substan-
tially. Travelers will place a rock on them as they pass and
at times will also place a quid of coca on them or may offer
flowers, broken gear, or other items (Tschopik 1951: 194).
No formal ritual is practiced at them, however. Various
minerals and stones are used as offerings or as divinatory
devices (La Barre 1948: 75; Tschopik 1951: 247), and some
of these are burned at shrines and at apachetas O. Bastien,
personal communication, 1991). Large boulders and other
natural outcrops of stone are often known as place spirits
(Tschopik 1951: 192-194). Stones and rocks of all sizes,
then, are important in several Aymara ritual practices.
Shrines also figure prominently in Aymara ritual.
Tschopik (1951: 194-196) describes two shrines used by
the Aymara near Chucuito: Father Atoja and Mother Atoja.
Father Atoja is represented by a large boulder that has
been roughly modified to resemble the form of a human
head. An altar of dry stone masonry has been erected at its
base, and a number of niches and stone ovals have been
constructed around the margins of this oval (Tschopik
1951: plate 27a). Burned offerings are found within the
niches, and burned areas are scattered on the ground in
front of the altar. Mother Atoja is a far more formal shrine,
being a V-shaped, dry stone masonry construction with a
number of internal and external altars (Tschopik 1951: fig.
4). The interior altar at the base of the U is said to be the
most important. Burned offerings are found scattered both
inside and outside the shrine complex.
A major shrine near Asana-at Cerro Baul-offers ad-
ditional insight into features associated with the use of
Aymara shrines (see also Kuznar 1995: 82-85). It is found
atop the mesalike mountain of Cerro Baul in the Osmore
valley. The shrine is oval in form and measures 5.3 x 4 m,
with a height of 1.2 m. The sides of the shrine are well
defined, and no rocks are placed haphazardly around its
base. Its most prominent structural feature is the series of
stone circles and ovals found primarily on its western face.
These circles are composed of stones ranging in size from
15 to 50 cm in diameter that have simply been piled atop
one another to form the ovals. No mortar or other binder
has been used to keep these ovals together. The average
size of the opening of the ovals is 60 cm, and they range in
height from 30 to 50 cm. There are at least 15 ovals on the
west side of the shrine. The ovals are constructed so that
the walls of one are used as the boundary of another. This
suggests that the structure grew by accretion.
The ovals contain melted wax from candles that have
been allowed to burn out, flowers, coca leaves, and ash.
The amount of wax in some of the ovals is considerable,
suggesting that they have been reused repeatedly. The in-
sides of the ovals are not heavily charred or burned, sug-
gesting that whatever burning was done in them was not
intense. All ovals had candle wax, but only a few had flowers
or coca leaves or showed evidence of burnt offerings. No
animal bone or parts were found on the shrine itselfnor in
any oval. Outside the ovals but still on the shrine are found
empty and unbroken pisco and wine bottles, flowers, cans,
pottery vessels (incensarios) , and articles of clothing. On
the top of the rock pile near its center is an altar or el-
evated platform upon which there are many offerings.
Surrounding the shrine in all directions are two other
features: surface hearths and fire basins surrounded by rock.
Both of these contain large amounts of charred animal
bone, usually of a single animal, such as a juvenile sheep
or goat. In some cases, the bone is heavily charred and
reduced. For the most part, however, it is broken into rela-
tively large pieces and has not been crushed or smashed.
Over 250 surface hearths were found within the area de-
fined by a 20-m radius from the center of the shrine.
The final distinctive feature is thousands of miniature
houses constructed of stone. They range in size from 20-
cm-diameter ovals made of stones to full-sized replicas of
the floor plans of modern rectangular houses. Some of the
structures contain small niches within them to symbolize
rooms, and in some cases they contain small amounts of
flowers, coca leaves, and other organic material. The en-
tire northern half of Cerro Baul is covered with these
houses. Some are found interspersed with the surface
hearths and fire basins near the altar but only to the west
and north of the altar complex.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
A third type of shrine used by the Aymara is the mesa.
The mesa is employed in a number of ritual events, and
thus its use is strictly situational. It is a temporary con-
struction relying for its efficacy not so much on a place
but instead on the combination of ritual paraphernalia and
their manner of use. In one sense, then, the mesa is a tem-
porary altar, erected and dismantled as needed. The most
complete descriptions of mesas are by Tschopik (1951: 219-
294), who describes their use in a number of important
ritual events, including house dedications, animal increase
ceremonies, and general propitiatory rites. "Where the mesa
is built depends on the kind of ceremony desired. For ani-
nlal increase ceremonies, it is made outdoors near a cor-
ral, whereas propitiatory mesas can be performed at exist-
ing shrines, near households that have requested them, or
simply in the open. Regardless of location, however, the
specialist performing the mesa faces east, and in general,
altars at the other types ofAymara shrines face east as well
(Tschopik 1951: 253).
The ritual equipment employed in the mesa includes,
among other things, carved stone miniatures of animals,
houses, and other symbols; sea shells; minerals; stuffed
animals; and a wide variety of perishable items used as of-
ferings, including flowers, food, coca leaves, tobacco, and
banners. "When mesas are held outside, the offerings are
burned near the mesa using a surface hearth which may be
reused the next time the ritual is repeated (Tschopik 1951:
260-261, plate 29b). The ashes are frequently buried or
disposed of in running water.
The alasita is a pan-Aymara annual event celebrating
the fiesta of the god of good luck, eq'eq'o (La Barre 1948:
195-196; Paredes 1963: 215-218). As noted by La Barre,
it takes its name from the imperative form (alasita, "buy
from me") of the Aymara verb "to buy, exchange, or bar-
ter." The festival today is held at various times of the year
in different parts of the Aymara world due to local histori-
cal events of the postconquest and colonial periods. The
alasita is also known as the "festival of the miniatures."
Eq'eq'o is represented as carrying dozens of miniature
goods-cheeses, money, clothes, and animals, and "almost
the entire material culture of the altiplano is at some point
or other represented in the fair ofthe miniatures" (La Barre
1948: 196). In some parts of Bolivia, miniature towns are
constructed, and these are populated with the miniatures
brought by the eq'eq'o (Paredes 1963: 214-215). Tschopik
(1946) indicates that some of these miniature villages are
permanent constructions and are located near the centers
of aggregation for the festival.
"What parallels can be drawn between these aspects of
259
indigenous Aymara ritual practice and the material remains
of ritual activity at Asana? The most significant are sum-
marized in table 8.13. Surface hearths have their closest
parallels with the use of outdoor mesas, which are gener-
ally conducted for individuals, households, or small groups
of people and are not typically the scene of larger group
aggregations. The clay/soil altars, as well as the colluvial
rock altars, resemble most closely the larger permanent
altars such as Cerro Baul and Mother and Father Atoja.
"While individuals may use these shrines at any time, the
shrines are more frequently the scene of rituals and cer-
emonies that integrate larger groups, such as aggregations
of households or larger coresidential groups (Bastien 1978;
La Barre 1948). "While individuals own and use amulets in
personal rites and "magic" (Tschopik 1951: 238-240), and
although amulets are also used in mesas, their public dis-
play, as well as the public construction of miniature houses
and farms, takes place during the alasita, a festival that
serves as an integrative mechanism for large numbers of
Table 8.13. Parallels between Asana and Aymara
Ritual Practices
Telluric Nature of Ritual
Construction of altars of stone; use of stone to construct
Level VIII complexes of circles and ovals
Use of split pyramidal cobbles atop altar and as
terminations of walls of Level VIII ceremonial complex
Use of red and brilliant minerals in the stone circles and
ovals
Shrines and Altars
Construction and use of clay/soil and colluvial rock
platforms, interpreted as altars due to similarity in
construction with Cerro Baul and other Aymara altars
Use of surface hearths surrounding modern altars and use
of mesas; surface hearths at Asana postulated to have
similar use
Alasita
Postmold patterns of tiny wooden posts interpreted as
miniature houses similar in form to known domestic
architecture
Use and deposition of miniature projectile points only
within boundaries of ceremonial complex
Use and deposition of miniature carved stone only within
boundaries of ceremonial complex
260 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.
people, usually on an annual basis. There are no direct
modern parallels for the other features found at Asana.
If these parallels between Asana and Aymara rituals are
valid, it is clear that there is a mixture of "public" ritual
(large group aggregation represented by the alasita; use of
formal altars) with smaller scale, possibly more "private"
ritual acts (such as the use of mesa). This mixture suggests
that Asana served multiple roles as a ceremonial locus, but
one that changed dramatically through time.
Variability in Domestic Architecture
There are a number of very important differences in do-
mestic architecture during the Asana VI/Qhuna Phase
when early levels (IXc-IXa) are compared to later levels
(VIII-V). Unfortunately, since the data from Levels VII-
V are very fragmentary due to the disturbance from the
landslide that destroyed portions of the Level VIII cer-
emonial structure and any such structure that might have
been present until Level V times, it becomes necessary to
rely on the data from Level VIII. Data on residential struc-
tures from other later levels, particularly VII and V, will
be employed when available.
In other publications, including Aldenderfer 1990a,
1993a, I have characterized one aspect of subsistence
change in Asana VIlQhuna Phase times as a heightened
emphasis on seed processing. As I have shown in the de-
scription of Level VIII, this assertion is based upon the
presence of seed grinding tools embedded in the floors of
domestic structures and numerous push-pull grinders as-
sociated with their use. Although this assertion is correct,
it fails to note that intensive seed grinding appears in the
later levels of the Qhuna Phase occupation of Asana.
A review of the plan views of complete levels of the
Qhuna Phase occupation demonstrates this (see figs. 8.1
and 8.9-8.12). Except for Level IXb-2, each level in ques-
tion has at least one complete or near-complete domestic
structure present. Like the structures on Level VIII, while
there is some within-level diversity in feature placement
and structure content, the structures from Levels IXc-1-
IXa are very similar. None of the earlier level structures,
however, have batanes embedded within their floors or
other obvious food preparation areas within them. In con-
trast, in the later levels batanes are found only within the
structures. There are also more potential seed-processing
tools in the later levels, despite the disturbance these lev-
els have suffered. It is therefore more accurate and de-
scriptive to argue that from ca. 5000 to 4600 B.P. (a time
frame which includes Levels IXc-2-IXa), seed-processing
activity was of minor importance at Asana and that from
4600 to 4400 B.P. (which includes Levels VIII-V), seed
grinding was of much greater importance.
The shift toward intensive seed processing around 4600
B.P. is paralleled by another major change in the residen-
tial architecture, that being a significant increase in the
amount of covered floor area. In the earlier levels, the
median covered floor area for domestic structures was 8
m 2, but in the later levels (represented only by Level VIII)
the median jumps to slightly more than 10m2 (table 8.6).
Thus while Qhuna Phase domestic architecture from any
level is larger than that seen in any previous phase, the
increase in Level VIII times is exceptional. This increase
in size is accompanied by a more structured or formal use
of space within the structures. Batanes are found only
within domestic structures in Level VIII and subsequent
times, and there appear to be more internal partitions of
the space in these structures as well. In domestic struc-
tures in the earlier levels there are no indoor food prepa-
ration areas marked by batanes, and only one structure
(on the Level IXb-2 floor) has ,any hint of internal parti-
tioning. Taken together, these data suggest that a signifi-
cant change in the way in which the site was used takes
place at Asana around 4600 B.P. The contexts and causes
for these changes will be discussed at length in chapter 9.
Summary: Asana VI/Qhuna Phase
Qhuna Phase Asana witnessed a number of significant
changes in its use over a relatively short period of time.
Once again, it is possible to turn to the familiar triad of
diet, the place of Asana in its settlement system, and the
scale of mobility implied in the use of that system. In the
case of the Qhuna Phase, however, it is best to start with
the third of these-scale ofmobility-because this is where
we see one of the most profound changes in Asana's occu-
pational history, which is in great part determinative of
changes in other societal realms.
It appears inescapable to conclude that the scale of resi-
dential mobility declined throughout the Qhuna Phase,
using lithic raw material frequencies as an indicator. While
some puna and puna rim materials are found in the earli-
est levels of this phase, these materials disappear by Level
VIII times, and assemblages are dominated by high-sierra
lithic types. What could cause such a shift? One plausible
answer is changes in raw material preference, but there is
no obvious reason for puna and puna rim materials to drop
out of favor at this time. A more probable explanation is
that access to the puna and puna rim environments is highly
limited in Qhuna Phase times. In effect, I suggest that the
inhabitants of Asana, unlike in earlier phases, had no di-
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 261

rect access to these environmental zones. Although there Asana VIIIAwati Phase (4400-3600 B.P.)
are no .data ~ith which to evaluate this hypothesis, the likely
There are four major cultural levels assigned to the Asana
cause IS regIonal packing. That is, it is probable that the
VIIIAwati Phase-Iv, III, II, and I. Each of these levels
Qhuna Phase inhabitants ofAsana were denied or had lim-
however, can be divided into a series of palimpsest occu~
ited access to these environments by other groups of for-
pations (called "microstrata" by Kuznar 1990); and there
agers. "'Whatever the cause, it is still the case that subsis-
are ten of these occupations. Disturbance to the Awati
tence activities for much of the phase were likely concen-
Phase levels has been extensive. Level I, for instance, has
trated on the exploitation of high-sierra resources.
b~en heavily disturbed by erosion and scouring by land-
Dietary evidence supports this observation. Seed use,
slIdes, and there is relatively little of the level that is in-
as indicated by the increase in numbers of small batanes
tact. The situa~on improves for Levels II, III, and IV; each
and grinding-type manos, seems to intensify through this
of these levels has suffered extensive disturbance along the
phase. Many of these batanes are found embedded in the
northern margin of the excavation block. In Level Iv, most
floors of the residential structures. There are no paleobo-
of the ,LM file of excavation units are filled with coarse
tanical indicators of exactly what seed was being used, but
colluvial rock (fig. 8.20), while in Level II, the LM file is
it is probable that the local variant of Chenopodium-
in~a~t, but those further to the north have been essentially
quinuay-is being exploited. Moreover, the intensity ofseed
elImInated by the landslides (fig. 8.21). Thus while the size
use has increased, especially when compared to earlier
of the excavation block for the Awati Phase was ca. 120
phases. "'While some seed use at Asana has been part of the
m 2, the amount of undisturbed area ranged from 100 m 2
diet since Khitufia Phase times, no other level rivals those
in Level IV to only 84 m 2 in Level II.
of the Qhuna Phase in terms of the numbers of batanes
. Th~ Awati Phase occupation has been the subject of
found in residential contexts. Hunting continues to be of
IntenSIve study by Lawrence Kuznar, who completed his
importance to the diet as well.
dissertation in 1990 (Kuznar 1990) and who later wrote a
This restriction of mobility has important implications
book on Andean ethnoarchaeology using data from Awati
for the place of Asana in its settlement system. All indica-
Phase Asana (Kuznar 1995). His dissertation focused upon
tors-architecture, both public and private, and activity
what he called the Terminal Late Archaic of the Rio Asana
profile-suggest that Asana is a residential base. Again,
valley, which I have called the Awati Phase (Aldenderfer
while there are no direct indicators of the term of occupa-
1990a). In his dissertation and book, Kuznar completed a
tion, the presence of the public architecture suggests it
vegetation survey of the high-sierra environment (one
was a significant portion of the year. The question of
which he subsequently extended into the lower high si-
~hether it was permanent throughout the year, especially
erra and the puna rim); studied modern goat pastoralists
In the later levels of the phase, remains moot. If settle-
in the Rio Asana valley in order to create a model ofAndean
ment mobility was restricted, this implies a permanent,
pastoralism in this type of environmental zone; studied
sedentary occupation of the site. However, traditional in-
the grazing habits of goats and other modern herbivores
dicators of long-term site use, such as midden accumula-
to better understand the way in which vegetation was ac-
tion, are not evident, whereas others, such as a structured,
tually consumed and on the basis of analogy, used these
relatively formal use of space, are. This question will only
data to project stocking rates for different species of wild
be answered when settlement survey and excavation are
camelids that once inhabited the valley; and argued that
conducted in the valleys adjacent to the Rio Asana, par-
Levels I-III at Asana were created by a pastoral occupa-
ticularly the Rio Torata valley.
tion of the site. He also developed a general model of the
The appearance and elaboration of the public architec-
domestication process for this region.
ture during this phase suggest that religion, ritual, and ide-
Kuznar (1990: 331-337, 1995: 100-107) concludes that
ology were also part of the response ofAsana's inhabitants
subsistence at Terminal Late Archaic (Awati Phase) Asana
to the observed limitation on residential mobility. Of in-
was characterized by herding as indicated by the presence
terest is the evidence of a dual response-intensification
~f dung-derived soils, faunal remains, and the organiza-
of seed use and a clear intensification of ritual that culmi-
tIon of space at the site. During this period, the site was a
nated, by the end of the phase, in the collapse of both the
residential base occupied by a single family and was prob-
settlement and subsistence system and aspects of the ritual
ably occupied during the dry season. Puna and puna rim
and ideological system. Both the cause and consequences
lithic material found at the site suggested a pattern of sea-
of this collapse are explored in chapter 9.
262 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.p.

K
0
0 ~:~;.
!
[) o.
i
_-m-t-_'
J
! c::>
_ _ _ _ _1

I 0
.-
I
I
0

0
H
"'~
\) J,\ i
~';

G () ~4.~i

4~~~
F f~iJ

~
E
00
Post
Rock
CJ) Hear th
D ~ Quebrada ~
c%,'l..:

N
c:;f;J Landslide \l
~~~f.~J~ Ash Stain

C
I 0
I
Meters
2
I
3
I

-,
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Fig. 8.20. Plan view, Level Iv.

sonal residential mobility, and Kuznar speculates that these
herders returned to the puna during the rainy season.
While this is a reasonable supposition, no data existed at
the time either to confirm or refute this assertion.
I am in essential agreement with Kuznar's conclusions,
although I have some differences regarding the interpre-
tation of certain details of the organization of space at the
site, lithic materials, and other matters. Since 1989, when
Kuznar accumulated the excavation data from Asana un-
der my direction, I have had one more field season at the
site which has provided a few new insights into the Awati
Phase use of the site, and more important, fieldwork in
both 1990 and 1991 in the puna rim environment has dis-
covered the upper limits ofKuznar's postulated Awati Phase
settlement pattern. Therefore, while the following discus-
sion relies heavily upon Kuznar's interpretations, these new
data will expand upon and amplify his excellent work.
Asana VII/Awati Phase Settlement Patterns
As noted, Kuznar (1990) has argued that Awati Phase settle-
ment was characterized by residential mobility between
the high sierra and puna. Asana was a dry season (austral
winter) residential base, and the wet season residential base
was presumed to be on the puna near a bofedal, a pattern
that is typical of modern llama and alpaca herders in the
Moqueguan highlands. Herders moved their animals from
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 263

.---- ---... ______
L
Limito! /
Dung Soi I

/'
.~
K

J
----- /
I-
i

I



. \
\
3'r:
~
)

N


H
Post

o Rock
C) Hearth
/// Midden
G
G Ground Stone
- ~ Conal
t.t;) AshSto;n
F 0
, - I- ; - : - _ - - - '

Meters
I I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

Fig. 8.21. Plan view, Level II.

the highlands in the dry season to smaller bofedales in the
high sierra and probably grazed their animals on the veg-
etation on the valley floor and slopes, as modern goat
pastoralists do. Kuznar also speculates that herders supple-
mented their diets with hunted animals, probably taruca.
While a highly plausible model, the problem at the time
of its publication was that there were no data from the
puna, the presumed high-elevation terminus of the settle-
ment system. Happily, new excavation data from two im-
portant sites-EI PanteGn and Cueva San Agustin-in the
puna rim environmental zone have filled this gap. Fur-
thermore, additional survey in both the puna rim and high
sierra has led to the discovery oflogistical camps or hunt-
ing blinds that can be assigned to the Awati Phase.
El Panteon As was described in chapter 3, EI PanteGn
was first discovered in 1990 and was tested in 1991. Levels
XIX-XXVI appear to date to the very late Archaic or Early
Formative periods; the basal layer of the site (Level XXVI)
produced a radiocarbon date of3320 80 B.P. (Beta-52330/
CAMS-3209). This date just barely overlaps at two stan-
dard deviations with the radiocarbon date from Level II
Asana of 3640 80 B.P. (Beta-23364), and for this reason,
only Level XXVI will be discussed in this volume.
Although the lithic data from El PanteGn are still un-
der analysis, it is possible to describe their sources. Of the
128 reduction by-products recovered from XXVI, 41.4%
are from the high sierra, 53.1 % are from the puna rim,
and 5.5% are from puna sources. There are no materials
from the lower high sierra in this assemblage. The major-
ity (N = 48) of the high-sierra materials are Type 4 cryp-
tocrystalline quartz, while the puna rim materials are domi-
nated by Type 18 red andesite (N = 33). There are six dif-
ferent puna rim sources, five high-sierra sources, and a
single puna source. No raw material type has a count of
greater than 50 reduction by-products. Only two morpho-
logical tools, both biface fragments, were recovered from
this level, and these are made of high-sierra and puna rim
raw materials. The lithic data, then, suggest that there is
an axis of puna rim-high-sierra mobility.
264 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.
The faunal data have been completely analyzed using
the same methods as at Asana and other excavated sites in
the region. For this analysis, I have lumped the data from
two levels-XXV and XXVI-since there is a significant
degree of continuity in feature placement between the two
levels. For the relatively small area opened, bone counts
are relatively high, as is density (1,661 fragments/m 3), al-
though weight is only 195 g (table 8.14). The assemblage
is also relatively intact: only 46% of it is in fragments of
less than 2 cm in maximum dimension. Despite this, MNI
counts are small, as is the total NISP that can be identified
as to skeletal element (5.4% of the assemblage; N = 16).
Of the NISP that could be identified as to species (N =
257), the majority are in the large mammal aggregate
(95.2%), followed by guanaco (2.5%), the small mammal
aggregate (1.9%), and taruca (0.4%). Also, a very small
proportion of the NISP (4%; N = 12) could be identified
as to age. Of these, 42 % are either from yearlings or very
young animals, while 58% are from adults. Finally, only a
very small proportion of the bones (0.7%) were burned.
The packet and skeletal element data must be inter-
preted with extreme caution given their very low counts.
However, if at all valid, they show that whole animals were
consumed on site and that the dominant packet is the head/
Table 8.14. Faunal Data Summary, El Panteon Levels
XXVI and XXV
Packet Data a
2 3 4 5
7 5 3 o
.44 .32 .18 .06 o
N= 299
MNI= 1
Phalanges = 2
Metapodials = 3
Tooth fragments = 24
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the
assemblage.
neck set of elements. There are relatively large numbers
as well of other low-utility skeletal elements, such as
metapodials, phalanges, and teeth. In contrast, high-util-
ity parts seem relatively underrepresented, especially those
elements associated with the trunk and hindquarters pack-
ets, which suggests these elements were either consumed
off site or were processed and stored for future, probably
off-site consumption. These packet data are in rough ac-
cord with Kuznar's (1990: 276) assertion, based on his
ethnoarchaeological studies, that the faunal materials found
at the residential bases of pastoral peoples should be domi-
nated by low meat yield parts.
Our knowledge of the organization and use of space at
EI Panteon is limited by the size of the excavation block
and its placement. Despite these limitations, structural
remains are found in the southeastern corner of the block
and consist of two sets of postmolds, one running north-
west-southeast and the other north-south (fig. 8.22). Both
meet in a large, in situ colluvial boulder to form a corner
of a presumed structure. Within the limits of the postrnold
pattern there is a single fire hearth in Level XXV that,
when the structure was abandoned, was reused as a burial
pit for a human infant. A linear patch of organically stained
soil labeled in the field as a midden runs on the inside of
the northwest-southeast alignment of postmolds. The re-
mainder of the excavation block is composed solely of the
natural soil matrix with no features observed. No spatial
analyses have been performed with these data.
Although the data remain equivocal, it is probable that
the earliest occupation ofEI Panteon was the high-eleva-
tion end of Kuznar's postulated Awati Phase settlement
pattern. While it lacks corrals and other highly distinctive
features of pastoral sites, the residential architecture
present, the nature of the faunal record, and the lithic data,
which speak to a puna rim-high-sierra axis of mobility,
combine to suggest that El Panteon served as a residential
base on the puna rim at approximately 3600 B.P.
Cueva San Agustin The second major site known to
have a late Awati Phase component and excavated since
1990 is Cueva San Agustin. Tested in 1991 (see chapter 3),
its basal layer produced a carbon sample dated to 3460
160 B.P. (Beta-52329). This date overlaps at two standard
deviations both the basal date from EI Panteon and the
Level II date from Asana. As at El Panteon, fiber-tem-
pered ceramics are found in levels superior to Level XXVIII
but have yet to be dated with chronometric techniques.
No lithic material was recovered from Level XXVIII,
but there were some faunal remains present (N =62). Both
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 265

n_. .. ._n_. .. _u ._ _.... . .._ _ ._ _ __.

v w x
Post
Rock

Hea r t h

Midden
N
House Floor
o
l
Mete r s

Fig. 8.22. Plan view, Level XXVI, EI Pante6n.

266 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.
weight (20 g) and density (310 fragments/m 3) are very low.
All bones can be assigned to the large mammal aggregate,
and 400/0 of them can be identified as to skeletal element.
The majority of these (92 %) are thoracic vertebrae and
thus are assigned to the trunk packet. The remaining ele-
ments are from the head/neck and hindquarters packets.
The overwhelming number of vertebrae are indicative of
a snacking pattern of food consumption on the site. None
of the fragments are burned.
The organization of space at the site is very simple. A
small hearth is located near, but still within, the dripline
of the shelter. A small patch of organically stained soil la-
beled as a midden was found adjacent to this hearth, and it
contained most of the discarded faunal material. In sum-
mary, this site is an ancient example of a modem site type-
a temporary shelter in which herds were observed by their
keepers, also called a rest or observation site (Kuznar 1990:
250-251,1995: 80-81). An alternative is that the site may
have been used on a sporadic basis by travelers, but the
distance of the site from the valley floor and the steep as-
cent make this improbable.
Other Sites None of the densities found during survey
in the Rio Asana valley had Awati Phase cultural materials
within or near their boundaries. However, a number of
typical Awati Phase projectile points have been found
throughout the valley. Single points are found on the talus
slopes of Cueva 4 and Coscori, and other points have been
found on terraces of the Rio Asana valley below Cueva 4
and Apacheta Chica. Stray finds of projectile points have
been found in the Rio Charaque drainage as well as in the
valley in an elevation range of approximately 3,500 to 3,700
m. None of these points are associated with other cultural
materials indicative of either logistical camps or field
camps. The scattered distribution of these points has prob-
ably been generated by hunting.
In summary, Awati Phase settlement is residentially or-
ganized around two base camps-Asana in the high sierra
and EI Panteon in the puna rim. Cueva San Agustin ap-
pears to be a field camp or station, while the number of
stray points found throughout the valleys of the region
suggests that hunting was still an important aspect of sub-
sistence practice during this phase. No logistical camps
pertaining to this phase have been identified, although it
is probable that the upper levels of both Cueva 4 and
Coscori can be assigned to this phase. Unfortunately, dat-
able material from these levels has not been recovered, so
this hypothesis cannot be confirmed.
Level IV (4340 B.P.)
In many ways, Level IV at Asana is atypical: very few arti-
facts were found on its surface. The only cultural level in
the site that had fewer artifacts was PXXXIII, the initial
occupation of the site. Furthermore, of the materials found
on Level Iv, only lithics are present in the assemblage.
Every other level at the site has at least lithics and faunal
material, and most have some ground stone tools. Level
IV has neither. The level also has a limited range of cul-
tural features-a single hearth, a number of ash lenses,
and postmolds. What, then, are the attraction and impor-
tance of Level IV for this study?
For all of its limitations, Level IV marks an unambigu-
ous transition from the preceding Qhuna Phase. Large,
ovoid domestic structures disappear, as do the batanes
embedded in their floors, implying that seed processing is
no longer of importance as an activity at the site. There is
virtually no lithic reduction, and since there are no mor-
phological tools present, there is no clear notion of activi-
ties performed. The ceremonial architecture that figured
so prominently in the Qhuna Phase has also disappeared.
What replaces the complexity of the Qhuna Phase is a to-
tally new subsistence and settlement system, one based on
the herding of domesticated camelids, probably the gua-
naco. Admittedly, the scanty Level IV data hardly support
this sweeping assertion, and it must be understood that
the strongest data for this transformation come from sub-
sequent levels, beginning with Level Ille (Kuznar 1990).
Yet sufficient data exist to show that Level IV at Asana was
in fact the first pastoral occupation of the site, albeit some-
what different from those seen later in the phase.
Because of the lack of faunal data and the very small
number of reduction by-products (N = 32), I will move
directly to a discussion of the organization of space and
the distribution of features across the surface. I will, how-
ever, discuss the lithic material when appropriate. A total
of 100 m 2 of this surface has been exposed and is suffi-
ciently intact for analysis. What is immediately striking
about this level is the very large number of postmolds.
Unlike most of the levels in which these features are
present, it is difficult to see any clear patterning in their
distribution. There are no obvious domestic structures
present, and the placement of either ash lenses or the single
hearth is not suggestive of the presence of a domestic struc-
ture. While a domestic structure may not be present, there
may well be a large corral outlined by these postmolds
(fig. 8.23). The smaller corral is the most probable and
encloses a minimum of24.1 m 2. The existence of the larger
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 267

K D 0
0
0 ~~~:.

J [) o.
-~~t............. ~,J
c:::>

---;- ....... ,

---_ .... -
I
. \
0
[)

I
\
H
\
.,....'Ii
.,,
\
~;;'

G (j \)~
~

F
!~iJ
:it~~~:.-:<!'
/
"..--" Struct ure
~--
E

00
Post
Rock
(2) Hearth
D ~ Quebrada ~~~
'Q..~.

Q0 Landslide
I]
N
':~~:''t~~; Ash Stain
C
I 0
I
Meters
2
I
3
I

I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Fig. 8.23. Plan view, Level Iv, with possible corrals.

corral is far more tenuous, but if it exists, it encloses 46.9
m 2. These postllolds show a very irregular distribution;
this may have resulted from a series of rebuildings of the
corral at various intervals during the occupation of the site.
While a few ash lenses are found within the boundaries of
the smaller corral, larger ones are found immediately ex-
terior to it, and all of the lithic material is found in or near
the large ash lens in unit FG25-26. The materials are all
from the high sierra, and all of them are less than 1 cm in
maximum dimension, suggesting that a minor amount of
tool resharpening or retooling took place on site.
This admittedly is thin stuff, but I believe that Level IV
at Asana is a very short-term residential base, or possibly a
herd observation or rest site, in a pastoral settlement sys-
tern. The limited ethnoarchaeological support for this ar-
gument is based on Kuznar's (1990) research on the Rio
Asana goat pastoralists. Kuznar (1990: 267-282) describes
two important site types of pastoral peoples: the residen-
tial base and the herd observation stations. He concludes
that residential bases always have some sort of corral in
which the animals sleep, have a consequent accumulation
of dung within them as the animals defecate while con-
fined, and usually have domestic structural remains present
with relatively high densities of associated lithic debris (in
prehistoric times) and faunal materials. Stations, in con-
trast, generally have corrals, although these may be highly
ephemeral, have very light scatters of dung on their sur-
faces, have poorly defined or nonexistent structures, and
268 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.
have very low densities of cultural remains. If the postmold
patterns in Level IV at Asana are accepted as a corral, it is
probable that this occupation reflects a pastoral station.
An alternative is that this is a very briefly occupied resi-
dential base, but if this is the case, the soils of the level
should reflect a greater accumulation of dung and should
begin to resemble the dung-derived soils commonly ob-
served in subsequent levels, especially since there is rea-
son to believe that the site has been occupied repeatedly
as witnessed by the corral rebuilding and expansion.
If Level IV at Asana is a station, where are the residen-
tial bases? It is highly unlikely they are in the Rio Asana
valley. Recall that the basal dates of occupation of the puna
rim sites are no earlier than 3680 B.P., a date contempora-
neous with Level II at Asana. While it is possible that other
residential bases once may have existed in the valley and
have been either destroyed by natural processes or over-
looked during survey, a more parsimonious explanation is
that the residential bases were located in some other val-
ley system. The most likely candidate is the nearby Rio
Torata drainage. Admittedly, this is not a wholly satisfac-
tory answer, but it is the best the data can support at this
time. What does seem clear is that a pastoral utilization of
the Rio Asana valley has been initiated by Level IV times
continuing until a clear pattern of within-valley pastoral-
ism is established by Level II times..
Level II (3640 B.P.)
A total of 84 m 2 of Level II has been exposed and is suit-
able for analysis. As noted, the northern portion of the
excavation block has been severely damaged by landslides.
Faunal Data The faunal assemblage in Level II is rela-
tively large, although highly fragmented, with 87% less
than 2 cm in maximum dimension. Both bone density (650
fragments/m 3) and total weight (205 g) are low. MNI
counts are low due to this high level offragmentation (table
8.15), and no small mammals have been found in the as-
semblage. Only 0.7% (N = 8) of the fragments could be
identified as to species, thus making statements about the
relative proportions of species present almost impossible.
While the vast majority of the bones can be placed into
the large mammal aggregate, all of the species-identified
skeletal elements are of guanaco, and no taruca are present.
Due to the fragmentation, only 1.3 % (N = 14) of the fau-
nal remains could be identified as to age; of this very small
number, 29% are from yearlings, while 71 % are from fully
adult animals. A relatively large proportion (40%) of these
bones has been burned.
The packet and skeletal element data are very poor (table
8.15), and because of the small sample, any interpretation
based on them is tenuous at best. However, it does appear
that whole animals have been but~hered on site given the
large number of lower limb parts and tooth fragments,
and while the packet data are essentially even in their dis-
tribution, a closer inspection of the elements actually
present in the assemblage shows that each of them-skull
fragments (3), ulna (1), carpal (1), rib (1), thoracic verte-
bra (1), tarsals (3)-is a low meat weight part. Therefore,
it is likely that high-utility parts have been either consumed
on site and then fragmented for marrow, removed from
the site, or finally, stored for future consumption and then
consumed off site.
Lithic Data Counts of lithic material are moderately
high in Level II (N = 748). However, their density is low
(445 by-products/m 3), and their weight is very low (128
g). While the assemblage is dominated by high-sierra raw
materials (68.7%), there is a very significant proportion of
puna rim material present (27.3 %), followed by lower high-
sierra materials (2.5%), puna materials (0.9%), and far
nonlocal materials (0.4%)-all obsidian. The number of
raw material types (N = 22) falls within predicted limits,
although the number of types with counts greater than 50
(N = 2) falls below the 95% confidence limits predicted by
Table 8.15. Faunal Data Summary, Level II
Packet Data a
2 3 4 5
3 2 2 3 o
.30 .20 .20 .30 o
N = 1,092
MNI= 1
Phalanges = 3
Metapodials =3
Tooth fragments = 59
aThe horizontal rows of this table are packet, total NISP for that
packet, and the relative frequency of that packet within the
assemblage.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 269

the relationship between sample size and number of types the puna of the Titicaca basin, and large numbers of very
with counts greater than 50. These numbers suggest that similar points have been recovered from Level \VXXIV
while the inhabitants of the site had access to a wide vari- (dated to 3660 B.P.) at the site of Quelcatani (Aldenderfer
ety of raw material types from all zones either through 1991 b). Nunez and Santoro (1988: fig. 8.81-82) describe
mobility (for lower high-sierra, high-sierra, and puna rim similar points from the Late Archaic Hakenasa Phase of
types) or from some other process such as trade (for puna northern Chile dated to 6000 to 4000 B.P.
and far nonlocal types), they preferred to use only two of The ground stone tool assemblage from Level II is ex-
these (Type 4 from the high sierra and Type 23 from the tremely limited and consists of only five small mana-type
puna rim) for most of their tool-making tasks. The flake stones. There are no obvious batanes on site, nor are there
aggregate analysis of these two material types shows two any kitchen rocks present in the assemblage. Furthermore,
different reduction types: Type 4 reflects late stage biface none of these tools have traces of hide-working wear. In
manufacture and small-tool production, while Type 23 fact, there are no hide-processing tools of any kind, either
reflects resharpening, tool maintenance, or minor small- chipped stone or ground stone, in any Awati Phase level.
tool production (fig. 8.24). This is the only phase at Asana that demonstrates this pat-
Eight morphological tools were recovered from this tern. Since no obvious ground stone or chipped stone tools
level. Five are discarded projectile points, all of them bro- have been found at El Panteon, the presumed high-eleva-
ken; two are Stage IIIIIV bifaces, all broken; and one is an tion anchor of the Awati Phase settlement pattern in the
edge tool made on a broken tertiary flake. The only arti- Rio Asana valley, it is very likely that wool clothing had
fact with clear microtraces is the edge tool, which appears been adopted by this time.
to have been used to whittle wood. None of the projectile
points have linear projection traces or obvious hafting Site Structure As Kuznar (1990: 310-315) has shown,
traces, but all are basal fragments, suggesting they had been the organization of space and the range of features on the
returned to the site in their hafts and subsequently replaced. Level II surface are clearly indicative of a pastoral occupa-
As before, none of the tools show hide-processing wear. tion of the site (fig. 8.21). Perhaps the most striking fea-
Projectile point styles of the Awati Phase are generally ture of this level is the large, extensive mantle of dung that
triangular with convex bases (fig. 8.25a, b, c) or are paral- covers most of the level. Through his ethnoarchaeological
lel sided with concave bases (fig. 8.25 d). These points are studies in the valley, Kuznar (1990, 1995: 74-76) has dem-
generally very small, with maximum length generally less onstrated that thick caps of dung in corrals are typical of
than 3 cm. Points of this form are extremely common on the residential bases of pastoralists. One of his most im-
portant discoveries is his observations on the way in which
dung soils are transformed into a claylike soil with very
50 specific chemical characteristics. Camelid dung begins as
pellets and through time is gradually compressed into dry
sheets which, given sufficient time, are transformed into
A Freehand
40 - soils that physically resemble clays (fig. 8.26). However,
A Biface, Stage 2 the soils retain a chemical signature that identifies them as
-oJ
~
u
ABipalar dung derived (Kuznar 1990: table 31). These dung-derived
-
~
30 -
soils are first found in the Level III series of palimpsests
Cl:
0
U and continue through Levell. These soils can be very thick
.... (see fig. 8.27) and are very difficult to excavate.
Z
lU 20 -
u
Cl:
These dung-derived soils are roughly outlined by a se-
UJ
a. ries of postmolds that are probably the remnants of a cor-
ASiface, Stage 3-4 Small Tool
10 - Sma II Too I
AMaintenance ral used to pen the camelids (figs. 8.21, 8.28). Within the
A Product ion corral are a few small ash lenses which were probably de-
A B i face, Stage 5 posited by hearth-cleaning episodes. While corrals are
.4 .23
o ~----r--I~--"I----r--I-----"'TI---"""'"'1 often the scene of activity performance, inoffensive waste
o 10 20 30 40 50
like ash is sometimes thrown in them. Kuznar (1990) sug-
SIZE 4: SIZE 1-3 RATIO
gests that a small structure is located in the southeastern
Fig. 8.24. Flake aggregate analysis, Level II. corner of the corral near the edge of the dung-derived
270 Rapid Transftrmation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.

a b

eM

Fig. 8.25. Awati Phase bifaces. a: F26d-1IIIb; b: G27d-3IIIa; c: D25a-1!IIb-2; d: D29a-5IIIa.

Fig. 8.26. Test units HI]K 19-20, Level IIIb floor, showing the
consistency of the camelid dung-derived soils. The tendency for
this soil to resemble the cracking pattern of clays can be seen
especially in the bottom right corner of this view of the floor.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 271

Fig. 8.27. Close-up of the profile of one of the walls in the West Excavation Block at Asana. At its deepest point,
Level Illb reaches 15 em. Dung-derived soils are found in Levels IIa-mb in this profile. Note that Level IV does not
appear to have been dung derived and is quite distinct when compared to the II-III series of levels.

soils. Only a single feature, an ash hearth, is found within
this presumed structure, but immediately exterior to what
appears to be its doorway are small concentrations of bone
and lithic material (figs. 8.29, 8.30). The concentrations
resemble the doorway dumps or simple floor sweepings
thrown out the door. These findings tend to corroborate
the inference that this postmold alignment does indeed
reflect a residential structure. Kuznar (1990) estimates the
amount of covered floor area at 4.2 m 2.
Adjacent to the corral and the domestic structure is an
extensive midden area with a large number of surface
hearths and ash lenses. The majority of the lithic and bone
waste is found in this area, as are two of the discarded mano-
type grinding tools. Northeast of the midden and hearths
is a small set of postmolds, which Kuznar (1990) has de-
scribed as a ramada. It is likely that this is some sort of
structure, most likely a formal kitchen area. Kitchens tend
to be found exterior to domestic sleeping structures at
modern pastoral sites in the valley. In this kitchen zone/
midden area, there are two distinct types of bone dumps:
one type (two dumps) is composed solely of unburned,
fragmented bone, while the second type is a mixture of
burned and unburned bone fragments (fig. 8.31). This
dump appears to be derived from the making of bone juice.
One of the most interesting features in this level is a
canal that runs roughly east-west through the midden area
below the ramadalike structure. This feature has very
straight vertical walls and in profile is V-shaped. Although
it is filled with colluvial debris, it is highly improbable that
this feature is a natural quebrada, which tends to have a
broader, shallower base and sloping walls. Kuznar (1990)
has shown that modern pastoralists often dig canals to their
residential sites to provide themselves with running wa-
ter. An alternative hypothesis offered by Palacios-Rios
(1977) is that canals are often cut to expand the size of
bofedales by allowing water to irrigate surrounding dry
272 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.P.

Fig. 8.28. Postmold pattern on Level IlIa floor, test units DE25-28. Other
stains and ash lenses are also visible.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 273

L
~---
rtLimit 01 /-........
---- Dung Soi I

. ."'--- \ \
/
K

--- /
1--

_ _ _ _ +i .
11'1
"rJ-'l'' - -_ _

~
'.~ ~
' --+-_~1_i::_"~-+-_--+-}_~_.: -+--_ _---1
~
-"I>'.
N

o Bone Density
I
I

H _ Post

o Rock
o Hearth
/// Midden
G
G Ground Slone
_ .:::: Conal
Ii'> Ash Stain
o,
Meters
-, I
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

Fig. 8.29. Total bone density, Level II, interval = 10.

~----
Limitol/-""""
Dung Soi I
/ ----
K
/
"'--- \
--- I--

\
I {~
I
I
6'1 } t; .~

.'!r;,

f[Ji
N tEl .~

I~ -. ~I~:

o Lithic Density
- i
I
H

-
o
o
Post
Rock
Hearth
/// Midden
G
G Ground Stone

- .:::: Canol

-,
Ii'>
0,
Ash Stain

Meters
D
17 \8 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

Fig. 8.30. Total lithic density, Level II, interval = 5.

274 Rapid Transformation: Asana from 5000 to 3600 B.p.
23
Fig. 8.31. Total burned bone density, Level II, interval = 5.
soils. However, given the proximity of the canal to the
presumed kitchen zone, the canal-as-water-source hypoth-
esis is the most parsimonious explanation of its existence.
Interpretations The data support the hypothesis that
Asana in Level II times was a residential base of pastoralists.
The features present at the site, including the presumed
corral, dung-derived soils, domestic structure, and exte-
rior kitchen area complete with canal, all have parallels in
the ethnographic record of modern pastoral peoples in the
region. Although there is limited diversity in the artifact
assemblage and the activities performed, the majority of
the data are indicative of a residential occupation of the
site. Kuznar (1990) has postulated that the site was occu-
pied during the dry season (austral winter). He bases this
assertion on the presence of yearling animals in the faunal
assemblage, but as I have pointed out, frequencies ofiden-
tifiable faunal materials in this assemblage are very small,
and therefore this assertion, while plausible and probably
correct, is only tenuously supported at best.
The size of the residential group appears to be smaller
than in previous phases. There is a single domestic struc-
ture present, and the only other level in which a single
structure is found is the very earliest occupation of the site
24 25 26 27 28
in Level PXXXIII. While the presence of only a single
structure may well be a function of the size and the place-
ment of the excavation block, it is consistent with the way
modern pastoralists in the valley use residential bases. It is
extremely rare for a residential base to be occupied by more
than a single family, and when this does occur, the families
usually construct more than one sleeping structure.
The scale of mobility during Awati Phase times is well
understood. El Pante6n served as a high-elevation resi-
dential base, while Asana served as the dry season base. It
is likely that the low sierra was used on a logistical basis,
and sites like Cueva 4 and Coscori probably served as lo-
gistical camps. Very small quantities of lower high-sierra
raw materials were obtained during these logistical forays.
Much of the remainder of the valley, including the puna
rim, was used by hunters, although the lithic data suggest
that the puna itself was used only sporadically by herders
based in the Rio Asana valley. That the lower high sierra
and puna were of limited importance to Rio Asana herd-
ers is corroborated by phase-aggregated frequencies of
debitage and tools from different environmental zones
(table 8.16). The vast majority of debitage and all of the
tools are from high-sierra or puna rim sources.
The most important question, however, is concerned
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
with the origins of camelid pastoralism in the Rio Asana
valley. Kuznar (1990 and in other publications) has argued
that pastoralism in this region appeared in response to re-
gional packing, which increased throughout the Archaic
(see also Aldenderfer 1989a, 1993a). Residential mobility
in the preceding Qhuna Phase was essentially confined to
the high sierra, and under these conditions, foragers in
the valley found it necessary to intensify their use of both
seed-bearing plants and camelids. Kuznar maintains that
given constraints on different resource mixes, herding-
combined with the cultivation ofsmall quantities of quinoa
and hunting whenever feasible-represented an optimal
strategy for coping with the social and ecological prob-
lems generated by regional packing. The ultimate cause,
then, of herding in the Rio Asana valley is regional pack-
ing. I will evaluate this argument more fully in chapter 9.
Summary: Asana VII/Awati Phase
Awati Phase Asana is the scene of the other major trans-
formation that takes place in the Rio Asana valley after
5000 B.P.-the appearance of domesticated camelids, pre-
sumably guanacos. Whether this is a purely local event or
had some external influence is very difficult to determine.
If projectile point styles can be read as indicators of
ethnicity or interaction in some exchange network, it is
clear that Awati Phase Asana has little contact beyond the
south-central Andes. In fact, this more limited regional
focus of projectile point styles started in the preceding
Qhuna Phase. Therefore, if the idea of camelid domesti-
cation was "borrowed" by the inhabitants of the Rio Asana
valley, it was most probably "borrowed" from some other
Table 8.16. Asana VlIlAwati Phase Raw Material Frequencies a
Material Type by Zone
Lower High
Level Sierra High Sierra Puna Rim
IIIIIa debitage 2.5 68.7 2.5
lIb debitage 1.6 71.3 35.9
Tool raw materials 0 87.5 12.5
aAlI figures are percentage value.
275
location in the south-central Andes. There are, however,
no other data antecedent to Asana that speak to the do-
mestication of camelids in this region. Data from north-
ern Chile suggest that camelid domestication occurred no
earlier than 4000 B.P. While the Lake Titicaca basin has
long been suspected as a zone of early domestication, no
published data can be found to support this suspicion. Stud-
ies at Quelcatani, a rockshelter located at 4,400 m in the
Rio Chila basin some 80 Ian east of Asana, suggest that
domesticated camelids are present by at least 3700 B.P.,
but the data are still under analysis. At present, what few
data exist suggest that the domestication of the guanaco in
this region was independent of developments elsewhere.
In one sense, though, it really makes no difference if
domestication was a "borrowed" technology in the Awati
Phase, since its mere presence is important. That is, a pas-
torallife-style "worked" for the Awati Phase inhabitants
of the valley. This stands in stark contrast to the more com-
plex Qhuna Phase occupation, which in some sense did
not work if by that is meant a settlement and subsistence
system reliant upon seed use and hunting and a social sys-
tem in great part dependent on ritual, religion, and ideol-
ogy for its reproduction. The system implied by the Awati
Phase-one based on pastoralism-either could not or did
not support a complex adaptation like that seen in the
Qhuna Phase. That pastoralism became a foundation for
the development of complex societies in some parts of the
Andean world is unquestioned. However, it is also clear
that the Awati Phase, at least in this portion of the western
flanks of the Andes, created no long-term basis for the
development of these more complex societies.
Puna
0.9
1.2
0
Asana and Models of Montane Foraging
It is now possible to evaluate just how the archaeological
evidence from Asana corresponds to the model of mon-
tane foraging developed in chapter 1. Before so doing,
however, it is useful to review briefly the contents of that
model (see tables 9.1 and 9.2 for summaries of model as-
sumptions and model contents, respectively). High-moun-
tain ecological systems offer a number of significant con-
straints on how foraging peoples use them, particularly
since these systems tend to be of low productivity and low
predictability and are patchy in resource distribution. Fur-
thermore, they add the significant and extra biological costs
of cold stress and hypoxia, which place greater caloric de-
mands on individuals and reduce, at least over the short
run, work capacity and efficiency.
Given this set of constraints, I can predict that foraging
peoples will adopt a wide variety ofleast-cost adaptive strat-
egies, primarily focused upon settlement systems charac-
terized by low residential mobility and a logistical resource
procurement strategy. Within this system, I can further
suggest that these foragers will be risk adverse, with aver-
sion based upon the desire to avoid caloric shortfalls and
to maintain a steady intake of calories. They will further
seek to buffer or ameliorate risk through a combination of
strategies, including mutual access to territory, storage, and
exchange. Which of these strategies is adopted will de-
pend primarily upon their costs relative to one another
and the costs of mobility. It is likely that mutual, recipro-
cal access to territory through mobility will be the most
likely buffering strategies in high-mountain systems as long
as the costs of mobility are not too great. Exchange be-
comes an option as these costs increase. In short, the model
can be broken down into three obviously interrelated parts:
diet choice, mobility and movement, and risk ameliora-
tion strategies (table 9.2). To facilitate this discussion, I
will organize my comments in the following manner: I
first will discuss diet choice, for it is here that the archaeo-
logical evidence from Asana is perhaps the clearest. I then
will turn to a discussion of mobility and movement and
finally risk amelioration.
Diet Choice
To explore the diet choice of montane foragers in general
and those at Asana in particular, I have argued that a cen-
tral place foraging model offers considerable potential for
predicting various aspects of subsistence practice. This
model offers a series ofspecific predictions about resource
rankings based on the relative energetic value of the re-
source and the quantity obtained, the structure of resource
patches, the handling time of the resource, and the travel
time associated with the procurement of specific resource
types. However, before such a model can be applied to a
set of resources, it is necessary to consider whether it is
desirable to develop two distinct sets of resource rankings
based on the division of labor.
While anthropologists' knowledge of the division of
labor between males and females has a long history in our
discipline, this knowledge has yet to be applied systemati-
cally to modeling efforts derived from optimal foraging
theory. As Jochim (1988) has persuasively argued, it fre-
quently makes good empirical and theoretical sense to
consider separately male and female contributions to the
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 277

Table 9.1. Summary Statement of Assumptions and Conditions of a Model of Montane Foraging

Basic Assumptions
Risk aversion, with aversion based on avoidance of caloric shortfalls

Subsistence will operate under a threshhold function, meaning that foragers may be risk seeking until
a sufficient level of calories has been achieved
Minimization of effort, including work loads and mobility in general, but under the constraints of the
prior two assumptions
Behavioral Responses to Constraints of High-Mountain Environments
Relatively low levels of residential mobility, with relatively short distances between residential moves

Emphasis on logistical mobility, with relatively short distances between logistical moves

Residential bases should be "optimally" sited on the landscape

Reduced foraging radius

Increased emphasis on caching

N onsubsistence resource procurement should be embedded in the subsistence round

Relatively high degree of field processing of animal kills and more early stage preparation of bifacial
tools and cores away from the residential base
Amelioration of effects of hypoxia and cold stress through cultural adaptations

Regular and steady intake of calories

diet in any modeling effort because the sexes generally hunt
or forage for very different resources that can have radi-
cally different pursuit, handling, and processing times in
relation to their energetic returns. Females should pursue
resources that are on the whole less demanding in terms
of the energy costs for procurement, such as plants or less
mobile game resources, are reliable so as to avoid caloric
shortfalls that are especially severe during pregnancy or
lactation, and are compatible with child care, such as sessile
or nondangerous resources (Jochim 1988: 132). The de-
gree to which they are able to adhere to such a strategy
depends on the combination of resources present in the
environment and social factors. The situation is further
complicated by a system of food sharing between males
and females, suggesting that the adaptive strategies of the
sexes are not independent.
Jochim (1988: 133-134) also suggests that males and
females seek to achieve different goals in their subsistence
tasks. Females in general appear to pursue risk-aversive
strategies designed to avoid caloric shortfalls and to pro-
vide a safety net of sufficient quaOntities of resources that
can be shared by all family members. Males are less con-
strained by considerations of reliability and may actually
be risk seeking in terms of their activities, in that they may
have numerous short-term resource shortfalls or failures
but over the long run have higher average yields.
The implications of these findings, as Jochim points
out, are clear: it will be more valuable to develop different
sets ofresource rankings appropriate to the goals and strat-
egies of each sex rather than to lump these together as has
been the custom in many applications of optimality mod-
eling in anthropological and archaeological research.
Single-model resource rankings may well discount the
value of the female contributions to the diet since they
may be of lower efficiency in terms of energetic return,
and such models may lead to a spurious ranking that is
based primarily upon the male contributions to the diet.
Therefore, I will follow Jochim's suggestion to create
two separate resource rankings appropriate to the strate-
gies and goals of the sexes. In practical terms, this division
278 Asana and Models o/Montane Foraging
Table 9.2. Summary of a Model of Montane Foraging
Model Components
Diet choice is based on a central place foraging model that
takes into account the relative energetic value of the
package obtained, the density and value of resource
patches, handling time, and travel time.
Mobility should be logistical in form, with relatively few
residential moves. The frequency of mobility will in great
part be determined by resource abundance and availability
as compared to the costs of procurement, at least in
tropical mountain systems.
Risk amelioration or buffering will be accomplished by
mutual access to territory as long as mobility costs remain
relatively low; as these costs increase, risk amelioration
will become exchange based. Storage remains an option.
Territorial defense is not expected.
is effected by ranking resources first by their reliability,
dichotomized by low and thus obtained by males, and high,
obtained by females. Rankings will then proceed within
these two categories.
Methodology and Modeling
Much of what follows contains various kinds of quanti-
ties-estimates of calories or protein content per kilogram
of meat, calculations of the average meat weight of a par-
ticular species of animal, or determinations of harvest ef-
ficiency of plants. These numbers are manipulated through
common operations, and the results of these manipula-
tions are used to frame arguments or evaluate inferences
drawn from the general model ofhigh-'elevation foraging
I have already presented. Many readers may find the use
of these numbers problematic, and to some extent I share
these concerns and reservations, although, given the kind
of model I have proposed, the use of numbers in this con-
text is both legitimate and useful.
Although all modeling efforts in archaeology that use
numbers are subject to these concerns, models based upon
optimization theory are perhaps even more suspect than
most. In part, much of this suspicion is based on the con-
troversy over the applicability of this approach to human
affairs Oochim 1983; Keene 1985; Smith 1991). Without
denying the relevance of these concerns, they have little
effect on the practical problems of model implementation.
This is especially true if the model is created to provide
heuristic insight into some process of anthropological in-
terest rather than to develop specific predictions regard-
ing it that are to be directly tested. I have used the model
of central place foraging in precisely this manner through-
out the book-as a tool to gain insight into the ways in
which foragers used the Rio Asana valley in particular and
the ways they are most likely to use high-elevation envi-
ronments in general.
Even if this position is accepted, however tentatively, I
still expect to receive two general responses to my use of
numbers: some will argue the numbers are hopelessly pre-
cise and that small changes in individual values may have
dramatic effects on model predictions, while others will
surely argue that the use of average values does not ad-
equately capture the inherent variability in hunting and
harvesting success, thereby failing to realistically model
the behaviors in question.
In one sense, the numbers used in this chapter could be
labeled as examples of false precision. Kaplan (1964: 204)
defines this term as a degree of precision that goes beyond
the scale or sensitivity of the instrument employed to make
the measurements. That is, such numbers give the impres-
sion, if hastily reviewed or used, that we can really know
the energetic value of a guanaco or taruca from 9000 B.P.
and that we can predict with accuracy the kind of deci-
sions made by ancient foragers on that basis. It is a fact
that we cannot move directly from the incomplete archaeo-
logical record at Asana to determine if the outcomes of
the model are actually consistent with its predictions. We
cannot take the bone assemblage from, say, Level PXXIX
and compute the kilocalories of taruca present within it. If
I had attempted to do so, not only could I be accused of
being guilty of false precision, I could also be tried and
convicted of pointless precision, perhaps a more grievous
quantitative crime, which is using measurements more
exact than can actually be used, (Kaplan 1964: 204). It
should be clear that I have used these numbers as approxi-
mations or as heuristic measures of what could have been,
not what was. Since they are robust approximations, even
relatively large changes in their values will have little ef-
fect on the general predictions of the model. I also ac-
knowledge circumstances in which changes in their values
may affect a resource ranking. Thus these numbers have
the appearance of precision, but in reality they are used
solely as reasonable guides to past behaviors.
To the question of variability and realism, I have two
responses. From a quantitative perspective, to model vari-
ability using these models would invite the charge of point-
less precision. While there are optimality models that are
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
capable of dealing with stochasticity, such as the z-score
model (Bettinger 1991: 119-124), in the present instance
there barely are reasonable average values of productivity,
let alone any data on seasonal or patch variability. Thus to
create numbers to employ more "realistic" models would
truly be pointless. In a number of instances that follow, I
provide ranges of likely productivity values or harvesting
efficiencies under varied circumstances. These are not used
in a stochastic manner, however, because I have no data
on resource variability at this level. Any model using such
numbers would not be more realistic but would be point-
lessly accurate and precise.
My second response is based upon the recognition of
the limits of archaeological data. As we all know, except
under extraordinary circumstances, we cannot see indi-
vidual events in the archaeological record. \Vhat we ob-
serve are aggregates of different kinds and durations of
activities. As Jochim (1991) has argued, we should look at
archaeology as a form of "long-term ethnography" in
which we can view the results of patterned activities on
the landscape over fairly long time frames. To deduce pat-
tern, we attempt to identify redundancy and structure.
\Vhile we must acknowledge variability, we must also ad-
mit that we are likely not to be able to recognize that vari-
ability in any consistent way in the archaeological record.
Therefore, I have chosen not to ignore variability but in-
stead not to model it. The effects ofvariability in resource
productivity are discussed, and the direction variability is
likely to produce in model predictions is discussed, but
neither is modeled explicitly.
Productivity ofHigh Reliability Resources
The most abundant and reliable resource available in the
Rio Asana valley is the chenopod. As I demonstrated ear-
lier (table 2.6), an average year produces just over an esti-
mated 50,000 kg of Chenopodium seeds in the high-sierra
environmental zone, especially the Franseria and Balbisia
communities. This does not take into account stands of
plants that may have been generated around camelid dung
piles. By any measure, this is a very substantial amount of
usable biomass, with 14.7 kg/ha of seeds produced annu-
ally. Despite the apparent quantity of these plants, how-
ever, they are difficult to harvest. In modeling terms, their
handling time is very high.
In 1991 Kuznar (1993; personal communication, 1992)
conducted a series of harvesting experiments designed to
determine the value and productivity of the wild chenop-
ods in the Rio Asana valley. Unlike the domesticated plant
quinoa, which usually has a single thick stalk that contains
279
the bulk of the seeds, the wild chenopod quinuay is a much
smaller plant that has a large number (5-25) short stalks,
each of which contains seeds. These stalks grow radially
from the plant and tend to be low to the ground. To har-
vest the plant, it is necessary either to bend low or actually
sit on the ground to pull the seeds from each stalk or to
cut the stems below the seed bundle and then remove the
seeds. Tschopik (1948: 501) reports that Aymara in the
modern era pull the plants from the ground and beat them
on threshing grounds or in some instance break the heads
off of the plants. In each case, however, the labor is te-
dious and difficult. As can be seen in table 9.3, the effi-
ciency of harvesting is low; only 271 g of seeds can be
recovered in one hour of seed stripping and winnowing.
In addition, the amount of seeds that can be accumulated
in a typical day's harvest of varying duration by a single
person ranges from approximately 0.5 to just over 1.6 kg.
Harvesting efficiency tends to decrease as the day wears
on simply from the effort involved. Unlike the mongongo
nut that can often be harvested by the !Kung San in a seated
position (Lee 1979: 192-193), harvesting wild quinuay re-
quires repeated, tedious bending and rising.
These estimates of harvesting efficiency offer new in-
sights into the abundance of this resource. If a six-hour
collecting session is assumed, with ten individuals collect-
ing, a total of 16 kg of chenopods can be collected daily
(expressed as 1.6 kg/person/day). Using this figure as a
baseline, an average year produces over 3,1 00 person/days
of chenopod seeds. Clearly, there are far more seeds avail-
able than can be collected. However, it is also clear that
under normal conditions, chenopods can be seen as a highly
reliable resource due primarily to their high productivity.
Chenopods are highly nutritious and yield significant quan-
tities of calories and proteins (table 9.3). These figures
compare favorably with the caloric and protein yields of
lean meats of different species (table 9.4).
Unfortunately, there are no other estimates of wild
plants and their productivity that could have been con-
sumed in the Rio Asana valley in the past. Only one pos-
sible wild species of tuber was discovered by Kuznar in his
vegetation surveys, and he remains uncertain whether this
is truly a wild species or a remnant of plants utilized by
pastoralists in the modern era (L. Kuznar, personal com-
munication, 1992). Chenopods, therefore, are the only
resource for which there are suitable data upon which to
estimate past uses of plant resources.
280 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
Table 9.3. Harvesting Experiments of Wild Chenopods in the Rio Asana Valley
and Nutritional Value of Chenopods
Harvestinga
Time spent walking between plants
Time spent stripping plant stalks/plant
Proportion of harvesting time spent walking between plants
Average weight of seeds recovered in 20 minutes of
harvesting after winnowing
Efficiency of harvesting in a natural stand
Harvesting efficiency over different periods
2 hours
4 hours
6 hours
Total patch productivity
Nutritional Contentb
Average caloric content (kcals)
Average protein content by weight
Patch productivity in an average patch in an average year
Protein productivity in an average patch in an average year
aData from Kuznar (1993; personal communication, 1992).
bData from Duke and Atchely (1986: table 2). Seeds are fresh and have not been corrected for
moisture content.
Productivity ofLow Reliability Resources
The three major mammalian species in the Rio Asana val-
ley are the guanaco, taruca, and vicuna; their behavioral
ecology and their abundance have been described at length
in chapter 2. In some ways, it is a misnomer to label these
species as "low reliability" since each is territorial and the
spatial location of most family groups can be generally
predicted with some accuracy. However, unlike plants,
these animals move and therefore offer an element of un-
certainty in the outcome of a hunt.
Because I am unaware, despite an extensive search, of
any published literature on the caloric and nutritional value
of the edible meat of these three species, I have been forced
to develop a reasonable model of it. The flesh of domesti-
cated species, especially that of beef and pork, has been
analyzed extensively; that ofwild species less so. As can be
12 seconds/plant
14.8 seconds/plant
47%
90.35 g
271 glhour
0.54 kg
1.08 kg
1.63 kg
14.70 kg/ha
333 kcals/1 00 g seeds
14.8 g/100 g seeds
48,951 kcal/ha
2,176 glha
seen in table 9.4, there are differences in the caloric, pro-
tein, and fat content of the meats of many familiar species.
The most significant variation is in the fat content. Those
species used primarily as food (beef and mutton) have gen-
erally larger quantities of calories of fat and grams of fat in
their meat, whereas wild species or species generally not
consumed extensively (at least in most Western societies)
have relatively low quantities of fat in meat. To estimate
the nutritional content of these three species, I propose
the following model. I will use the figures for deer as an
analog for the taruca and a modified "goat model" for the
two domesticated camelids, llama and alpaca. "When they
compare it to the two camelids, Andean peoples praise the
taruca for the fat content of its meat. "While it is unclear
just how fatty it is, most informants say that taruca "tastes
better" because of its fat. The deer estimates, then, are
reasonable estimates of taruca meat content.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 281

Table 9.4. Calorie, Protein, and Fat Content of Meats of Different Species a

&al Protein &al Fat g Protein gFat

Deerb 90.6 31.7 20.6 3.3

Goat 85.8 74.9 19.5 7.9

Horse 90.6 23.4 20.6 2.7

Lean beeft 82.7 130.2 18.8 13.7

Lean mutton C 80.1 118.6 18.2 12.5

Lean beefd 160.0 20.0 9.0

Lean beefe 124.0 21.0 7.4

aSource: Souci, Fachmann, and Kraut (1981); all measurements are for 100 g of
edible meat.
bSpecies measured is Cervus elephas.
cWhole half of lean beef or lean mutton.
dAmerican Meat Institute (1960: 186). Figure is total kcal for 100 g edible meat.
eBodwell and Anderson (1986: tables Iv, V) for 100 g edible meat.

In contrast, the anecdotal evidence obtained through
ethnoarchaeological studies suggests that in general the
camelids have relatively low proportions of fat per gram
of usable meat. My friends and informants routinely com-
plain about the poor quality of camelid meat: "This meat
is tough and stringy; it has no fat." It is, of course, con-
sumed with gusto, but it is still recognized as inferior in
fat content and taste. Although many domesticated
camelids have significant quantities of fat in their meat, it
is highly improbable that their wild ancestors would have
had comparable amounts. No single modern domesticated
species, then, is likely to be a useful model for these two
camelid species. Therefore, I suggest a model that uses
the protein value of the goat and the fat values of deer as
reasonable approximations ofwild camelid meat nutritional
content. The amount of fat in goat meat seems excessive
for use as an analog to the wild camelids. Any of the pro-
tein figures could have been used because the range of
variation in them is relatively minor.
Other sources of fat in these animals must be consid-
ered. Stiner (1991: 471-474) has observed that the brain,
because of its structural and functional characteristics, is
the last bastion of usable dietary fat in otherwise lean ani-
mals. In fact, when compared to lean meat, which is likely
typical of most species, the brain has almost three times
the amount of fat and protein per 100 g (lean meat ratio,
0.30; brain ratio, 0.95). Moreover, it also has high concen-
trations of essential fatty acids and cholesterol, which are
critical for the growth and health ofyoung children as well
as pregnant and lactating women. Therefore, while from
a strictly meat weight perspective the utility of the head is
relatively low, from a fat perspective it is very high. Unless
transport costs are extremely high, I would expect high-
elevation foragers to routinely bring heads back to their
residential bases. Since the heads of these animals are not
substantially different in size and therefore are unlikely to
contain substantially different amounts of fats, I do not
expect that this part per se would have had a significant
effect on prey selection.
Fat pockets, however, may have been highly desired.
White-tailed deer are renowned for the quantities of fats
they have stored in pockets beneath their skins. These
pockets are very rich sources of calories. Keene (1981 : table
5.3) notes that deer fat has 900 kcal/l00 g, a far greater
quantity of calories than for any lean meat. Taruca are
known to have fatty pockets according to my informants,
but it appears these are relatively small. Thus while de-
sired, it is unlikely they would have been a primary crite-
rion for prey selection.
Looking solely at individual animals, the most produc-
282 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging

tive in terms of all measures, including meat weight, calo-
ries/kg/usable meat, grams of protein/kg/usable meat, and
a "total animal" figure (meat, hide, bones, and selected
organs like the liver and brains), is the guanaco, with the
taruca and vicuna essentially equal. Therefore, either in
terms of energy produced or the total animal (assuming
hides of the different species are of equal value), the gua-
naco has the most potential productivity of any animal
species in the valley (table 9.5).
Yet another way to compare these three species is to
evaluate them within resources patches. That is, just how
much usable meat exists within the "average," or modal,
patch? Such a consideration is important because one of
the criteria evaluated in the central place foraging model
is the resource density of the patch. In this exercise, I will
assume that the individual territory of each of these spe-
cies is the patch, since each is a territorial species, and I
will also assume that each territory contains a single, aver-
age-sized family group. I do not consider the bachelor
troop of any species because they tend not to be territo-
rial. Using the "total animal" figures, I can calculate the
average productivity of each patch (table 9.6). From this
perspective, it is clear that the vicuna patch is by far the
most productive, exceeding the other two species by con-
siderable amounts. Guanaco patch productivity is gener-
ally higher than that of the taruca, although they overlap.
In summary, from an individual "total animal" perspec-
tive, the guanaco is the most valuable species in the valley.
From a patch perspective, however, the vicuna is by far
the most valuable species; finally, there is anecdotal evi-
dence to suggest the taruca is more desirable from a "fat"
perspective. To sort these competing values, I turn to the
central place foraging model.
Central Places and Resource Ranking
Given the rough estimates of caloric and protein quanti-
ties as well as the "total animal" estimates for each of the
major animal species likely to have been consumed in the
Rio Asana valley in the past, I am now in a position to rank
the resources within a central place foraging framework.
As I have shown, a central place foraging model ranks re-
sources and makes predictions about which resources will
be sought and in what order on the basis of four criteria:
the energetic value of the packet obtained, the density and
value of resource patches, handling time (composed of two
parts: within-patch foraging time and actual handling time
once an individual prey item has been recovered), and travel
time. The qualitative predictions of this model are pre-
sented in table 9.7, and specific values for the Rio Asana
valley are presented in tables 9.8 and 9.9. Once again, it is
important to stress that these figures are averages and not
meant to represent any particular foraging episode. How-
ever, even as averages, they provide valuable insight into
the range of options available to foraging peoples. Fur-

Table 9.5. Productivity and Nutritional Content of the Guanaco, Taruca, and Vicuna

Total Calories Total Protein/ Total Fat/

Average Total Calories Total Calories of Protein and Animal Animal
Weight a Kg/meat b ofProtein ofFate Fat/Animal by Weight by Weight h

Guanaco 110 kg 61 52,460c 19,520 71,980 12,200 gf 2,013 g

Taruca 52 kg 29 26,930 d 9,280 35,670 6,090 gg 957 g

Vicuna 50 kg 28 24,080 c 5,880 24,080 5,880 gf 924 g

aAverage weight of adult animal.

bTotal amount of edible meat per animal. A 55% dressing percentage is assumed following Kuznar (1990).
C'fotal calories (kcal) of protein for total edible meat based on 86 kcal protein/IOO g edible meat (goat model).
dTotal calories of protein for total edible meat based on 91 kcal protein/IOO g edible meat (deer model).
errotal calories (kcal) of fat for total edible meat based on 21 kcal fatl! 00 g edible meat (deer model).
rrotal grams of protein for average animal based on 20 g/100 g edible meat (goat model).
n'otal grams of protein for average animal based on 91 g/IOO g edible meat (deer model).
hTotal grams of fat for average animal based on 3.3 g/IOO g edible meat (goat model).
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 283

Table 9.6. Comparative Patch Productivity of the Guanaco, thermore, since it is not possible to predict or model the
Taruca, and Vicuna very short-term given the coarseness of the archaeologi-
cal record, it is best to see these figures as predicting long-
term, modal behavior (for similar approaches to this prob-
Famity Group Animal lem, see Jochim 1991; Mithen 1990).
Te1Titory "Total Animal" Weightlha
From a patch perspective (table 9.8), and using Asana
Size Estimate Ratio
as the central place from which hunters and foragers leave,
the upper high-sierra guanaco patch is the highest ranked,
Guanaco 56-140 ha 460 kg a 3.3-8.2 followed by the vicuna, taruca, and lower high-sierra gua-
naco patches. Travel times are based on minimum and
Taruca 30-100 ha 188 kgb 1.9-6.3
maximum estimated travel times to the resource patches
Vicuna 12-17.5 ha 220 kgC 12.6-18.3 in each environmental zone. These calculations further
assume that handling time per se (butchery and field pro-
cessing) is essentially equal for each species, and assume a
aEstimate based upon single adult male (110 kg), three adult search time of two hours. All things being equal, hunters
females (80 kg each), and two juveniles (55 kg each). Data
should spend most of their time and effort in the upper
estimates from Franklin (1982) for size variation and family
composition. high-sierra patches. Lower high-sierra guanaco patches,
bEstimate based upon single adult nlale (52 kg), two adult females in contrast, are not highly ranked due to their distance
(42 kg each), and two juveniles (26 kg each). Data estimates from from Asana and the relatively low density of animals within
Roe and Rees (1976) for size variation and family composition. the patch. Vicuna patches, despite their distance from
CEstimate based upon single adult male (50 kg), three adult females
Asana, are ranked more highly since high densities of ani-
(40 kg each), and two juveniles (25 kg each). Data estimates from
Franklin (1982) for size variation and family conlposition. mals within them offset the distance factor. Taruca, de-
spite their relative closeness to Asana, are ranked third due
to their lower densities. Any increase in the search time

Table 9.7. Qualitative Summary of Predictions of Central Place Foraging Models

Prey choice depends on energy content of prey species in relation to both handling
time (foraging time + handling time) and travel time

Prey choice under this model is expressed as a ratio:

choose Plover P2 when

EPI/(HI + TI) > EP2/(H2 + T2)

where PI, P2 are two different prey species; EP1, EP2 are the energy recovered
from each; HI and H2 are handling times for PI and P2, respectively; and Tl and
T2 are round-trip travel times for P I and P2, respectively

Given short travel times, handling time becomes more important

Given long travel times, handling time becomes less important

Given very long travel times, handling time is unimportant; i.e., always choose large prey
items at great distances from the central place contingent upon ability to return them

Low-ranking prey items given short travel times may become high-ranking prey items
in distant patches
284 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging

Table 9.8. Resource Rankings by Patch Choice Model

Kg/ha a Travel Time b Harvesting Efficiencyc

Minimum Maximum 1 2 4

Guanaco 3.3 3 10 0.3-1.1 0.15-0.55 .08-.28

Lower high sierra
Guanaco 8.2 4 2.0-2.7 1.00-1.40 .50-.80
Upper high sierra

Taruca 4.4 3 6 0.7-1.5 0.35-0.75 .18-.38

Vicuna 15.3 6 12 1.3-2.6 0.64-1.30 .32-.65

Quinuay 14.7 3 10 0.9-1.6 d

aAmount of meat (for animals) or seeds (for quinuay). Patch size for animals based on average family group (see table
9.6); patch size for quinuay is 1 ha.
bRaund-trip travel time from Asana to the patch. Includes two hours search time.
cMeasured assuming a kill of a single "average" animal.
dMeasured as amount of quinuay harvested by a single person and includes six hours of handling time (see table 9.3).

for the taruca would probably drop it to fourth. Obviously,
any increase in the density of taruca would increase their
ranking since their patches are relatively close to Asana.
However, the model also predicts, at least for a single
hunter, that one would take taruca if encountered at or
near distant vicuna patches.
These predictions are based upon a critical assumption:
search time for the three species is equal. This is likely to
be so for the guanaco and vicuna, since they are noncryptic
and highly territorial, but possibly less so for the taruca,
which is territorial but cryptic. While this model prob-
ably underestimates true search time, it is a reasonable
estimate since the strategies for hunting these animals are
very similar. All three species are territorial, and as such,
their locations can be predicted with some accuracy. As
Rick (1980: 328-329) argues, the most effective technique
for hunting a vicuna family group is a collective surround
technique in which animals are driven into culs-de-sac or
are prevented from moving by the presence of people. This
strategy would also work with the guanaco. Patterns for
hunting the taruca are somewhat problematic. Inhabitants
of the Rio Asana valley have claimed to use dogs to hunt
taruca today; the dogs are trained to chase the animal and
to bring it down, and the taruca is killed by people follow-
ing the chase (Kuznar 1990: 135-136). Another effective
strategy that could be used to hunt these animals would
take advantage of two of their behavioral characteristics:
their territoriality and their tendency to descend to the
river bottoms to escape pursuit. If a group of hunters could
get above their territories, they could essentially "beat"
the animals downslope, where they could be taken by hunt-
ers awaiting them there. While this hunting pattern is
speculative, it is nevertheless feasible and has some indi-
rect support judging from comments made by other high-
sierra dwellers (L. Kuznar, personal communication, 1992).
While positioning oneself above these animals would ne-
cessitate off-trail travel and consequently increase search
time, I have chosen to ignore these additional costs for
heuristic reasons.
Table 9.8 also presents some information on harvest-
ing efficiency under the patch model given a larger, more
realistic party of hunters. The strategies for hunting each
of these three species probably involved more than one
person. How many, though, has been speculated upon for
some time. The surround technique has been portrayed
in rupestral art throughout the Andes and is probably of
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 285

Table 9.9. Resource Rankings by Package

Package a Travel Time b Harvesting Efficiencyc

Minimum Maximum Minimum Maximum 1 2 4

Guanaco 110 165 3 10 11-37 6-19 3-9

Lower high sierra 17-55. 8-28 4-14
Guanaco 110 165 3 4 28-37 14-19 7-10
Upper high sierra 42-55 21-28 10-14
Taruca 52 78 3 6 7-17 4-9 2-4
13-26 7-13 3-7
Vicuna 50 75 6 12 4-8 2-4 1-2
6-13 3-7 2-4
Quinuay 1.3 3 10 0.13-3.0

3Minimum package is a single adult animal; maximum is an adult and one immature animal. The quinuay package is the amount of seeds
collected in a six-hour harvesting session.
bRound-trip travel time from Asana to the patch, including two hours search time.
CMeasured as kg/animal/hunter for animals or kg/seeds/person. Efficiency of quinuay collection includes six hours of handling time.

great antiquity. However, the central place model shows
very clearly that as group size increases, harvesting effi-
ciency decreases rapidly. This is no surprise, but it does
provide some insight into how labor may have been used
and the use of quinuay in the Rio Asana valley. For the
sake of argument, assume the quinuay patch is 1 ha in size.
In terms of harvesting efficiency, even given its relatively
large handling time, the quinuay patch would be ranked
third in a single-model resource ranking table. From an
optimality perspective, this ranking implies, using Asana
as a central place, that males should spend their time hunt-
ing in upper high-sierra guanaco or puna rim vicufia
patches, while women should harvest quinuay in lower
high-sierra patches or devote their labor to essential but
nonsubsistence-related tasks. To use women as part of the
hunting surround would be considered a "waste" of their
labor unless total group size was very small or there was a
marked asynchronicity in the availability of quinuay and
these hunted resources.
If these data are examined from a package perspective,
however, resource rankings change (table 9.9). While up-
per high-sierra guanacos remain the highest ranked spe-
cies, they are now followed by lower high-sierra guanacos
(moving from last place in the patch model), taruca, and
vicufia (falling from second place in the patch model).
Obviously, the major change in this ranking is that the
direction ofresource pull moves down valley into the lower
high sierra rather than up valley into the puna or puna
rim. The position of the taruca remains the same. The
assumptions of this model are the same as those of the
patch model, but some discussion of the definition of
"package" and how it is operationalized is in order.
By "package," I mean the most likely outcome of a hunt
or a foraging episode. While it is obvious that I cannot
predict how many animals were killed at anyone time or
how many kilograms of quinuay were harvested in a single
foraging episode, there is nevertheless a set of constraints
on these activities that must be taken into account. That
is, while patch quality and density were certainly major
factors in resource selection under the central place for-
aging model, other factors were equally important. Two
of them, aside from a plethora of social forces that cannot
be easily incorporated into this model, are constraints on
the number of animals that can be taken in a hunt and the
additive quality of gathered resources.
Whether foragers manage their resource base in a ra-
286 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
tional manner has been a topic of considerable debate (see
Williams and Hunn 1982). Foragers appear to be aware of
the consequences of overexploitation of essential resources.
Rick (1980: 328-329) has argued that the Preceramic Pe-
riod foragers on the Junin puna probably practiced a se-
lective hunting strategy for vicuna to avoi~ overexploiting
these animals. Because of the animals' behavioral charac-
teristics, it is relatively easy to kill large numbers of gua-
nacos or vicuna in a single hunting episode. Rick (1980:
328-329) notes that an indiscriminate surround strategy
under these circumstances could lead to overexploiting
these animals by killing too many females. To avoid this,
hunters could easily take advantage of yet another behav-
ioral trait of vicuna-the conspicuous role of the male in
territorial defense. When intruders arrive, the females and
yearlings retreat in the opposite direction while the male
moves toward the intruder. In so doing, he identifies him-
self, and once identified, it is relatively easy to kill him
after the family group has been trapped. It would be to the
hunters' long-term advantage to avoid killing the repro-
ductive base of the vicuna or guanaco family group so as
to avoid the costs of more frequent residential moves as
productive family territories are moved further and fur-
ther away from the residential base. Although it is reason-
able to assume that foragers did in fact manage their take
rates of these animals as Rick has suggested, it neverthe-
less remains plausible that unanticipated larger-than-av-
erage take rates could have had a disastrous effect on the
ability of these animals to reproduce themselves. Although
Rick (1980: 329) suggests that computer simulation might
be employed to examine this problem, an approach using
the mathematics of nonlinear systems can illustrate the
fragility of these reproductive systems.
Sandefur (1990: 133-141) discusses harvesting rates and
the fragility of many natural populations to minor pertur-
bations in growth rates. Using the familiar logistic equa-
tion to model growth but cast into the mathematical nota-
tion of nonlinear dynamic systems, he compares two har-
vesting strategies-a fixed harvest, in which hunters kill a
fixed number of animals over some time period, and a pro-
portional harvest, in which hunters attempt to kill a fixed
proportion of the population. The goal that guides these
hunters in this modeling exercise is the underlying notion
of a maximum sustainable harvest; that is, the largest num-
ber of animals that can be taken over a period of time that
will still permit the animal population to reproduce and
replace itself successfully. Sandefur's exercise is not in-
tended to be a realistic simulation of the process of hunt-
ing or harvesting animals but instead an exploration of the
mathematics of these systems under two distinct but rea-
sonable sets of assumptions.
Since the mathematics are complex, I will not repro-
duce them here, but it is possible to describe in qualitative
terms the differences and the outcomes of the two strate-
gies. Sandefur (1990: 137) shows that for any fixed har-
vesting plan for any growth or harvesting rate, there is no
single equilibrium value (i.e., no single solution to the
nonlinear dynamical system). There is, however, a set of
inequalities that satisfies the equation such that harvest-
ing rates below a fixed point will always allow the system
to reproduce itself and above that value will send thesys-
tem to negative infinity (that is, if harvesting is continued
at that rate, the animal population will become extinct).
Thus in his example, assuming a population growth rate
of 0.8, any harvesting strategy such that b < 0.2 (where b is
the harvesting rate) will allow the population to regener-
ate; rates above this will not. To use numbers to describe
this situation, let me assume the population of animals is
10,000 and b < 2,000 animals/year. Given r = 0.8, the ani-
mal population drops to 5,000, but is able to regenerate
itself. This model assumes that the animals are killed at
one time; while not a realistic assumption, it simplifies the
mathematics. It should be obvious that a more realistic set
of assumptions about hunting would exacerbate this situ-
ation, making it more difficult for the hunters to recog-
nize and maintain a maximum sustainable harvest rate.
When b = 0.2, the animal population is able to reproduce
itself, but this is not a stable point, meaning that neither
the harvesting rate nor the ability of the population to re-
generate itself can be maintained if the population falls
below 5,000 animals due to a random perturbation or
overexploitation. The more the population falls below the
threshold, the more rapidly it will move toward negative
infinity. Thus b = 0.2 as a harvesting rate is "unstable from
below" in the jargon of nonlinear systems (Sandefur 1990:
139). The point is that even a small decrease in the popu-
lation would send the system rapidly away from its un-
stable equilibrium, and therefore it would be in the hunt-
ers' best interest to maintain a harvesting rate well below
0.2 (i.e., to maintain a nonoptimal take rate).
In contrast, the proportional harvesting system has a
stable equilibrium for values of b (here described as the
proportion of the animal population harvested) in the range
o < b < 0.8. Through computation, the value of b that
provides the maximum harvest is 0.4; this is equivalent to
harvesting 40% of the population. While this strategy pro-
duces the same harvest in actual numbers (2,000 animals),
it is a stable strategy because when b is slightly larger than
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
0.4 or the animal population drops due to some other rea-
son, the actual harvest (the number of animals actually
taken) also drops. The most important assumption this
model makes is that the hunters know the size of the popu-
lation and are constantly able to monitor its size so as to
adjust their take rate.
For many animal populations, implementing either of
these two strategies would be extremely difficult, especially
for cryptic species. However, Andean foragers would have
been able to implement either of these strategies for the
camelids due to these animals' territorial habits. Camelids
can be conveniently counted and their dynamics moni-
tored. In contrast, neither of these strategies could have
been easily implemented for the taruca despite its territo-
rial behavior. Of course, whether either of these strategies
was in fact implemented in the prehistoric past cannot be
directly measured, but at least from an optimality perspec-
tive, the fixed proportional strategy is a rational response
to resource procurement.
All of the foregoing suggests that the hunters of the
Rio Asana valley may well have chosen their diets based
not only upon patch and travel considerations but also with
the constraint of taking a limited number of animals in a
single hunt. Therefore, while they may have used the sur-
round technique, they may have killed only the adult male
in the group and perhaps one of the immature animals.
Table 9.9 presents resource rankings based on this assump-
tion, using the whole animal productivity estimate for a
single adult male and an adult male plus a single immature
animal. What is apparent in this table is that assuming
hunters used a surround technique, it is almost always bet-
ter to hunt guanacos in either the upper or lower high
sierra than it is to hunt either taruca or vicuna. Vicuna
package rankings are especially low. Taking additional ani-
mals would help to increase the ranking considerably and
make it competitive with the taruca but only at the risk of
overexploitation.
A package model also provides a different perspective
on the use of quinuay. The patch model shows it to be
third ranked overall, but in the package model, because of
its very high handling time combined with the long travel
times to the patch, it falls to the very bottom of resource
rankings. Since women gathered it, as long as their labor
was not required in some other, more essential task, it is
likely it would have been collected. If the number of col-
lectors is increased, the efficiency of harvest does not in-
crease, but the absolute quantity does. Thus six collectors
in a patch near Asana could collect a total of 2.6 kg of
seeds, an amount that is competitive with a four-hunter
287
taruca or vicuna kill. Clearly, this resource provides secu-
rity, not efficiency, at least in its wild form. The issue of
whether other tasks would have been a better use of
women's labor, however, will be explored more fully later.
Regional Perspectives on Diet Choice
From a regional perspective, using either the patch or pack-
aging model Asana is truly in an optimal location. Aside
from the obvious suitability of the basin in which it sits as
a location for either a logistical camp or residential base,
the site is optimally placed for access to high-sierra, lower
high-sierra, and puna rim resources. If the residential base
were located further up valley in a number of suitable lo-
cations, it would have been nearer to the most productive
patches in the valley-high-sierra guanaco and taruca
patches and the puna rim vicuna patches-but the already
low harvesting efficiency of quinuay would have decreased
and lower high-sierra guanacos would drop from second
to third in the package ranking model, with taruca taking
their place. Such a move would make any daily use of the
lower high sierra more expensive and less efficient.
A higher placement would have had a profound effect
on the ability of females to provide any real contribution
to the diet. Quinuay does not grow well above roughly 3,400
m, and those patches that did exist would probably have
been small, spatially dispersed, and located near natural
dung piles. While these patches are dense, they are very
small and could be easily overexploited. There are no other
known plant resources in the upper high-sierra area that
could have been exploited, aside from the possibility of
tubers. Female contribution to the diet, then, would have
been to assist in the communal animal drive. While this
might have led to greater success in obtaining the kill, it
would have had the undesirable effect of decreasing the
overall efficiency of animal procurement by increasing the
numbers of individuals hunting without increasing the
number of calories obtained.
These rankings also provide a way in which to evaluate
the potential uses of other sites in the valley. Given its
position vis-a-vis the distribution of resource patches, it is
likely that Quellaveco always served as a logistical camp
for most of its uses. It lies within easy range of highly pro-
ductive high-sierra guanaco patches and the far less pro-
ductive taruca patches. Further, it is an ideal location to
move into puna rim patches to pursue vicuna. As such, it
conforms to a model prediction that states that distances
to logistical camps should be relatively small from resi-
dential bases so as to reduce travel costs.
Although I postulated that the surface densities up-
288 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
stream from Asana may well have been logistical camps, a
more probable interpretation is that they are associated
with the posited downslope hunting drive pattern. These
sites are situated within range of a number of high-sierra
guanaco patches as well as some ofthe best taruca patches-
the quenual forest. These densities, wholly composed of
lithic debris and discarded projectile point fragments, likely
represent locations at which hunters waited for the game
to be pushed to them by the drivers above. During the
wait, they retooled broken gear or made new tools. If this
scenario is correct, these sites are best seen as field camps
associated with hunting.
Downstream from Asana, Cueva 4 and its associated
sites could have functioned either as a logistical camp for
hunting trips into the lower reaches of the lower high si-
erra, a field camp used by females during foraging epi-
sodes for quinuay, or as a short-term residential base for a
segment of the coresidential group that moved into the
area to exploit plant and animal resources. While the
former two possibilities are the most plausible, the latter
is intriguing. A residential use of this site would necessar-
ily imply group fissioning since lower high-sierra resource
patches are less productive than their high-sierra counter-
parts. If used in this fashion, the site would have had opti-
mal access to both plant and animal resources with a mini-
mization of travel costs, and the best time of year to use
this area would have been the rainy season or the begin-
ning of the dry season, when resources would have been
at their highest densities. However, the data from Cueva
4, while sparse, simply do not support a residential use of
the site, especially if seed processing is an important as-
pect of subsistence practice.
Coscori could have been used similarly but not as a field
camp for females. It could have served as a logistical camp
for males exploiting lower high-sierra guanaco patches or
as a temporary, very short-term residential base.
Foraging Radius A discussion of the regional structure
of resource procurement in the Rio Asana valley from a
central place foraging perspective also provides data to
evaluate the probable size of the foraging radius around
Asana. A 10-Ian radius has been enshrined in the archaeo-
logical literature (Thomas 1983a), and although most au-
thors admit it has a heuristic value only, it is nevertheless
frequently cited. As should be obvious, this figure makes
the implicit assumption of isotrophy, a fatal assumption in
high-mountain environments, as I have demonstrated re-
peatedly. Assuming the site was used as a residential base
throughout much of the occupation of the site, it is pos-
sible to consider both upstream and downstream compo-
nents of the foraging radius. The upstream limit appears
to be Quellaveco, located just over 6 Ian upstream at a
round-trip travel time of approximately 2.5 hours. No
known sites are found between Quellaveco and the puna
rim site of El Panteon, and although negative evidence is
frequently difficult to interpret, the location of Quellaveco
vis-a-vis surrounding high-sierra resource patches, as well
as the lack of any archaeological evidence above it within
the high sierra, strongly suggests that the foraging radius
ranged from 6 to 8 Ian upstream and from 2.5 to 4 hours
in round-trip travel times.
The downstream foraging radius is almost identical, but
the data that support this inference are stronger. Cueva 4
and the valley bottoms near it lie within and near the lower
high-sierra quinuay patches. The site is almost 8 Ian down-
stream from Asana, and the round-trip travel time from
Asana is just over 3 hours. Assuming an average time of 6
hours to collect 1.6 kg of quinuay seeds, the total time spent
in foraging and travel is approximately 9 to 10 hours. Bur-
dened travel, as well as any off-path travel, would substan-
tially increase the amount of travel time. Daylight hours
in this region range from 12 to 14 hours, depending on
season. Therefore, it seems unlikely that distances greater
than 8 Ian would have been exceeded by females engaged
in foraging. Given that females have other tasks, such as
food preparation, child care, and general maintenance
duties, 9 to 10 hours spent in food acquisition appear to
be the maximum possible. Once again, there are no known
field camps below Cueva 4, and therefore a 6 to 8 Ian down-
stream radius with round-trip travel times ranging from
2.5 to 4 hours seems probable. These radii can only be
sustained if Asana is placed exactly where it is or within a
few hundred meters of where it is. These radii are consis-
tent with the prediction of reduced foraging radii in high-
mountain environments as developed in chapter 1.
Contexts for Pursuing Taruca and Vicuna Taruca are the
third-ranked resource in both the patch and packet mod-
els, yet their remains are common in many faunal assem-
blages at Asana. Under what circumstances will hunters
pursue taruca since other species, especially the guanaco,
are not only more highly rated but substantially more pro-
ductive in terms of yield? Looking strictly at resource
rankings, there are few obvious circumstances in which
foragers would ever make the taruca the target prey. Us-
ing the predictions of the central place foraging model,
however, I can postulate two distinct scenarios for their
use: the encounter of taruca during travel to high-sierra
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
guanaco patches and incidental encounter during pursuit
of guanacos. To evaluate the former context, we must turn
away from patch-based models and move to individual
animal models. Again assuming Asana as a residential base,
let us assume that hunters are traveling to a distant high-
sierra guanaco patch. Central place foraging predicts that
a hunter should take a smaller prey species if, at the time
of encounter, the energy obtained from that prey species
exceeds that which could be obtained by encountering a
target prey species within a certain radius. To illustrate
this, let us assume average animal sizes of 110 kg for the
guanaco and 52 kg for the taruca, with total usable meat
weights of 61 and 29 kg, respectively. The model predicts
that the hunter should wait to take a guanaco within one
hour of travel time from the residential base. Within this
radius, the anticipated return on the guanaco is 61 kg, while
the in-hand return is only 29 kg. However, up to three
hours travel time beyond this radius, it is equal value or
better to take the taruca, since travel time influences the
value of the packet: for two hours the ratio of energy/cost
drops to 31 and at three hours it is 20, while the value of
the taruca remains the same. The second scenario can be
seen as a consequence of hunting guanacos with a collec-
tive, drive hunting strategy. Because these species may
overlap in their spatial ranges due to differences in diet
and forage preference, it is possible that taruca were flushed
along with the more commonly hunted target species of
guanaco. It is difficult to imagine that taruca would have
been spared had they been encountered in this process.
There are, however, other possibilities to consider that
cannot be easily modeled. If in fact taruca have high fat
content, hunters may have selectively hunted them for this
fat. This cultural and biological preference may well have
outweighed strictly caloric-based predictions, especially if
females are consistently producing relatively small but se-
cure quantities of quinuay. Yet another possibility is that
taruca hides may have been preferred for certain articles
of clothing or shelter.
The contexts for the pursuit of vicuna are somewhat
different. The vicuna are the second-ranked species in the
patch model but drop to fourth place in the animal-based
model. Since it has not been possible to identify vicuna
remains in the faunal assemblages at Asana, there is no
direct indicator of their presence. However, if it is assumed
that evidence of puna rim and puna hunting is reflected by
the presence of puna or puna rim raw materials, I can as-
sert that vicuna hunting probably did take place. Under
the patch model, it makes good sense to pursue vicuna
using Asana as a central place despite their distance from
289
the site. However, if foragers selected prey primarily upon
a package basis, the puna rim should only see sporadic,
low-intensity use since other animals have better yields
for the effort involved in their pursuit.
There are circumstances under which there may be
greater use of the puna rim patches, and one of these is to
avoid (or to compensate for) the overexploitation of the
high-sierra guanaco and taruca patches. Although it is rea-
sonable to assume that foragers did in fact manage their
take rates of these animals as Rick (1980) has suggested, it
nevertheless remains plausible that unanticipated larger-
than-average take rates could have had a disastrous effect
on the ability of these animals to reproduce themselves. In
such instances, it may have been necessary to choose lower
ranked species because preferred animals were unavailable.
The problem of overexploitation also provides a basis
for thinking about the conditions under which foragers
will leave the valley to seek game elsewhere. In strictly
caloric terms, it appears that the puna rim patches could
help to support a small population of foragers year-round
at Asana in conjunction with the judicious use of the high-
sierra guanaco patches and the lower high-sierra quinuay
and guanaco patches. However, under the central place
foraging model, it becomes clear that despite the produc-
tivity of the puna rim, it cannot sustain year-round habita-
tion within the valley using Asana as a residential base be-
cause of the high costs of obtaining prey and transporting
it back to the high-sierra residential base. At some point,
especially ifthere is a tendency toward the overexploitation
of the high-sierra guanaco patches, the energy/cost ratio
of guanaco hunting will begin to decline, and at that point,
the puna rim vicuna patches become more attractive. For-
agers may well use these vicuna patches for a time, but at
some point the same situation obtains-energy/cost ra-
tios begin to decline and more distant patches must be
exploited. At this point, the foraging group has two op-
tions: they may fission and small groups of foragers may
move to the puna rim or they may move their residential
base to an adjacent valley system, such as the Rio Torata.
Obviously, which strategy is employed will depend on the
perceived costs of the residential move, the social costs of
group fissioning, and other social costs and implications
of residential movement. From a strictly travel time per-
spective, the Rio Torata valley is only nine hours distant
even with burdened travel. These travel costs may be
greater if children and the aged are involved in the resi-
dential move, however. Nevertheless, even with an over-
night stop, travel costs do not seem excessive and may be
tolerated especially if the adjacent valley has not been oc-
290 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
cupied for some time and has had an opportunity to re-
generate animal and plant populations. One final note: this
discussion assumes that these adjacent valleys are open and
available for use; that is to say, they are not part of a per-
manent population of a different group of foragers.
A Temporal Perspective on Diet Choice
I have discussed diet choice to some extent separately from
the evidence of the archaeological record at Asana. I am
now in a position to evaluate some of the predictions of-
fered earlier to determine the degree to which they can be
read from the material culture at the site.
One caveat must be observed. As pointed out in chap-
ter 4, the faunal data from almost every level of Asana are
highly fragmented and consequently difficult to interpret.
This fragmentation compounds an already difficult situa-
tion regarding my ability to distinguish the Andean
camelids on the basis of the form of their skeletal elements.
Few portions of the postcranial skeleton are diagnostic of
species differences, and since few of the bones are of a
sufficient size, quantitative analyses of size variation can-
not be performed. Teeth, the best diagnostic element of
these species, while abundant at Asana, are also very frag-
mentary and therefore of limited value. Since the faunal
data per se cannot provide definitive tests of model pre-
dictions, I identify trends that can be examined through
the use of parallel data sources, such as lithic materials, to
help. bolster a line of reasoning. In particular, I will use
debitage frequencies of lithic raw materials as a proxy
measure of the intensity ofuse oftheir zone of origin. This
admittedly is a very crude measure, but if the assumption
that lithic procurement is embedded in resource procure-
ment strategies in high-mountain environments is ac-
cepted, debitage quantity reflects the amounts of this raw
material, aggregated across time, brought into the site. Two
additional assumptions, both of which can be sustained
for most occupations of Asana, include similarity in activ-
ity profile in each occupation and similarity in the reduc-
tive process (i.e., that the reduction strategy is the same
across all raw material types).
Asana IIPuruma Phase (10,500-9500 B.P) To provide a
background to this discussion, it is useful to review briefly
the paleoclimatological data for this time period. As I have
argued in chapter 2, it is likely that prime taruca habitat,
the quefiual forest, has been lowered in elevation by ap-
proximately 200 to 300 m. If correct, this would place the
lower reaches of these forests within a less than one hour
round-trip travel time from Asana. Guanaco habitat would
have been pushed downstream as well, and productive
patches would probably extend into the lower high sierra.
Above approximately 3,800 m, however, it is unknown just
how rapidly typical puna and puna rim vegetation was es-
tablished. Near the beginning of this phase, ca. 10,000 B.P.,
this area would have been transformed from a periglacial
environment within the past 500 to 1,000 years. While it
is probable that bofedal plants began to colonize this area
immediately at the beginning of the Holocene, it is also
probable that plant densities had not achieved modern lev-
els. Therefore, the resource pull of the puna rim was not
yet fully established.
I have interpreted the earliest occupation at Asana, Lev-
els PXXXIII and PXXXII, as logistical camps monitored
from a lower elevation base camp. Unfortunately, the fau-
nal data from these two levels are very poor; PXXXIII has
a single taruca tibia, and while bone count, weight, and
density increase in Level PXXXII, the counts remain too
small for convincing interpretation. What faunal remains
are found in Level PXXXII are low-utility parts, such as
phalanges, metapodials, and teeth, suggesting whole ani-
mals were returned to the site, these low-utility parts were
consumed on site, and the remainder of the animal was
taken elsewhere for consumption. Neither of these levels
has any ground stone tools, suggesting that seed use was
limited or nonexistent. Judging from the lithic data, the
puna rim and puna have yet to be used intensively. This
pattern continues in Level PXXX, although bone densi-
ties increase substantially. Asana has become a short-term
residential base at this time, and hide preparation is of
considerable importance. The faunal data, however, are
similar to those found in previous levels. There is no trace
of the taruca, although the size data show that the NISP
of smaller, immature animals were found in the assem-
blage at a ratio of 2 to 1 when compared to the NISP of
larger, adult animals. Assuming that this pattern is a valid
representation of hunting choice (a difficult to maintain
assumption at best), this suggests that hunting radii may
well have been relatively short around Asana since smaller,
rather than larger, game were being selected. This obser-
vation "fits" with the location ofAsana as essentially being
on top of productive guanaco and taruca patches. There is
some penetration of the puna rim, but no skeletal elements
of the vicuna have been identified in the faunal assem-
blage. Finally, there is no evidence of seed processing as
reflected by ground stone tools.
The faunal data are of little value in assessing the dy-
namics of diet choice for this phase. Seeds, however, at
least at this elevation, are noticeable by their absence. Given
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
the limited data, it seems that the high-sierra resource
patches of guanacos and taruca dominated diet choice.
Asana II/Khituiia Phase (9500-8700 B.P.) There is rela-
tively little change in the climate of the Asana IIlKhituna
Phase, aside from a slow drying and warming trend. Its
climate is similar to that seen during the Asana I Phase,
but it is likely that the puna rim plant communities were
fully established sometime during this phase. Vicuna prob-
ably began to increase in numbers as bofedal vegetation
became established. Furthermore, it is also probable that
the queiiual forest began to retreat to high elevations in
response to the warming and drying trend that would have
affected lower elevations more dramatically by decreasing
rainfall and gradually lowering biomass. Prime taruca
patches would have remained relatively near the site, with
round-trip travel times increasing only slightly, if at all.
Asana was used as a residential base throughout this
phase based on an examination of site structure and activ-
ity profile data. Since the faunal assemblages of Levels
PXXIX and PXXIV are not badly fragmented, they are
more valuable as indicators of diet choice. In Level PXXIX,
11 % of the identifiable NISP are of the taruca, with the
remainder placed in either the guanaco or camelid aggre-
gates. There is no evidence of vicuna in the assemblage
despite the presence of moderate quantities of puna rim
raw materials in the lithic assemblage. Furthermore, most
of the identifiable NISP are of large, mature animals as
opposed to smaller yearlings or immature animals, a re-
versal from the previous phase. Whole animals have been
returned to the site, and the low proportion of hindquar-
ters in the assemblage suggests their removal to other lo-
cations or possibly their storage. Seed grinding remains
conspicuous by its absence.
These trends are continued in Level PXXrv, although
a few important changes are observed. In this level, 15.9%
of the NISP can be assigned to the taruca, while the re-
mainder have been placed in the camelid or large mam-
mal aggregates. No vicuna remains are present. The ma-
jority (86 0/0) of age-identifiable NISP are of large, mature
animals, while the remainder are ofyearlings or immature
animals. Whole animals are returned to the site, and while
the trunk dominates the skeletal element packets found
on site, there are roughly equal proportions of hind- and
forequarters packets present, suggesting that these ele-
ments were either consumed, stored, or removed from the
site in roughly equal proportions. The important change
is the appearance of seed grinding. Push-pull batanes are
now found in the assemblage, along with manos not used
291
in either ochre grinding or hide preparation. While these
tools are small in number, their presence signals the grow-
ing importance of quinuay in the diet.
In regard to the central place foraging model, these data
offer a number of possible interpretations. Given the low
modern ranking of the taruca patch, it seems that there
are more taruca in the faunal assemblage than might be
expected. High-sierra guanaco patches should still have
the highest ranking, and taruca patches should be ranked
near the bottom unless one or more of the following con-
ditions are met: despite some logistical use of the puna
rim, these patches had not yet achieved their modern den-
sities and therefore may have been ranked somewhat lower;
quinuay had not reached sufficient densities in the lower
high sierra to rank it highly; females, who would have been
responsible for quinuay processing, participate more ex-
tensively in nonsubsistence tasks, such as making clothing
and hide preparation, or were an integral part of hunting
strategies; hunting radii around Asana remained relatively
small so that taruca encountered on the way to hunt gua-
nacos were taken as encountered; and taruca moved up in
resource ranking as nearby guanacos were overexploited
and became more costly to obtain.
Of these possibilities, there is indirect evidence to sup-
port the importance of a nonsubsistence role of females
and thus their limited use of quinuay. Well-made and com-
plex clothing was probably necessary for survival at high
altitude during this period, and artifactual and microwear
evidence shows that clothing manufacture was well estab-
lished by PXXIX times, the level in which the higher taruca
frequencies are first observed. Clothing manufacture, in-
cluding hide preparation, would have consumed signifi-
cant amounts of time. Therefore, while quinuay may have
been present by Level PXXIX times, clothing manufac-
ture had a higher priority. This is the time at which popu-
lations had begun to reside year-round at high elevation
and were therefore just beginning their biological accli-
matization to life at high altitude. While quinuay may have
been present, it may not have been of sufficient density to
reduce the value of clothing manufacture, which is a far
more important cultural adaptation to hypoxia and cold
stress than the slight increase in subsistence production
offered by this plant. This situation changes somewhat by
Level PXXIV times; some quinuay processing is indicated,
and while clothing production remains important, it is
likely that a combination of acclimatization plus more ef-
ficient means of making clothing increased the amount of
"free" time females had.
The packet data, insofar as they are available, show that
292 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
head parts are returned to the site and are not field butch-
ered or otherwise processed off site. This in turn suggests,
but does not demonstrate, that brains were consumed for
their fat content; given the paucity of other fat sources in
the Andean diet, and the importance of fat for health, this
seems to be a reasonable conclusion.
Asana IIIl]ilaiia Phase (8700-7800 B.P) Very few cli-
matic changes are likely to have occurred during the Asana
IIIIJilafia Phase, aside from the general warming and dry-
ing trend initiated immediately after deglaciation. This
process would have continued to make the Rio Asana val-
ley more "modern" in resource density and distribution.
During this phase, Asana was a residential base, although
there is some evidence for changes in the term of occupa-
tion. PXVII appears to have had two distinct uses: as a
short-term residential base and as a somewhat longer term
residential base. PXIV appears to have had a very short
residential occupation based on site structural and artifac-
tual data. Unfortunately, the faunal assemblage from PXVII
is highly fragmented, and neither packet nor species data
are sufficiently reliable for interpretation. Whole animals
continue to be returned to the site, however, and seed use
is apparently very minor since only a few manos and no
batanes were recovered from the assemblage. Lithic data
suggest that there was only a limited use of the puna and
puna rim environments.
The faunal data from PXIV are more informative, how-
ever, and they show a continuation of the trends in animal
use initiated in the Asana lIIKhituna Phase; of the skeletal
elements identifiable as to species, 42 % are of taruca, with
the remainder placed in the camelid or large mammal ag-
gregate. No vicuna have been identified. Furthermore,
85 % of the age-identifiable elements are of larger, older,
mature animals, while the remainder are of yearlings or
juveniles. As before, whole animals are being returned to
the site, and the packet data indicate that trunk elements,
rather than fore- or hindquarters, are consumed on site,
carried off site, or stored for future consumption. Seed-
processing equipment is almost nonexistent; a few manos
have been recovered but no batanes. Finally, there are no
puna rim or puna raw materials in the lithic assemblage.
On a phase-aggregated basis, however, the lithic data dem-
onstrate that the puna rim was very intensively utilized,
but the puna was not.
In terms of diet choice predictions, these two levels and
the phase in general are extremely similar to the Asana III
Khituna Phase. More taruca than might be expected by
their resource ranking are being taken, and it is likely that
the explanation offered for the Khitufia Phase is valid in
the Jilana Phase as well. Female contribution to the diet
involving seed production is present but is of minor im-
portance. While clothing continues to be made, especially
early in the phase, the frequency of hide-working tools
and their diversity begin to taper off by the end of the
phase. However, at least for Level PXIv, this does not ap-
pear to have increased the amount of seed processing ob-
served. The puna rim continues to be utilized, but the use
is of an apparent low intensity. It is unlikely that vicuna
contributed significantly to the diet during this phase.
An important observation that reflects on subsistence
practice during this phase is the apparent flexibility in the
place ofAsana. While the site was always a residential base,
at various times it appears to have significant variation in
the length of that occupation. This implies that resources
may not have been as predictable or as abundant during
this phase, at least in comparison to the Khitufia Phase.
Asana IVIMuruq'uta Phase (7800-6000 B.P) During
what I have called the Early Muruq'uta Phase (7800 to
6500 B.P.), the gradual warming and drying trend contin-
ued. However, after 7000 B.P., this trend appears to have
accelerated through the Climatic Optimum, which was ap-
parently initiated after 6000 B.P. At some point during this
period, conditions became very dry. This would have had
the effect of reducing the density and size of resource
patches in all environmental zones except for the puna rim,
where such patches would always have been able to main-
tain their productivity due to the nature of the bofedal.
Through the Early Muruq'uta Phase, Asana was a resi-
dential base that was apparently occupied for relatively long
periods of time on an annual basis. Site structural and ac-
tivity profile data support this inference, which is further
supported by the appearance of the public structures in
Level XIX. In this level, the faunal assemblage is small
and fragmented, and consequently relatively little can be
said ofdiet choice. Taruca are present, however, as are gua-
nacos, but no vicuna have been recovered. Whole animals
are returned to the site, but the packet data are too small
for reliable interpretation. Plant use has apparently be-
come more important because there are larger numbers
of manos and batanes in the assemblage than in any previ-
ous phase. Also, plant cutting knives are also found in most
of the levels of this phase. Puna rim land use, however, is
not intensive if the small quantities of debitage from this
zone are indicative of this process.
Level XVIlc is very similar to Level XIX. Although the
faunal assemblage is much larger than that recovered in
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Level XIX, it is likewise fragmentary and therefore some-
what unreliable. Taruca are present but not abundant, and
of the very small number of skeletal elements that can be
identified as to age, the majority are of smaller, indepen-
dent animals. The pattern of returning whole animals con-
tinues in this level, but the packet data are too small to
interpret. Ground stone tools are abundant, including
manos and batanes, and these tools are found within or
near most of the residential structures in this and other
Early Muruq'uta levels. Larger amounts of puna rim deb-
itage suggest that the use of this zone has intensified dur-
ing the occupation of this level.
The intensification of seed use appears to be the most
significant change in diet choice observed in the Early
Muruq'uta Phase. Chenopods probably increased in rank-
ing as the environment became increasingly arid. More-
over, it appears that females may well have had more time
to devote to subsistence pursuits since complex hide cloth-
ing was no longer being made after ca. 8000 B.P. It is likely
that the increased use of seeds was instrumental in sup-
porting the longer occupation during this phase. The ap-
parent decline of the importance of the taruca suggests
that its ranking has become much more like that in the
modern era. The decline in taruca use may be related in
part to the decline of effective taruca habitat initiated dur-
ing the drying process, which would have further decreased
their ranking. Guanacos and seeds were the cornerstones
of Early Muruq'uta Phase settlement, but vicuna were
probably important as well since there is clear evidence
for the intensive logistical use ofthis zone during this phase.
By Late Muruq'uta times, the situation and climate at
Asana have changed dramatically. After 6000 B.P., the ef-
fects of the Climatic Optimum are beginning to be felt;
desiccation apparently accelerates. In Level XIv, Asana has
two distinct occupations: a short-term residential base and
a very short-term residential base or logistical camp. The
majority of the artifacts found in the level are associated
with the portion of the site interpreted as the short-term
residential base. While bone counts are high, numbers of
identifiable elements are low, but taruca and guanacos are
present, while vicuna are not. Whole animals have been
returned to the site, and the packet data indicate that trunk
elements have been removed from the site. Ground stone
tools related to plant processing, as well as plant cutting
knives, continue to be found in the assemblage. In con-
trast, the area of the site described as the very short-term
residential base or logistical camp is almost devoid of arti-
facts or faunal remains.
It appears obvious that the inhabitants of the Rio Asana
293
valley were beginning to be affected by the increasing des-
iccation of this period. Resource densities probably de-
clined significantly at this time, although it is clear that
guanacos and plants remained the mainstays of the diet.
Puna rim usage as monitored by debitage frequencies sug-
gests that this habitat was as important to these foragers as
it was during Early Muruq'uta times. From a diet choice
perspective based on central place foraging, this makes
good sense. Despite the longer travel times to the puna
rim than to other resource destinations in the lower reaches
of the valley, the puna rim patches maintained their pro-
ductivity through this period of desiccation. Vicuna
rankings probably increased in this period, and given lower
resource densities in the lower high sierra, hunting in the
puna rim would have been more efficient than hunting in
the lower high sierra. This is indirectly confirmed by not-
ing that frequencies of lower high-sierra lithic materials
at Asana have dropped significantly when compared to
Early Muruq'uta times, suggesting that fewer logistical
forays were made to that environmental zone.
Asana V/Pisi Mara Phase (6000-5000 B.P.) During the
Asana V/Pisi Mara Phase, the Climatic Optimum reaches
its maximum aridity. Resource densities would have shrunk
dramatically, and most of the valley, again excepting the
puna and puna rim with their essentially permanent
bofedales, would have been a very difficult place in which
to live. The occupation at Asana reflects this difficulty;
while domestic structures continue to be constructed, there
is virtually no faunal or lithic material associated with any
level of this phase. There is, however, continued low-in-
tensity seed usage as indicated by manas and a few small
batanes. Diet choice and ranking at Asana during this phase
are marked by simple availability-Asana was used on an
opportunistic basis by small groups of foragers. This phase
has the best evidence for group fissioning at any time dur-
ing the occupation of the site. Resource densities would
have been extremely low, probably far too low to support
large populations like those seen in the Early Muruq'uta
Phase even for short periods of time. Group fissioning
would have been a workable response to this problem, since
it would have led to some reduction in residential mobil-
ity and its high costs within a high-mountain environment.
There is no or very minor use of the lower high sierra on
a logistical basis, as indicated by debitage frequencies. This
is expected, since this environmental zone would have been
hyperarid, with almost no rainfall and consequently no sig-
nificant plant growth to support animal populations.
294 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
Asana VI/Qhuna Phase (5000-4400 B.P) The climate is
recovering from the Climatic Optimum during the Asana
VIlQhuna Phase; temperatures begin to cool, and it is
probable that rainfall begins to increase in both amount
and predictability after 5000 B.P. Resource density, there-
fore, is also beginning to recover, although it is unclear
how long it may have taken to have it return to the pre-
Climatic Optimum levels.
Asana continues as a residential base, but there is a major
change in the scale of the settlement system, which now is
wholly confined to the high sierra and lower high sierra.
The faunal assemblage is large but is in a fragmentary con-
dition. Taruca are present, but since the numbers of skel-
etal elements identifiable as to species are very small, quan-
titative estimates of their proportion in the diet are diffi-
cult to interpret. Guanacos are present, however, but vicuna
continue to be absent. Whole animals continue to be re-
turned to the site, and the packet data show that hind-
quarters are almost wholly absent from the assemblage.
There is only very limited evidence of puna rim or puna
land use, and this is only in the levels in the early part of
the phase (the IX series). The logistical use of the lower
high sierra below the quinuay patches appears to be very
minor. Plant use during this phase is apparently very in-
tensive but does not become so until Level VIII times, at
approximately 4600 B.P. Prior to that, while seeds were
apparently utilized, as demonstrated by the presence of
grinding tools and batanes, they do not appear to have
been used extensively. By Level VIII times, however, seeds
had become extremely important; virtually every residen-
tial structure after 4600 B.P. had at least one and some-
times two small batanes in the structure. Given the inten-
sity of seed use, it appears that seeds have moved up in
their ranking or a higher ranking resource (i.e., vicuna in
the puna rim patches) is no longer available. Since forag-
ers during the later portions of this phase are confined to
the high sierra, it would have been very important not to
overexploit the available animal resources in the valley.
Under these circumstances, the availability of a relatively
productive and secure resource like quinuay would have
been extremely important, since it is likely that these plants
would have contributed a greater portion of the diet than
they had in previous phases. However, while reliable, it
would not have been easy to increase the efficiency of this
species due to its high handling time. Therefore, while
these seeds would have made an extremely important con-
tribution to the diet, their long-term value would have been
limited unless resource patches closer to Asana could have
been created through some cultivation process that would
increase plant density and reduce travel time to the patch.
While there is no direct evidence that this process took
place during Qhuna Phase times, the intensive use ofseeds
throughout this phase strongly suggests that such a pro-
cess did indeed take place.
It is during this phase that the problems with any ani-
mal management scheme are likely to become apparent.
If residential mobility is constrained, there will be increas-
ing pressure on existing resources to increase their effi-
ciency of return or to increase the amount of the return.
However, as the results of the nonlinear harvesting mod-
els make clear, any attempt simply to increase the harvest
(i.e., to increase the number of animals in the fixed harvest
model or the proportion of animals in the proportionate
harvest model) will necessarily lead to long-term failure.
In the case of the former model, the animal population
will lose its ability to regenerate itself and become extinct,
and in the latter, as the proportion harvested increases,
the amount actually taken over the long term decreases.
Therefore, the only sustainable strategies are to add new
species to the diet by selecting lower ranked resources or
to increase the efficiency of return on existing species. It
should be clear that of these two choices, only the latter
has a long-term future. Lower ranking species are lower
ranking because they have low harvesting efficiency, and
simply collecting them does little to alleviate the long-
term resource problem. In traditional anthropological
thinking, what I am describing is increasing diet breadth
(adding lower ranking species) or intensifying resource
acquisition (improving the efficiency of collection). In
thinking about these processes within a central place for-
aging framework, it is possible to get a better picture of
the dynamic process at work to look at both long-term
and short-term consequences of the choices made. If in-
tensification means increasing effort, it is doomed to fail-
ure; if it means increasing efficiency, the solution may be
stable over a longer time frame.
Asana VII/Awati Phase (4400-3500 B.P.) Climate dur-
ing the Asana VIIIAwati Phase begins to approach that
seen in the modern era. Yet another major change has taken
place in subsistence practice at Asana, this one involving
the domestication of the guanaco. While the causal forces
behind the domestication process in the Andean world
continue to be debated (see Kuznar 1990: chapter 2), it is
difficult to escape the conclusion that domestication of the
guanaco in the Rio Asana valley effectively solved the prob-
lem of the difficulty ofimproving the long-term efficiency
of seed plants though cultivation and the equally difficult
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
problem of overexploiting existing game and thus being
forced to move the residential base or to rely even more
heavily upon seed plants, which may work in the short run
but has serious limits on long-term productivity and effi-
ciency. Domestication can be seen as a risk-buffering de-
vice as well, since it is possible either to consume the stock
or trade it for other resources and thus avoid other kinds
of local resource shortages. While overconsumption of
stock is always a problem, it is easier to manage a herd of
animals that you virtually permanently control instead of
having to seek out, drive, and then kill the right animal in
a wild herd. In central place foraging terms, domestica-
tion reduces handling time to very low levels and effec-
tively places the domesticated species at the top of the re-
source-ranking continuum. Herding and domestication
also have the benefit of increasing the density of the do-
mesticated species, in this case the guanaco, within its re-
source patch since human control of these animals can ef-
fectively limit male territoriality and competition for mates
and in so doing allow these animals to approach carrying
capacity as expressed by stocking rates.
In Levels IV and II, there is little evidence of the use of
seed plants. No batanes are found in the assemblage, and
there are only a few small grinding stones present. There-
fore, while seed plants may well be used, they are of very
minor importance to the diet, especially when compared
to their use in the later levels of the Qhuna Phase.
Kuznar (1990: 338-371) has developed a model ofAwati
Phase subsistence using linear and dynamic programming
models. Building a variety of assumptions and constraints
into the model, he shows that an optimal use of the Awati
Phase landscape would be to herd just over 100 guanacos,
continue hunting the taruca, taking over 41 per year, and
grow approximately 24 kg of quinoa per year. The major
difference between my reconstruction ofAwati Phase sub-
sistence and Kuznar's is the importance of taruca hunting.
In his model, taruca hunting would be ranked second in a
diet choice model, whereas in my model, taruca hunting
continues to be ranked third. It appears that this differ-
ence is based upon Kuznar's hypothesis (1990: 346-347)
that dogs would be used to hunt this animal. The labor
value of the dog would help to increase the efficiency of
taruca procurement. However, Kuznar's model does not
take into account travel and handling times, and further,
he uses a larger estimate of taruca density (3 animals/km 2)
as well as larger effective habitats. His model predicts that
Awati Phase hunters, in order to achieve an optimal diet,
would have to take 41 taruca per year, a figure far larger
than I calculate for the entire taruca population within the
295
Rio Asana valley. I believe that my figures are more con-
servative and more likely to represent Awati Phase times.
My figures have indirect support from the faunal assem-
blage at Asana; taruca remains are not found in either Level
IV or II and are essentially absent from the entire Awati
Phase. Even though the faunal assemblages are small, at
least some taruca remains would be expected if they were
as important to the diet as Kuznar predicts. Taruca re-
mains are essentially absent from the faunal assemblage at
El Panteon, the puna rim anchor of this settlement sys-
tem. Furthermore, the amount of quinuay predicted in
Kuznar's model is very small, only 24 kg. Using the har-
vesting figures developed previously, this would represent
only 15 hours of quinuay harvesting on an annual basis by
a single individual. It appears that Kuznar's model fails to
predict the potential value of this resource despite the long-
term problems of increasing its efficiency.
Mobility
To understand mobility in the Rio Asana valley through
time, it can be examined from three perspectives: the scale
and distances of mobility, the frequency of mobility, and
the seasonality of mobility. Table 9.10 summarizes some
of the most important information from the valley, and
table 9.11 summarizes the mobility-related expectations
ofhigh-mountain land use developed in the model ofmon-
tane foraging presented in chapter 1.
Scale
The scale of regional land use and mobility during the
Archaic in the Rio Asana valley is most remarkable for its
stability; once Asana was established as a residential base
(by PXXIX times, ca. 9400 B.P.), the scale of mobility re-
mained unchanged until Level VIII times (ca. 4600 B.P.),
when it was confined to the high-sierra environmental
zone. The larger scale of mobility, however, was reestab-
lished by Level IV times (ca. 4400 B.P.), and it apparently
persisted until Asana was abandoned after 3600 B.P. Un-
fortunately, I cannot discuss the scale of residential mobil-
ity for most of the Archaic directly since until Asana VIII
Awati Phase times, there are no other residential bases
known in the valley. In Awati times, residential mobility
was organized on a high sierra-puna rim axis; Asana served
as the lower elevation base, while 1 Panteon was the high-
elevation base in the puna rim. For the other phases, how-
ever, it is possible to speculate on the likely location of
residential bases. If, as I have argued, foragers permanently
occupied the highlands by PXXIX times in the Asana III
296 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging

Table 9.10. Summary of Site Use, Duration of Occupation, and Mobility Scale at Asana

Phase/Level Site Use Duration Mobility Scale

Asana VPuruma

PXXXIII logistical very short coast-high sierra

PXXXII logistical short coast-high sierra

PXXX residential short coast-puna

Asana IVKhitufia

PXXIX residential moderate lower high sierra-puna

PXXIV residential moderate lower high sierra-puna

Asana 111/IJ ilafia

PXVIIa residential moderate lower high sierra-puna
residential short unclear

PXIV residential moderate lower high sierra-puna

Asana IV/Muruq'uta
XIX residential long lower high sierra-puna

XVIIc residential long lower high sierra-puna

XIVa residential short lower high sierra-puna
logistical!residential very short unclear

Asana V/Pisi Mara

XII logistical/residential very short lower high sierra-puna

Asana VVQhuna

VIII residential long high sierra

Asana VIVAwati
IV residential short (?) high sierra-puna

II residential long lower high sierra-puna

aRefleets two distinct residential uses of the level.

Khitufia Phase, then residential bases in that phase and all
others until Awati times must be located in an equivalent
elevation zone but in a different valley. The nearest valley
with roughly equal resource productivity is the Rio Torata
valley, located only 22 Ian to the north and within nine
hours travel time. If this line of reasoning is correct, dis-
tances between residential bases throughout the entire
Archaic ranged from 20 to 25 Ian. This type of residential
mobility will work under two conditions: when there is an
essentially "empty" environment in which there are few
or no other groups and when mutual access to territory is
granted between different foraging groups.
Logistical mobility ranges the full length of the valley,
from the lower high sierra to beyond the puna rim. Dis-
tances from Asana to the furthest known logistical camp
that is likely to have been a part of the Archaic settlement
systems in the valley range from ca. 16 Ian and 6.5 hours
round-trip travel time downstream (Coscori, utilized at
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic 297

Table 9.11. Packet Removals and Possibility of Mobility

Possibility ofMobility/
Phase/Level Packet Removal Duration ofOccupation

Asana VPuruma

PXXXIII unclear yes/short

PXXXII most of animal removed yes/short
PXXX hindquarters removed yes/short
Asana IIIKhituiia
PXXIX hindquarters removed yes/moderate
PXXIV fore- and hindquarters removed yes/moderate
Asana 1111]ilaiia
PXVII unclear yes/moderate
PXN trunk removed yes/moderate
Asana IV/Muruq'uta

XIX unclear yes/long

XVIlc forequarters removed yes/long
XN fore- and hindquarters removed yes/short
Asana V/Pisi Mara
XII unclear yes/short
Asana VVQhuna
VIII hindquarters removed no/long
AsanaVII/Awati
IV unclear yes/short
II most of animal removed yes/long

least in the Jilana and Awati Phases) to ca. 15 km and 6.2
hours round-trip travel time upstream (El Panteon, uti-
lized at least during the Muruq'uta and Awati Phases). I
have remarked on the symmetry of these travel times and
distances elsewhere. The degree to which foragers from
Asana are likely to have used areas beyond these two sites
is unclear. There are no known Archaic sites below Coscori,
but stray finds ofMiddle Archaic Muruq'uta and Late Ar-
chaic Awati Phase projectile points have been found near
Quelcata, which is at the upper limits of the Rio Asana
drainage just over 8 km upstream from El Panteon and 23
km from Asana. Finally, the puna raw materials at Asana
are found at a minimum of20 km above Quelcata. There-
fore, the likely maximum downstream logistical radius from
Asana is likely to total 25 to 30 km below Asana and ca. 40
km above (upstream from) Asana. The logistical camps
nearest Asana include Cueva 4 (7.8 km, 3.34 hours round-
trip downstream) and Quellaveco (6.3 km, 2.58 hours
298 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
round-trip upstream). In general, both the scale and dis-
tances involved in residential and logistical mobility are
consistent with the predictions offered by the model.
Frequency oflvIobility
The frequency of residential mobility is difficult to assess
owing to the limitations of the data. However, it is pos-
sible to offer a number of plausible reconstructions of its
frequency by evaluating in qualitative terms the length of
occupation at Asana. There is no accurate way in quanti-
tative terms to fix a clear length to these occupations, but
a review of table 9.10 suggests a gradual long-term in-
crease in the length of stay at Asana until Late Muruq'uta
times (ca. 6500-6000 B.P.), here represented by Level XIV
(6400 B.P.). In the first residential occupation of the site,
Level PXXIX, the term of occupation was relatively short,
implying a higher level of residential mobility. Following
this, it appears that the frequency of residential mobility
declined until Late Muruq'uta times, when it apparently
increased significantly until the latter part of the Qhuna
Phase, as represented by Level VIII (4600 B.P.). The evi-
dence suggests that the foragers at Asana at this time were
essentially confined to the high sierra and effectively had
no residential mobility. Following the transformation of
subsistence economy marked by the adoption of pastoral-
ism in the Awati Phase by 4400 B.P., mobility increased
once again in Level IV times, followed by a return to low
frequencies of mobility by the end of the Awati Phase in
Level II times. Again, while tentative, these data are con-
sistent with the predictions offered by the model. Devia-
tion from it, that is, periods of high residential mobility,
appear to be closely correlated with significant environ-
mental problems that would have substantially reduced
available biomass (the period 6000-5000 B.P. during the
Climatic Optimum) or with the major transformation of
subsistence practice and the adoption of pastoralism (Level
IV times, ca. 4400 B.P.).
Seasonality ofMobility
In chapters 1 and 2 I argued that in tropical mountains
such as the south-central Andes, the seasonal pulse seen in
continental mountains that dramatically limits their use
in different seasons is not as strong. In practical terms,
this means that in general, residential mobility is depen-
dent more upon resource densities and the costs and effi-
ciencies of resource procurement than on significant sea-
sonal differences in abundance or shortage of particular
resource types. For instance, the puna rim environment
with its bofedales remains productive year-round, although
extensive drought is known to have the potential of drying
out smaller bofedales (Aldenderfer 1989b). Likewise, the
lower high sierra, because of its constancy (i.e., the gen-
erallack of truly significant amounts of rainfall during the
rainy season), sees relatively little seasonal differences in
resource availability unless rainfall is substantial. There is,
therefore, no compelling seasonal pull that drives settle-
ment. Consequently, a number of adaptive strategies rang-
ing from group fissioning to residential mobility of the
entire coresidential group to larger resource patches are
possible in the highlands of the region.
The best clues to the season of occupation at Asana can
be gleaned from an examination of the locations and uses
of the lower high-sierra logistical camps and field camps.
Once Asana became a residential base, and since it is prob-
able that it was the only residential base in the valley until
the end of the Awati Phase, the logistical and field camps
in the lower high sierra were tethered to it. In terms of the
logistical camps, hunting could have been done in any sea-
son of the year given the territorial habits of the guanaco,
and therefore these sites provide little direct evidence for
the season of occupation at Asana. However, the lower
sierra field camps like Cueva 4 are more useful. Quinuay
thrives during the rainy season and persists into the be-
ginning of the dry season. Hence, its peak availability is
from January to April/May. In the natural state, quinuay is
a preferred food of the guanaco, and much of it would
have been consumed relatively rapidly. Once the foraging
peoples in the valley began to use the plant (ca. 9400 B.P.),
as it became more important to the diet (ca. 7100 B.P.),
and as it came to be intensively used (ca. 4600 B.P.), hu-
mans would have competed directly with the guanaco.
Therefore, to reduce the costs of procurement and to im-
prove the plant's efficiency in terms of energy/cost ratios,
foragers would have necessarily occupied the base camp
during the rainy season or early dry season-in effect, the
austral winter. How long they stayed, of course, depended
upon the availability of the quinuay and the other resources
in the upper high sierra.
From these indirect lines of evidence, it appears that as
early as 9400 B.P., and likely continuing at least until
roughly 6000 B.P., Asana was occupied for varying lengths
of time during the austral winter. In Level XII times, when
Asana became a logistical camp or more probably a very
short-term residential base occupied by a small group, it
is also likely that the site was occupied during the austral
winter since seed-processing equipment is present. Given
the reliance upon seeds at the end of the Qhuna Phase, it
is certain that the site was occupied during this period.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
A similar argument, but for different reasons, can be
advanced to describe Awati Phase settlement. In this in-
stance, seed use becomes of minor importance, although
it is still present. However, the forage requirements of the
domesticated animals are more compelling. Given a do-
mesticated guanaco, the best time to use the high-sierra
environment is when there is sufficient and high-quality
forage for the animals, and this period, of course, is the
austral winter. While the puna rim could have been occu-
pied year-round by these herders, the optimal use of the
environment is to rest the bofedales and allow them to
regenerate. Therefore, herders moved to Asana at the start
of the rainy season and remained there until a time in the
dry season when forage availability declined and the costs
of moving the herd increased significantly.
Risk Amelioration Strategies
As long as residential mobility remains possible and of rela-
tively low cost, it should be the primary way in which the
foragers who occupied Asana dealt with resource short-
falls and other aspects of environmental risk. This hypoth-
esis is based upon the theory discussed at length in chap-
ter 1, which compared and explored the contexts under
which four distinct but evolutionarily stable strategies for
risk amelioration-territorial defense, storage, exchange,
and mutual access to territory via mobility-could have
emerged. I am now in a position to evaluate the empirical
evidence for each of these strategies as reflected in the ar-
chaeological data from Asana and its surrounding region.
Territorial Defense
Identifying territorial defense in the archaeological record
of foraging peoples is difficult, if not impossible, and can
only be approached through proxy measures. Defense, of
course, is a social process, and as such it leaves few mate-
rial indicators in the archaeological record, especially that
of simple foraging societies. One possible proxy measure
is the scale of residential mobility and the associated lo-
gistical use of the surrounding landscape. That is, we
should expect that under conditions of territorial defense,
both residential mobility and the logistical use of other
environmental zones should be limited. In looking at the
archaeological record of Asana, the only phase in which
residential and logistical mobility are significantly con-
strained is the Asana VI/Qhuna Phase. Both the residen-
tial and logistical uses of the Rio Asana valley are con-
strained to the high sierra. Since mobility in all previous
and subsequent periods at Asana is characterized by a much
299
broader scale, it is clear that some social process has in
fact restricted the degree to which foragers at Asana have
access to other environmental zones. Whether this can be
called territorial defense remains moot, however. What is
important, though, is the constriction of mobility.
Storage
Storage is an attractive option for risk amelioration. It can
reduce mObility and thus the costs associated with it, an
important consideration in high-mountain environments.
However, storage as an option depends on the availability
ofstorable resources, the existence of a suitable, long-term
storage technology, and the ability of the foragers to ex-
tract "surplus" production. That is, foragers must be able
not only to supply their short-term caloric requirements,
they must also be able to harvest sufficient quantities of
resources to store for future consumption.
Storage is relatively easy to observe in the archaeologi-
cal record and is visible through material culture such as
the remains of storage features, including bins, chambers,
caches, and similar facilities, or through the presence of
foodstuffs harvested in one season and consumed at sites
known to have a different period or season of occupation.
It is difficult, however, to obtain a reliable indicator of the
degree of reliance a population may have on stored goods,
since these may in fact be taken off site in some cases to a
different residential base. Therefore, an understanding of
the monitoring position of the site and its storable re-
sources is necessary for any evaluation of the presence or
role of storage as a risk amelioration device. It is fortunate
in the case of Asana to have good data with which to iden-
tify its place through time.
What could have been stored successfully in the Rio
Asana valley in the past? The only two subsistence re-
sources for which any data exist are seed plants, presum-
ably quinuay, and meat. In the Andes today, chenopods are
stored either as seeds or flour in boxes, ceramic vessels,
and tight baskets. Since Andean highlanders had adequate
basketry technology in the Early Archaic as indicated by
Lynch's (1980) work at Guitarrero Cave, storage technol-
ogy was probably not a problem for the foragers at Asana.
Meat is stored in the Andes today as charki, which is sun-
dried and sometimes salted meat. Making charki is simple;
meat is butchered into packets and in some instances may
be cut into smaller pieces. The meat is then exposed to
the sun until the surface is hardened and blackened. Al-
though charki is best made in the dry season, it can be
made at any time of the year as long as the drying meat is
protected from moisture during its processing. Properly
300 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
prepared charki can last for months and is frequently used
by herders and travelers as trail food. Herders also exchange
it for other products. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume
that the foragers at Asana had access to the technologies
and techniques for storing these resources.
Whether they did so is another matter, and for an evalu-
ation of that, I must return once again to the economics of
harvesting these resources. The handling time of quinuay
makes it very difficult to harvest large quantities of it. In
our experiments, it took six hours to produce only 1.6 kg
of usable seeds after winnowing. Harvesting efficiency is
low, and it would be very difficult to intensify the use of
this plant by improving harvesting efficiency. The only
way in which quinuay could be successfully manipulated
with long-term storage as a goal would be to increase the
efficiency of its harvest. To d9 that requires that foragers
artificially increase the density of the plant (thus reducing
one aspect of handling time by decreasing the amount of
time spent moving from plant to plant to strip the seeds)
and to reduce search time by cultivating the plant near the
residential base. The question, then, becomes one of com-
peting costs: Given the option of residential mobility, is it
ever cost-effective to harvest surplus quantities of quinuay
for long-term storage? The answer appears to be no, al-
though the empirical data from Asana that support this
position do not exist because no remains of a presumed
storage technology of any kind have been discovered.
Under conditions of restricted mobility, however, while it
may not have been cost-effective to harvest more quinuay,
it may have become necessary to do so.
Meat storage presents a somewhat different picture. In
the short run, it appears that it is relatively easy from an
economic standpoint to harvest more animals for future
storage. That is, given the likely hunting methods of drive
and surround, whole family groups could have been taken
in single hunting episodes. Meat not immediately con-
sumed could have easily been turned into charki. In the
long run, however, as the mathematical models show, this
strategy could not be maintained without eventually in-
curring significantly higher procurement costs as measured
by greater handling times (increasing travel costs to more
distant patches) due to the elimination of the animal popu-
lation in nearby patches, which can happen very rapidly
depending on the level of the harvesting rate and the kind
of harvesting strategy employed. If unchecked, a storage
strategy could have had the unintended effect of eventu-
ally requiring greater logistical and residential mobility and
their attendant high costs. Therefore, extensive meat stor-
age seems unlikely to have occurred at Asana unless the
efficiency ofmeat procurement could have been increased.
Herding and domestication, of course, solve this problem
and are essentially "storage on the hoof." Thus while meat
storage may have been feasible in the short run, it is un-
likely to have been practiced extensively at Asana.
Since no facilities or special technologies are required
to make charki, there are no diagnostic indicators of it in
the archaeological record of Asana. However, the degree
to which meat packets are present or absent in the faunal
assemblages can be monitored. If certain packets are miss-
ing or underrepresented, this may indicate that the meat
associated with them was turned into charki and set aside
for future consumption. A necessary assumption is that
whole animals must be returned to the site; this assump-
tion is met in every level at Asana. If storage is a buffering
risk, I would expect infrequent residential moves since the
stored product essentially tethers foragers to the place at
which the resource has been stored. Table 9.11 summa-
rizes the relationship between packet presence or absence
and mobility at Asana. Since these relationships are de-
pendent upon the monitoring position of the site, I must
examine only those residential uses at Asana (table 9.10).
Therefore, let me exclude Levels PXXXIII, PXXXII, and
XII from this discussion. Packets are removed from every
duration of occupation-short, moderate, and long, and
therefore there is no obvious correlation with packet ab-
sence and infrequent residential mobility. Packet removal
must monitor some other social process. It is reasonable
to conclude that storage is not likely to have been an ef-
fective risk amelioration device in the prehistory of Asana
until Awati Phase times.
The Awati Phase marks a clear break with the past at
Asana in that the inhabitants of the site became reliant
upon a domesticated resource-the guanaco. WIth care-
ful management, they may have been able to generate some
surplus production of meat, although it is probable that
the herds of the early foragers were relatively small and
thus very sensitive to overculling and the consequences of
random perturbation discussed previously. The packet data
support this inference, albeit indirectly. The packets found
in Level II of Asana are typical of those found at modern
pastoral sites in the Andes which tend to be dominated by
low-utility skeletal elements (Kuznar 1990, 1995). A very
similar pattern of packet content is found in the contem-
poraneous basal layers of EI Panteon, the presumed puna
rim residential base.
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
Exchange
From the perspective of producers at Asana, exchange as a
risk amelioration strategy suffers from the same flaw as
does surplus production: exchange is based upon a surplus
of some economically important good. As I have shown,
since it is so difficult or dangerous to produce surplus quan-
tities of either quinuay or meat, it is highly unlikely that
exchange was used by the foragers at Asana until Awati
times and the problematic Qhuna Phase. For Awati times,
the packet removal data support the notion of exchange at
this time-neither Asana nor EI Panteon had many high-
utility parts or packets in their faunal assemblages, and
therefore the most parsimonious explanation is that these
elements were traded away. Pastoralists in the modern
Andes routinely trade high-utility elements and packets
and use the lower utility parts for their own consumption.
The obvious question, of course, is to whom were these
packets traded? Marine shell pendants were recovered from
Level IIIb, and a marine shell necklace was found with an
infant burial at El Panteon in the earliest occupation of
that site, which is contemporaneous with Level II at Asana.
It appears that these packets were being traded to people
at lower elevations, at least those in the midvalleys and
possibly on the coast. Presumably the coastal materials
made their way to Asana and beyond through intermedi-
aries in the lower transverse valleys. This pattern of inter-
action is strikingly similar to accounts of modern exchange
relationships in the Andes.
Mutual Access to Territory through Mobility
Mobility to avoid resource shortfall and risk is well known
throughout the anthropological literature on foraging
peoples (Cashdan 1990; Spielmann 1986). When the en-
vironment is "empty," mobility, while potentially costly, is
also relatively easy. When the environment begins to be-
come packed, or filled with other social groups, mobility
mayor may not become constrained. Mutual access to ter-
ritory tends to occur when the costs of mobility to the
moving group are lower than other risk amelioration strat-
egies and when the costs to the receiving group are lower
than territorial defense and exclusion, storage, or exchange.
Another condition that must be factored into consider-
ations of cost is the frequency of access. Infrequent,
nonperiodic, or predictable requests for access have a lower
cost, whereas periodic, frequent requests are seen as costly
by the receiving group or individuals. The model of mon-
tane foraging predicts that as long as the costs of mobility
remain lower than those of the other strategies, reciprocal
301
access to territory through mobility should be the least-
cost risk amelioration strategy in most high-mountain
settlement systems.
There is no question that for most of the phases at
Asana, residential mobility was practiced (tables 9.10,9.11).
Foragers moved in and out of the valley and probably
moved into adjacent valleys in nearby drainages either as
resources became too costly to obtain or because a short-
fall occurred and was avoided. It is even possible that for-
agers at Asana moved to lower or high-elevation environ-
mental zones not on a residential basis but instead to avoid
risk or caloric shortfalls. The degree to which mutual ac-
cess was a part of this system of mobility, however, is much
more difficult to read from the archaeological record. In
the earlier phases of the occupation of the south-central
Andes, population sizes were very low, and if the data from
the Rio Asana valley are any indication, population growth
through time was slow. Whether and when adjacent val-
leys filled with local inhabitants or fissioned populations
from the original inhabitants of the highlands are currently
unknown since none of the valleys surrounding Asana have
been the focus of intensive survey.
One way in which mutual access may be identified in
the archaeological record is to search for material expres-
sions of social or individual bonds. Mutual access to terri-
tory may assume many forms depending on specific re-
source combinations and local settings. Marriage and kin-
ship may form a basis for individuals or families to move
from an area experiencing resource shortfalls to another
area that is not. In this instance, people will live with their
kin. Other examples of mutual access may involve rights
of access to land if the owners are not present. Whatever
the social relationship, it is frequently cemented and sym-
bolized by the exchange of a variety of goods, ranging from
decorative objects to utilitarian items. While the objects
may have economic worth, their true value lies in the sym-
bolization of the reciprocity-based relationship between
individuals. Brown (1985: 223) has described the use of
tokens as markers of intergroup and interindividual rela-
tionships. In this view, tokens would be finished objects
constructed of nonlocal raw materials, objects executed in
nonlocal styles, or possibly small quantities of nonlocal
foodstuffs. Therefore, the discovery of small quantities of
finished, nonlocal goods known to be produced in nearby
or adjacent environmental zones may signal mutual access
to territory as long as logistical mobility to these zones
can be eliminated as a possibility.
Schiappacasse and Niemeyer (1984) have developed a
model of resource buffering strategies for the Middle Ar-
302 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
chaic foragers of the northern Chilean littoral using this
approach but without explicit mention of tokens or mate-
rial symbols of individual or group interaction. Using eco-
logical theory, primarily the work on territoriality and
boundary formation by Cashdan (1983), they argue that
Middle Archaic coastal foragers were residentially seden-
tary but were often faced with unpredictable shortages in
resource abundance. They resolved these shortages by
moving into the territories of other coastal or littoral for-
agers with whom they maintained a risk-buffering or pool-
ing system similar to that observed for the !Kung.
Schiappacasse and Niemeyer say little about the possibil-
ity of interaction with high-elevation populations, but the
data from Camarones-14 and other coastal sites suggest
there was interaction between the coast and the highlands.
Looked at from a regional perspective, there is some
tantalizing but also tentative support for this hypothesis.
There is a clear increase in the appearance of nonlocal
materials in assemblages during the Archaic throughout
the south-central Andes in general and the Rio Asana val-
ley in particular (Aldenderfer 1989a: table V). More Late
Archaic sites have exotic materials, which suggests more
intensive interaction between people in the highlands, the
coast, and other low-elevation environments. Materials
appearing in highland assemblages are limited to marine
shell or other marine products, and most appear to have
been used for personal adornment. In coastal assemblages,
projectile points made of puna raw materials are charac-
teristic of the Early and Middle Archaic. Vicuna hides,
quinoa, and feathers of puna-dwelling birds appear in the
Late Archaic. Regardless of the material, however, quan-
tities are very small, and none are clearly of economic im-
portance. These data are consistent with buffering rela-
tionships or other reciprocity-type exchange relationships
based upon direct access to subsistence resources through
mutual access and thus provide indirect support for the
model proposed by Schiappacasse and Niemeyer and the
model of montane foraging proposed in this volume.
The data from Asana are unfortunately equivocal. Since
the midvalleys have yet to be investigated in detail, the
only environmental zones for which I can identify nonlocal
raw materials are the littoral and the puna, both of which
were part of the logistical radius during certain phases.
The only phase in which coastal materials appear at Asana
that could not be explained by logistical mobility is the
Awati Phase, a phase for which I have suggested that ex-
change was probably in place. The only phase in which
puna raw materials cannot be explained at Asana is the
Qhuna. In this phase, the miniature projectile points found
within the ceremonial structure are made of puna raw
materials, although there is no puna debitage on site. It is
possible these points are tokens, but since they are of ob-
vious ceremonial value, a ritual-related explanation is
equally plausible. At the local level, then, there are no com-
pelling artifactual data to identify tokens of relationship
between the inhabitants of Asana and the inhabitants of
nearby environmental zones.
\Vhether there are tokens is not of critical importance,
however, because the evidence for residential mobility for
all phases except for the problematic Qhuna Phase is very
strong. Mobility is the likely explanation for the packet
removals seen throughout most of the prehistory ofAsana.
Archaic Period Complementarity
"Complementarity" is a term intimately connected with
analyses of the structure of interrelationships between
high- and low-elevation late prehistoric and ethnohistoric
cultures ofthe south-central Andes. As originally conceived
by Murra (1972), complementarity is a form of land use
characterized by direct, central control ofvertically strati-
fied resource-producing zones ("vertical archipelagoes").
Puna-based societies reliant upon tuber production and
pastoralism would attempt to control sierra production of
maize and cotton through state-supported mechanisms of
centralized redistribution.
Since the publication of Murra's seminal work, other
forms of Andean complementarity have been recognized,
and attempts have been made to generalize their salient
characteristics across environmental and social parameters
(Salomon 1985). Two dimensions ofvariability are impor-
tant: decentralized or reciprocity-based systems versus
centralized, redistributive systems and systems based on
direct access to resources versus those based on indirect
access, primarily different modes of trade, exchange, and
barter. The latter dimension also includes the number of
external contacts a group must maintain in order to ob-
tain access to desired resources (Salomon 1985: 513-516).
As I have argued elsewhere (Aldenderfer 1989a, 1989b,
1993 a), it is necessary, as Salomon has done, first to gen-
eralize the concept of complementarity and then to make
it applicable to foraging peoples. I have done so with the
model of montane foraging developed in this book, and
moreover, I have provided an explicit theoretical basis for
predicting the forms of complementarity for foraging
peoples in these high-mountain environments. My ap-
proach has been anticipated by Lynch (1971), who has ar-
gued that seasonal residential mobility (direct access by
foragers to multiple resource zones without an exchange
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
medium) could be considered to be a very simple form of
ecological complementarity.
Complementarity during most of the prehistory of
Asana was achieved by direct access to resources through
residential mobility. Beginning in Asana I1Puruma Phase
times and through the Asana V/Pisi Mara Phase, foragers
based at Asana moved within and between valleys both to
avoid risk and to reduce the cost of obtaining resources.
From a theoretical perspective and from our knowledge
of the economics of hunting guanacos, taruca, and vicuna
and harvesting quinuay, it appears that relatively infrequent
residential mobility was the least costly way in which these
peoples could have buffered themselves from risk. On a
regional scale, the exchange between highland and low-
land peoples of tokens of relationship, which include pro-
jectile points, ornamentation, and other utilitarian and
nonutilitarian goods, begins to intensify and symbolizes
interindividual or intergroup obligations. In Asana VIII
Awati Phase times, risk buffering was apparently achieved
by exchange, with highlanders trading meat probably for
plants grown by lowlanders in the midvalleys. While resi-
dential mobility was still practiced, it was done so for dif-
ferent reasons-that is, to provide adequate forage for the
herds of domesticated animals now in use.
In this reconstruction, the Asana VI/Qhuna Phase
stands out as something distinct. Elements of exchange
between highlanders and lowlanders are present. Ceremo-
nial architecture is constructed at the site, and through
time it gradually becomes more complex and formalized
(Aldenderfer 1991b). Residential mobility is constrained
to the high-sierra environment, seed utilization is intensi-
fied, some meat packets are not found on site in any fre-
quency, and residential architecture increases substantially
in size when compared to that in all previous phases. In
one sense, the Qhuna Phase does not fit the developmen-
tal sequence described earlier. It has elements of classic
Andean complementarity-exchange-coupled with in-
tensification of resource utilization and evidence of cer-
emonialism. I will now attempt to place the Qhuna Phase
in a historical and theoretical perspective.
Other Social Pathways to Risk Amelioration?
When compared to the evidence from previous phases,
subsistence and social change occur very rapidly within
the Qhuna Phase. Tracing developments from the begin-
ning of the Awati Phase, ceremonial structures are con-
structed, become more complex through time, and finally
disappear. A subsistence adaptation focused upon inten-
sive seed utilization is replaced by a wholly different form
303
of resource procurement-pastoralism. All of these
changes take place in a maximum of 500 years and pos-
sible minimum of 250 years. If the focus is placed even
more tightly on events in the Qhuna Phase, it can be seen
that while seed processing was a part of the subsistence
system throughout the phase, the most dramatic changes
in Qhuna society appear in Level IXa and VIII times (ca.
4600 B.P.) to roughly Level IV times (ca. 4400 B.P.).
I believe that the ultimate cause of these changes is the
effects of long-term, regional-scale population growth
coupled with circumscription, in effect a regional-pack-
ing argument (see Brown 1985; Aldenderfer 1989a, 1993a).
While such data are notoriously difficult to obtain and then
interpret, the evidence presented in chapters 3 and 8 shows
that there are more Late Archaic sites on the landscape in
previous phases, and this population appears to have grown
in other western flanks' valleys in the south-central Andes,
such as the Lluta and Azapa valleys of northern Chile
(Santoro 1989; Nunez 1989). Unfortunately, there are no
data from the valleys adjacent to the Rio Asana. Even if
the population has not grown, there is no question that
the foragers of the Qhuna Phase are circumscribed in their
residential mobility and are confined to the high sierra.
Under this particular set of circumstances, these forag-
ers would have been faced with two serious problems-
greater difficulty in obtaining sufficient resources within
the high-sierra valleys and increased levels of risk due to
their inability to move out of the valley. These stresses are
especially severe in high-mountain environments. As long
as population size remained relatively small, these prob-
lems could be dealt with by the intensification of use of
guanacos, taruca, and quinuay. However, the more inten-
sive use of each of these species offers only a short-term
solution to subsistence problems. Furthermore, all high-
mountain foragers require some form of risk amelioration
strategy as predicted by theory and the model of montane
foraging. There is evidence for an exchange-based
complementarity in this phase. It is apparent that Qhuna
foragers were trading meat for as-yet-unidentified re-
sources. This inference is based upon the almost complete
absence of the hindquarters packet from Level VIII and
other Qhuna Phase faunal assemblages. But the potential
for the exchange of this meat resource is limited and could
not be sustained over the long term.
Therefore, it is inescapable to conclude that Qhuna
Phase society probably faced increasing levels of resource
shortfall, the threat of subsistence risk, and social stresses
attendant upon these problems. Given the apparent diffi-
culty of mobility to escape these problems, Qhuna Phase
304 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
foragers turned increasingly toward the use of ritual, as
symbolized by the transformation of the ceremonial struc-
tures from simple dance grounds to closed, bounded struc-
tures. Furthermore, ritual was used by a segment of Qhuna
Phase society to deal with this increasingly intense spiral
of social and subsistence stresses, and in part, the transfor-
mation of ritual can also be seen as the extension of hier-
archy and the emergence of a form of social inequality.
Within this context, the simultaneous appearance of in-
tensive seed grinding and the most complex ceremonial
structures in Level VIII times at Asana is not a coinci-
dence. They are, in fact, two distinct pathways used to
alleviate or mitigate both social and subsistence stresses
caused by the effects of circumscription.
As I have argued elsewhere, following a deep tradition
in anthropological theory, ritual is one of the most impor-
tant sources of stability and change within foraging soci-
eties (Aldenderfer 1993b). Most of us are familiar with the
role of ritual in maintaining the status quo, but it is also
the case that ritual has a major role to play in the exten-
sion of hierarchy and inequality in so-called egalitarian
societies. While ritual was used in part to deal with social
stresses and crises, it was simultaneously extending exist-
ing social inequalities in Qhuna Phase society. To explore
these claims, I will first define hierarchy and inequality,
ritual, and circumscription and then show they articulate
from a theoretical perspective (see Aldenderfer 1993b for
a fuller treatment of these concepts).
Hierarchy and Inequality A number of terms must be
defined before the archaeological evidence from Qhuna
Phase Asana can be considered. Hierarchy, according to
Flanagan (1989: 248), refers to inequality between per-
sons and pertains more to social organization than to so-
cial structure. Under this definition, it is obvious that while
hierarchy can exist within stratified societies (those so de-
fined by social formations such as classes or "elites"), soci-
eties need not be stratified in order for hierarchy to exist.
Inequality is a very clear difference in access to some com-
modity, position, or resource. Some individuals have ac-
cess to the resource while others do not. It must be stressed
that it is not necessary to identify this resource as a subsis-
tence or other economically valuable good. As Paynter
(1989: 383) points out, the "resource" may be control of
force, access to strategic food resources, trade goods,
knowledge, competency, legitimacy, and prestige. It is this
entire range of possibilities that leads to the situational
and contextual nature of hierarchy.
All known human societies have some form of social
inequality, even those labeled in the ethnographic litera-
ture as "egalitarian." Flanagan (1989), in reviewing the
massive literature on hierarchy in so-called simple societ-
ies, has persuasively demonstrated what archaeologists and
anthropologists have long known but have tended to over-
look-that hierarchies based on age, gender, kinship, gen-
eration, and ability characterize all "simple" societies. This
omission has been made through classifications, especially
those that focus on defining "types" of societies based on
structural principles. However, it has become increasingly
clear that hierarchy and inequality in "simple" societies
are often context-specific, based more on social organiza-
tion, situation, and practice than on fundamental struc-
tural categories of society (Flanagan 1989: 261-262), and
therefore, the attempt to characterize whole social systems
as being either egalitarian or unequal is inappropriate.
But what is of primary interest to the archaeologist,
however, is not simply that hierarchy or inequality exists
in "simple" societies, but instead the ways in which hierar-
chy becomes institutionalized inequality-that is, how so-
cial organization and interaction become social structure.
In other words, what pathways exist that permit some seg-
ment of society to take control or monopolize access to a
critical or strategic resource (Paynter 1989: 383)? Equally
interesting, but for different reasons, are those pathways
to hierarchy that are attempted but fail to persist.
In his discussion of sequential hierarchies, Johnson
(1982) posits a general model of the way in which hierar-
chy might be promoted into an institutionalized form.
According to Johnson, a sequential hierarchy is a form of
inequality that tends to be of unstable membership, thus
impermanent, and while it may dominate access to a single
strategic resource, it does not control others. Thus an in-
dividual atop a sequential hierarchy may control access to
some resource important in trade, for instance, but not
control other aspects ofthe productive or economic sphere
of society. The ethnographic literature is replete with ex-
amples of how societies in which sequential hierarchies
exist control those atop these hierarchies: leveling mecha-
nisms, an emphasis on an ethos of sharing, prohibitions
on food storage and self-aggrandizing behavior, and more.
While it is known that these mechanisms are present in
most "simple" societies, it is important not to overempha-
size their power. Fundamentally, they are ideologies, and
as such while a society might proclaim its egalitarian ethos,
there may well be substantial differences in wealth, knowl-
edge, or prestige among its members (Flanagan 1989: 248).
This means that archaeologists cannot simply assume that
such ideologies always "worked" in the past. If this were
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
the case, it would be difficult to see how any movement to
institutionalized inequality could be made.
Ritual Ritual, especially in a sacred context (Wallace
1966: 104), is generally viewed as some form of "conveyed
regulation" (Wagner 1984: 144) in which ritual becomes a
means of communicating and justifying the existence of
social forms and relations. The circumstances under and
degree to which ritual performs this vary, depending on
different theoretical orientations. Bloch (1977: 289), for
example, argues that ritual legitimizes social inequality and
is thus a mechanism by which hierarchy can be developed
(Conkey 1985: 304). Rappaport (1979: 125), from a posi-
tion firmly grounded in ecological anthropology, proposes
that "wholeness, holiness, and adaptiveness are closely re-
lated" and attempts to demonstrate that ritual is the pri-
mary means a society utilizes to maintain itself in some
sort of homeostasis with its environment. Whatever the
orientation, however, the emphasis remains firmly fixed
on ritual as some form of social control. Ritual, as a means
of social communication and at least in part of social justi-
fication, can be a traditionalizing force. It mediates exist-
ing social relations as they are categorized by the partici-
pants in the event. Douglas (1973: 79), in describing her
approach to understanding ritual, has argued that "the re-
stricted code (ritual) is used economically to convey infor-
mation and to sustain a particular social form. It is a sys-
tem of control as well as a system of communication."
It is important, however, not to overemphasize the role
of ritual as a means of generating social solidarity and con-
sensus. Societies are not organisms, and this sort of purely
functionalist thinking has been largely discredited in mod-
ern anthropological thought, especially from the perspec-
tive of theories, such as agency critiques, that demonstrate
that society is composed of individuals who are members
of shifting and often contradictory, competing segments
(Giddens 1984) or from neo-Darwinian thought, which
emphasizes how individuals make choices that tend to
maximize their inclusive fitness often at the expense of the
group (Boyd and Richerson 1985). Indeed, if ritual is
viewed solely as a control device, it becomes extremely
difficult to place ritual in more than simply a reactive po-
sition, and it thus remains only a traditionalizing or con-
servative force. For the archaeologist, ritual must remain
consequent to the dynamics of other social processes that
promote hierarchy and inequality.
To place ritual in a dynamic framework, one in which it
can serve as a causal factor in the process of social elabora-
tion, it is necessary to build a theoretical bridge between
305
the obvious control functions of ritual and its potential as
a change agent. If it is granted that all societies maintain
some form of ritual communication that at least in part is
a means of justifying existing social relations, it further
can be postulated that ritual will be effective in the media-
tion of these social relationships and the maintenance of
existing social categories as long as most participants in
the ritual process continue to get what they consider to be
their appropriate benefits and have a reasonable expecta-
tion of continuing to do so. That is, individuals agree to
"cooperate" with the ritual process through a belief in the
power of ritual as either a sanctioning or persuasive force
(Burns and Laughlin 1979: 271-275). In the former, indi-
viduals participate in the ritual system through a belief in
some reward for behavior consistent with the ritual pro-
cess or through fear of sanction (punishment) if the con-
straints of the ritual process are violated. In the latter, in-
dividuals cooperate with ritual because their beliefs are
strongly molded and manipulated by a wielder of ritual
power. Thus it is not reward or fear that leads to coopera-
tive behavior but instead a process ofmanipulation in which
a context for cooperation is carefully managed. As Burns
and Laughlin (1979: 274) note, the power of persuasion is
particularly important when the context of ritual perfor-
mance is related to the possibility of collective action on
the part of the participants.
Circumscription Under what circumstances can wielders
of ritual power attempt to extend their authority, and fur-
ther, under what circumstances will this extension be suc-
cessful? Using the definitions of hierarchy and inequality
offered earlier, if we are concerned with the emergence of
cultural complexity, only one of the three conditions pro-
posed by Price and Brown (1985: 8)-circumscription-is
in fact necessary for complexity to emerge. The other
two-resource abundance and large populations-are nec-
essary for the eventual institutionalization of hierarchy.
Circumscription may be broadly defined as "the net
benefit, or relatively lower cost, of remaining in a group
for any individual member" (Betzig 1986: 102; Irons 1979).
Individuals stay within the group as long as the net costs
of group membership do not exceed the benefits. An im-
portant correlate of this prediction, as Betzig (1986: 101)
points out, is that individuals may tolerate an increasing
social inequality within groups because the perceived ben-
efits outweigh the costs of inequality or to avoid some
greater cost, such as the results of intra- and intergroup
conflict or resource shortfall.
Circumscription is necessary for the emergence ofcom-
306 Asana and Models ofMontane Foraging
plexity because it limits choice and mobility, both ofwhich
have been seen as hallmarks ofsmall-scale, relatively egali-
tarian societies. Moving away from conflict, stress, and
subordination is generally the most cost-effective and fre-
quently observed means of dealing with these social prob-
lems in foraging societies (Betzig 1986: 100-103). Circum-
scription was first invoked by Carneiro (1970) in his theory
of the origins of state-level societies, and while it has been
challenged and defended repeatedly (see Carneiro 1988),
certain important aspects ofthe theory have been borrowed
and translated for use in the setting of foraging societies.
As applied to simpler societies, circumscription is gen-
erally seen within a context of reduced residential mobil-
ity, and as Brown and Price (1985: 438) note, a reduction
in mobility "appears early during the course toward in-
creased complexity." Most students of foraging peoples
agree that as the ability to move from social and ecologi-
cal problems decreases, existing institutions, roles, and
other social entities are increasingly called into play to al-
leviate the attendant stresses, which include increasing lev-
els of inter- and intragroup conflict and potential resource
shortfalls. There may be many causes of reduced residen-
tial mobility, including a local increase in population den-
sity due to resource concentration or overall larger popu-
lations on a regional scale (Brown 1985).
If circumscription is a necessary condition for emer-
gent social complexity, there are situations that exacerbate
the social stresses it generates. These are highly depen-
dent on local historical or environmental factors and are
thus contextual in nature, but their operation can be ex-
plained in theoretical terms. In some ways, these stresses
can best be seen as proximate causes of the extension of
hierarchy. Socially generated conditions include a rapidly
changing social environment in which competition be-
tween roughly equivalent small-scale societies is intensi-
fied, culture contact situations in which a small-scale soci-
ety is thrown into persistent and intensive contact with a
larger, more complex society, and attempts by individuals
atop demographically defined sequential hierarchies, for
example (see Chagnon 1979), to control hierarchies de-
fined on other bases. Externally or environmentally driven
situations include substantial and persistent structural
changes in resource abundance, availability, and predict-
ability that occur over a relatively short time span, such as
within a single human generation (Laughlin and d'Aquili
1979: 308-309). This perspective is consistent with
Keeley's (1988) observation about the emergence of com-
plexity and degree of population pressure. As defined here,
the social or ecological correlates of circumscription can
increase population pressure without substantially increas-
ing absolute population size. Population pressure should
be seen as a proxy measure of some form of circumscrip-
tion that has a social or ecological basis.
Hierarchy, Inequality, and Ritual as Dynamic Processes in
Qhuna Phase Asana The context of change under con-
ditions of circumscription also offers those in control of a
ritually defined hierarchy an opportunity to extend the
range of their power-in other words, to attempt to con-
trol other sequential hierarchies. Ritual, since it can con-
trol in part the definition of social categories, is an ideal
means of literally redefining social relationships. Ifwielders
of ritual power are in fact successful in convincing indi-
viduals to continue their belief in the power of ritual, they
may also be able to convince them to allow the extension
of ritual into other social fields. The extent to which this
is possible depends on the degree to which individuals can
be manipulated and persuaded that they can expect ben-
efits from the changed ritual scheme or decide that the
costs of an extended hierarchy and increased inequality
are less than the alternatives open to them.
Under conditions of rapidly changing social and eco-
logical environments that result from circumscription,
however, ritual can prove to be fragile. Rappaport (1968:
234), an advocate of the adaptationist perspective on ritual
practice, notes one of the disadvantages of Maring ritual
regulation: "In a stable environment slow and inflexible
regulation may not produce serious problems, but the novel
circumstances that are continuously presented by rapidly
changing environments may require more rapid and
flexible regulation." While Rappaport is discussing the
physical environment, it is obvious that this comment could
be extended to a rapidly changing social environment.
Echoing this view, Minc (1986: 102) shows that ritual may
not be able to respond flexibly to crisis situations since it
has relatively high social costs and frequently rigid sched-
uling constraints. However, if neither the pace is too rapid
nor the intensity too severe, ritual should in fact undergo
some transformation. Indeed, as Laughlin and d'Aquili
(1979: 297-299) argue, disaster so severe as to undermine
ritual power and authority generally tends to atomize, or
fragment, social groups, which frequently leads to the col-
lapse of whole societies.
The choices made by both wielders of ritual power and
believers may not be optimal and in fact may well be mal-
adaptive under rapidly changing social environments (Al-
denderfer 1993b; Boyd and Richerson 1985: 271-279).
This is especially true if the ritual process has no direct
 Montane Foragers: Asana and the South-Central Andean Archaic
effect on the social or ecological conditions or worse, cre-
ates significant new labor costs. Turning back to myorigi-
nal concern, it is clear that by Level VIII times, the for-
mality of the ceremonial structure appears to reflect a
greater degree of control of ritual and ritual performance
when compared to Level IXc-l times. It is not known who
exercises this control, but based on ethnographic analogy,
it is probable that adult males have transformed the na-
ture of ritual practice by Level VIII times. In other words,
there is evidence of a segment of society-a hierarchy-
controlling access to religious performance and activity.
Just how this hierarchy articulates with others in Qhuna
Phase times is unclear. Since there is no mortuary record,
it is unknown whether there was any status differentiation
present (accumulation of "exotic" resources, etc.). Other
limited material indicators, such as the size of the domes-
tic residence, show no dichotomy in size that could indi-
cate yet another form of hierarchy. We are limited to what
we can learn from the ceremonial structures. There is no
evidence, then, of other hierarchies.
There is the simultaneous emergence of a hierarchy in
control of ritual and the intensification of seed use, and
both of these are embedded in a broader social context of
changing forms of complementarity relationships. Are they
connected? I believe they are. The Qhuna Phase was one
of apparently rapid social change in which a number of
aspects of society were transformed. This would certainly
qualify as a period of stress, both social and economic. As
I postulated earlier, the control of ritual during these peri-
ods may well be significant, because if manipulated cor-
rectly, ritual may provide the basis for changes in social
relationships between different groups ofpeople-in short,
the control of ritual acts as an agent of social change. It
seems probable that the movement of features in and out
307
of the ceremonial structures, along with the development
of new forms of ritual practice, reflects the redefinition of
social categories and the changing relationships between
individuals as hierarchy emerges. The simultaneous in-
tensification of seed use mayor may not be controlled by
this new hierarchy (my guess is that it is not), but what-
ever the case, it probably provides the economic basis for
a new form of complementarity, presumably some form
of balanced reciprocity based on exchange.
Almost as quickly as the ceremonial architecture ap-
pears it vanishes, and Qhuna Phase subsistence and settle-
ment are likewise transformed into the pastoral economy
of Awati times. Unless there has been a wholesale ethnic
replacement (again, in my-view, unlikely), it seems that
Qhuna economic patterns and rituals themselves were
unable to cope with the social climate of the times. In other
words, this hierarchy and its ritual basis failed to persist or
reproduce itself, and it appears that the transition to pas-
toralism is connected in some way to this failure, although
more specific models await development.
It should be apparent from this discussion that hierar-
chy and inequality, even in so-called egalitarian societies,
can be inferred from the archaeological record and then
connected to broader questions and problems of anthro-
pological interest. At Asana, the development of a ritual
hierarchy becomes increasingly formal through time, and
it is connected to a context of rapid social change, the in-
tensification of seed use, the appearance of balanced reci-
procity, and probably the local domestication of guana-
cos. That Qhuna economy and social relationships, based
on this ritual hierarchy, failed to reproduce themselves is
testimony to the difficulties inherent in sequential hierar-
chies and the ways in which they are transformed into si-
multaneous hierarchies.
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Index
Acha-2, 137, 138, 148
AlpwirtschaJt, 16-17, 25
Architecture: ceremonial, 228;
residential or domestic, 260. See
also Asana IV/Muruq'uta Phase
Asana I/Puruma Phase, 136, 142-155,
290; diet choice, 290; exterior
space, 151, 154; site structure, 143,
146, 151; summary, 154
Asana IIIKhituna Phase, 136, 156-
174, 291; diet choice, 291; exterior
space, 159, 162, 168, 171, 172;
interior space, 171, 172; site
structure, 157, 165; summary, 172
Asana IIIIJilana Phase, 175-189; diet
choice, 292; interior space, 187; site
structure, 178, 186; summary, 189
Asana IV/Muruq'uta Phase, 175, 189-
224; diet choice, 292; interior
space, 194, 202, 208; public
architecture, 221-224; site
structure, 192,202,210; summary,
223-224
Asana VIPisi Mara Phase, 175, 224-
228, 293; diet choice, 293; site
structure, 224; summary, 225
Asana VIlQhuna Phase, 228-261; diet
choice, 294; domestic architecture,
260; exterior space, 236, 241;
interior space, 235, 236, 241; public
architecture, 228, 243-260,306-
307; settlement pattern, 228; site
structure, 235; summary, 260-261
Asana VII/Awati Phase, 228, 261-275;
domestication, 275, 295,303;
exterior space, 168; pastoralism,
261,263-264,267-268,271,274,
275; settlement pattern, 262; site
structure, 269; summary, 275
Barro Negro, 49
Biological acclimatization: fertility, 4-
6, 140; to high-altitude
environments, 5,22,139-140,219,
291; infant mortality, 7,139,140,
142; lactation, 21,139,277
Bofedal, 30, 33, 36; Asana bofedal, 50,
120,132,134-135
Buffering strategies, 20-25, 295
Caru,53
Central place foraging model, 11, 23-
24,276,278,282,285,289,291
Cerro Baul, 258, 259
Cerro Mejia, 82
Chenopodium sp., 31-33, 55;
distribution, 38; productivity of, 41,
279
Chipped stone lithics: analysis of, 80,
83, 84; microwear analysis, 84-87;
raw material types, 80
Chronology, 51; models of Archaic
lanQ use, 52-56; phasing at Asana,
136; radiocarbon assays from
Asana, 130-132; south-central
Andean Archaic, 51; and
stratigraphy at Asana, 122, 123-130
Clothing, 10, 140-142; at Asana, 154,
155-156, 162, 172,292, 295; and
biological acclimatization, 219-220
Cold stress, 10, 139
Component, 63; definition, 60-61;
and surface survey, 143
Corral, 268-271
Coscori, 46,52,55,56,57,70,71-73,
190,223,266,274,288
Cueva 4,52,55,70-72,229,230,241,
266,274,288,297,298
Cueva Quellaveco, 55,74,190,287,
288,297
Cueva San Agustin, 52, 58, 74,263,
264-266
Decapage, 70, 76, 77
Density, 63; definition, 59, 60-61;
distribution of, 67; interpretation,
61; and surface survey, 143
Diet choice, 276, 287, 290-295
Domestication. See Asana VIIIAwati
Phase
El Aguilar, 49
El Nino, 48, 49
EIPanteon, 52, 58, 70, 74,190,223,
263-264,266,269,274,288,295,
297,300,301
326 Index
Environmental heterogeneity, 38
Excavation procedures: horizontal
provenience, 78; vertical control,
79
Excavation strategy: at Asana, 76, 113;
at El Panteon, 70, 74; off-site at
Asana, 77, 80; at rockshelters, 69-
70
Exchange, 20, 25; at Asana, 301-303;
and raw material types, 80, 90
Extremeness: definition, 3; and
residential mobility, 18; in the
south-central Andes, 39
Faunal analysis, 100, 101; bone juice
and grease, 108, 110, 182;
economic utility, 104, 106, 107;
economic utility of guanacos, 105,
106, 107; economic utility of
llamas, 105, 107; fat, 280-282;
food utility index (Fill), 104;
minimum number of elements
(MNE), 84; minimum number of
individuals (MNI), 84; number of
identified specimens (NISP), 84,
101; packet definition, 104;
taphonomy at Asana, 100, 101
Flake aggregate analysis (FAA), 62,
83, 84; at Asana, 149, 155
Flotation samples, 80
Fragility, 4, 46
Ground stone tools: analytical
methods, 91-98; material types,
91; materials worked by, 95, 97
Guitarrero Cave, 95,136,219,299
Hakenasa, 52,53,54,87, 138
Hide working: Asana I1Puruma, 150,
154, 15 5; Asana IIlKhitufia, 157,
162-164; Asana IIIIJilafia, 186,
189; and microwear analysis, 141,
150,155,157
High-Altitude Pulmonary Edema
(HAPE),6
High-mountain ecology: adaptive
strategies, 15-16; in the Asana
valley, 38; behavioral responses to,
18; definition, 2
High-mountain environment: alpine,
1-2; constraints on human biology,
22; constraints on mobility, 20-21,
46-48; definition, 1-2, 18; high-
altitude, 1; and human biology, 5;
montane, 1-2
High sierra: definition, 28; ecology,
38; extremeness, 39; guanacos, 36,
138,280; mobility, 46; models of
land use, 52; plant and animal
productivity, 41, 44, 45; plant
communities, 31-33,41,50,55;
precipitation, 29, 41; raw material
types, 82; taruca, 36,138,143,145,
280; vicufia, 37, 50,280
Hiking function, 12, 46
Holocene archaeology, 136-137
Holocene environment, 139; in the
Andes, 48-49; water ponding, 134-
135
Hypothermia, 22
Hyporia, 1,3,5-10,139,142
Intrasite spatial analysis, 109, 110,
113; contouring, 114-115;
interpolation, 60, 114, 115; kriging,
55, 60; methods of, 114
Jarsitiya, 70
Laguna Seca, 49
Landslide dynamics, 132, 134
Las Cuevas, 52, 53, 54, 87,138,164
Lauricocha, 136
Mobility, 10,24-25, 54, 301; at Asana,
295-299, 302-303; constraints
on, 20-21, 46-48; costs of, 11,20,
140, 142; measure of, 155, 156,
162, 172-174; model of
complementarity/mobility, 54-57;
travel time in high-mountain
environments, 47, 174,283,295,
296,299
Models: of complementarity/mobility,
54-57; of high elevation land use,
53; of high-sierra and puna rim
land use, 52; of limited
transhumance, 53; mask site, 61
Montane foraging: models of, 22-23,
276,295, 302-303; and montane
production strategy, 2, 16
Mountain sickness (Monge's disease), 6
Mutual access, 296,301-302
Mutualism, 20
Nez Perce, 16, 19, 24
Nutrition at high altitude, 139-140,
280-281; caloric requirements, 7,
21,22,23,140,142,299; caloric
values, 280-282; digestion of fats,
8; optimal diet, 18; role of essential
fatty acids, 8-9, 140, 142
Pachamachay, 95, 136, 137, 164, 177,
234
Packet, 149
Packet data at Asana: Asana I1Puruma
Phase, 149; Asana IIlKhitufia
Phase, 156, 163; Asana IIIJ]ilafia
Phase, 176, 185; Asana IV/
Muruq'uta Phase, 191, 199, 210;
Asana VI/Qhuna Phase, 233; Asana
VII/Awati Phase, 264, 268
Palimpsest, 61,77,113,114; densities,
68
Pampa Corazon, 70
Panalauca, 137
Pastoralism. See Asana VII/Awati
Phase
Patapatane, 52, 53, 54, 87,138,164
Patch productivity, 282-283, 288
Pikimachay, 136
Primary productivity, 3,4,28;
harvesting efficiency, 279, 284-287,
300; of plant and animal
communities, 31-36,43,280-282
Puna rim: definition, 29; ecology, 38;
extremeness, 39; guanacos, 36;
models of land use, 52; in the
Osmore basin, 29, 46; plant
communities, 33, 50; precipitation,
41; productivity, 30, 44; raw
material types, 83; vicufia, 37
Puripica, 54
Puxuma 1, 54
Quereo, 136
Raw material types, 81; diversity, 87
Refitting, 86
Risk: behavioral responses to, 19;
definition, 17; risk amelioration,
25,299-303;r~kreduction,20

Rockshelters, 69-70
Rupestral art: Apacheta Chica, 70, 71,
266; Coscori, 56, 71-73,296,297;
Cueva Quellaveco, 70, 74,229;
Tala 1, 71, 73,229; Tala 2,71;
Toquepala, 73, 74
Sajima,49
Sample size effect, 87
Settlement pattern: Early Archaic,
143; Late Archaic, 228, 269;
Middle Archaic, 189
Silencio arqueologico, 226
Site structure: and activity
performance, 138, 139, 145, 151,
154, 171, 172; empty space, 111;
exterior space, 110, 111, 256;
Index 327
interior space, 110, 256; space- Titijones, 56, 57
conserving, 109-112; space- Tojo-Tojones,53
consuming, 109-111 Toquepala, 53, 56, 73, 74
Shell Ring Site, 136-138, 150, 151 Transhumance, 16, 53
Soroche, 5, 139 Tuhin,54
Storage, 19,25,299,300
Survey procedures, 58; component, 59, Uncertainty, 17,280
60-61; density, 59, 60-61; Utility: definition, 18; strategy, 24
opportunistic, 58, 59; siteless, 58-60
Verticality, 16, 25
Tala 1, 70, 71-73,229 Volcanic activity, 135
Tala 2,70,71-73,229
Telarmachay, 77,84, 136, 137, 164, Wool processing, 219-220
192,234 Work capacity, 9,139,140,142,276
Territoriality, 20; animal, 284-285,
295
Threshold, 18