800 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 27, 1903. 
An Ascent of Mount Aetna. 
[We are indebted to Dr. A. J. Woodcock, of Byron, III., for the 
following letter describing ^Iaj. Woodcock's second ascent of 
jEtna. The account of the first ascent was published in our issue 
of May 30. A third ascent will be related in an issue to follow.] 
United States Consulate, Catania, Sicily, July 14, 
1884. — Dr. A. J. Woodcock, Byron, Illinois. — My Dear 
Son: There is much to see and learn in this island. 
Every foot of it is interesting with story, romance 
and history. The cities of Syracuse, Terranova and 
Lecata are in my district, M'hich comprises the south- 
Avest third of the island. I have been to the top of 
Mt. ^^^tna. A young German, Augustus Melhop.. came 
to me with a letter of recommend from the U. S. Con- 
sul at Palermo. He was engaged by the China Gov- 
ernment to contract for warships with Germany for the 
Avar with France. His home is in Pekin, China, where 
he has lived for 14 years. Thus employed by China, he 
became very wealthy. He urged me to go with him to 
Mim.. With reluctance I consented. It was yet too 
early in the season to make the trip. The best time 
is in August or September. I induced Charley Worth- 
ington (an English friend) to accompany us. 
We set out on the 27th of May at 5 P. M., going by 
carriage from Catania to Nicolosi, a place of some 
4,000 inhabitants. It was a delightful ride of 10 miles. 
The town is situated at the base of Mount Rossi, an an- 
cient crater. In 1669 these same red mountains vomited 
forth a river of lava that flooded the country, swept 
over Catania (nearly destroying it) and rolled into the 
sea near the lighthouse. The people were greatly 
alarmed. The lava gradually approached the town. 
Slight shocks of earthquake were frequent. Black cin- 
ders rained down. Many of the inhabitants fled with 
their household goods. Terror was depicted in every 
face. A company of men passing up and down through 
the streets of the city bearing upon their shoulders 
large, heavy statues of Saints Antonio and Michael, 
the patron saints of the town. A crowd followed them, 
shouting "Vivas" to the saints (Life! Life!!). Images 
of the Madonna were placed in the doorways of the 
churches surrounded by burning tapers, and men, 
women and children upon their knees, implored the 
mother of Jesus to importune her Son to stretch forth 
his hand and save their town from the fiery flood. 
The road wound upward through groves of orange, 
lemon, olive and fig. Rich vineyards clothed the hill- 
sides with green. Pretty villas, peasant cottages, 
shrines, old churches and two villages dotted the way- 
side. After the eruption this stretch of country was 
a desolate waste. The industry of the past 200 years 
has removed much of the lava, piling it up into walls 
and terraces and with it paving streets and building 
houses and cities. Much of it remains, blackened, cor- 
rugated, ragged, thrown into all conceivable shapes and 
as hard as granite. The soil formed from its disin- 
tegrated particles is the richest in the world. Mosses 
and lichens creep over this lava and paint upon it 
glowing colors, and this makes picturesque its other- 
wise unsightly hideousness. The prickly pear springs 
up everywhere among the lava wastes, attaining a 
height of 4 to 10 feet. Their broad, green leaves (like 
the shields of a Roman phalanx) guard from view much 
that is desolate and sunseemly. The cacti were in 
bloom at the time of our visit, their bright green, fleshy 
leaves being covered with large yellow blossoms. Their 
luscious fruit forms an important part of the food of 
the people. 
We reached Nicolosi at 8 P. M., had a dish of mac- 
caroni, made up a party of 14 (guides included) for the 
ascent, and were ready for the road in an hour. I, be- 
ing a colonel, was given my choice of the mules. I 
took the plump, coal black one that had fire in his 
eyes. It took two men to hold him while I mounted. 
He then reared, bucked, jumped and struck the^ ground 
stiff-legged (changing ends as he did so), but did not 
faze my seat in the saddle. He finally acknowledged 
me his master, and away we went through the town on 
the run, the troop following, dogs barking, boys shout- 
ing and the whole populace out with craning necks 
watching the departure of the wild foreigners. 
It was 9 o'clock when we left Nicolosi. There was 
no moon. The milky way, in silver luster, streaked its 
broad band across the heavens. We traveled by the 
light of the stars. Lava, contorted, twisted, splintered, 
was piled up everywhere, and in all manner of fantastic 
shapes. Our guides had lighted their lanterns to insure 
our following the serpentine path over the rugged 
rocks. Silvatore, a six-footer, approached too near 
my mule's rear guns. He kicked out with both feet, 
giving the guide, Antonio Mazzalio, a center shot in 
the breast. A fall and a groan told the result. The 
little party for a moment seemed paralyzed with hor- 
ror. I dismounted, ran to the fallen man and found 
him insensible and bleeding. On examination I found 
the blood came from a lava cut on the head. I poured 
a generous horn of brandy down his throat. This re- 
vived him, and he commenced to groan furiously and 
swear dire vengeance in choice Italian against the 
mule. We bathed his rapidly swelling breast with 
brandy, lifted him on the mlue that we called Snail, and 
resumed our upward march, the accident having de- 
tained us about half an hour. I had been calling my 
mount *Buccphalus, but after this performance I bor- 
rowed the name which your inventive genius originated 
for one of your horses, and called him Satan. 
After a time we reached the lower edge of the tem- 
perate zone of the mountain. Trees began to appear, 
soon we were in the midst of a chestnut forest. Here 
and there was a field of wheat or rye. Though lava 
was everywhere prevalent, its horrid desolation had 
been broken into by the leveling hand of time and by 
the industrious peasantry. About midnight we reached 
• The horse that Alexander the Great FPde; no otfier tfisn he 
could fide hm, 
Casa del Bosco (the house of the forest). The guide 
sounded a blast upon his Alpine horn, which set the 
dogs baying within. Soon we heard the bolt of the 
door slide back, and a man .half dressed appeared and 
gave us welcome. By this time we had got into a 
colder climate. A fine fire was soon roaring in the 
huge fireplace. I think that I never enjoyed anything 
more than its bright, genial warmth. After an hour's 
rest we left our disabled guide, and resumed the ascent. 
The black mule was full of pluck and energy. He led 
the van. The rest of the troop gave us a wide berth. 
In an hour we reached the frigid zone. No shrub 
or tree was visible. The most intense sterility pre- 
vailed. Patches of snow began to appear, and it soon 
became intensely cold. About 3 o'clock the snow be- 
came so piled up our mules could not advance. We left 
them with the muleteers and commenced the climb on 
foot. Now came the tug of war. The snow during the 
day had thawed somewhat, and a thin crust had formed, 
but not sufficiently strong to bear us. About every step 
we would break through, sinking above our knees. 
Thus we wallowed upward for two mortal hours. My 
lungs could hardly pump enough of the rarified air to 
oxygenize my blood. I have seldom experienced such 
fatigue. We finally reached Casa del Inglese (Eng- 
lish House), where I sank down completely exhausted. 
This house is situated at the foot of the cone (or 
crater). It was built about 100 years ago. It has since 
been repaired and a main building added by the Gov- 
ernment. It has a dome, and at certain times is used 
as an observatory. After a few moments' rest we were 
up to witness the effects of sunrise. Long flashes of 
rosy light from the Calabrian Mountains were burnish- 
ing the eastern heavens. Soon the golden chariot of the 
day king became visible above the snowclad peaks. 
The whole eastern coast of the island was visible. 
Taormina, Aci Reale, Catania and Syracuse and the 
other sea towns were spots on the shore far below. 
The sea of a purple hue changed to rose color as the 
sun ascended. The rose-colored hues fled before the 
rising sun, and a sea of emerald remained flashing and 
sparkling in the 'morning light. The southern portion 
of the peninsula of Italy, ridged with the variegated 
peaks of the Calabrian range, was a beautiful picture 
v.'ith the sea on either side. We glanced up through 
the Strait of Messina, past Scylla and Charybdis, to the 
blue sea beyond. After a time spent in wonder and 
admiration of that beautiful panorama, we retired to the 
English House to cold fowl and almost frozen soup 
and coffee. The guide had started a small fire of char- 
coal in the grate, but this was only an aggravation. 
Our teeth rattled time to the music of Jack Frost. 
The cone still towered above us a thousand feet. 
With our sharp-pointed alpenstocks we commenced the 
ascent. We passed a huge cavern, from which steam 
was rushing in clouds. We kept our eyes upon the sum- 
mit, bearing down with our sticks and resting after 
each two or three steps. We encountered wet cinders, 
patches of snow melting upon the heated soil and 
slipped back almost as fast as we climbed. We finally 
reached the top. The wind was blowing furiously and 
freezingly cold. We had been one and one-half hours 
in our struggle up this monster crater. I threw my- 
self flat upon the ground with my head over the rim, 
and took a look down into what the Sicilians call the 
mouth of hell. A vast column of steam was shooting 
up into the heavens. This was so impregnated with 
sulphurous fumes I was obliged to keep several thick- 
nesses of my shawl over my mouth and nose to prevent 
strangulation. Occasionally a blast of wind would drive 
back the steam, allowing me to see far down into this 
horrid inferno. The crater itself is three miles in cir- 
cumference. The inner side of the rim was variegated 
with colors of red, orange and yellow from, the sul- 
phur fumes. A Milton or a Dante could not do justice 
to the terrific grandeur of the scene. According to the 
ancient Greeks and Romans this is the workshop of 
Vulcan, where he forges his thunderbolts for Jove. I 
could not see the old fellow, but the rumbling sound I 
heard far down in those black depths must have been 
he grumbling at his work. We had grand views to the 
northwest. We looked down upon Stromboli. This 
little giant seemed to be in angry mood. He was blow- 
ing off his wrath in huge columns of smoke that rolled 
heavenward, like an immense tree with branching top. 
We saw the whole of the Lipari group of islands. 
Three or four other craters were in eruption, but were 
pigmies by the side of Stromboli. We looked far away 
upon the sea to the southwest toward Africa. Had the 
.skies been clear we would have seen Malta in the dis- 
tance, and viewed the sea laving the entire coast of 
this triangular island. The rim upon which we stood 
is over two miles high. We were above the clouds. A 
thunderstorm gathered below us. We looked down 
upon the inky black clouds charged with electricity, 
upon the lightning flashing in chains of livid light, and 
heard the crashing peals away below us. This sight 
alone paid for all fatigue and exposure undergone. 
After our descent of the crater we stopped for an 
hour in Casa Inglese. Our beds were straw and hard, 
but our sleep was sound though not satisfying. We had 
been 24 hours without rest. After this short nap we 
again commenced the descent. The afternoon sun had 
warmed the air. The snow was thawing, and we no 
longer suffered with the cold. We found our mules 
where we had left them. By the help of three men I 
got upon the back of the black one, and away he 
trotted down over the most terrible break-neck places. 
Putnam's ride down the stone steps at Horsenesk was 
nothing compared to mine. He had his enemy in his 
rear, I had mine under me. Of course I beat the 
other fellows to Casa del Rossi. We rested and slept 
there for two hours, Charley upon the ground under a 
chestnut tree, I upon the cot of a mountaineer. Again 
we were off, the black mule trotting into Nicolosi long 
before the rest. I announced their coming and ordered 
supper. We found the guide better, but very sore. In 
our descent we saw the River Simeta glittering a silver 
thread from its source many miles to its exit into the 
sea. We reached Catania at 8 P. M., a used-up set of 
fellows. As ever I am 
Your affectionate father, 
Alper? WOQPCOCIC, 
Trailing the Summer Trout. 
In the heart of the New Brunswick wilderness, on the 
northern branch of the Little Southwest Miramichi 
River, lies Miramichi Lake. Nearly forty miles as the 
crow flies from Boiestown, the nearest lumbering settle- 
ment, and more than thirty miles from the nearest farm, 
it lies in the midst of a region known only to the lumber- 
man, the trapper, and the sportsman. This vast wood- 
land, like a rich fabric, is spangled with countless lakes 
and shot with the silver thread of streams in many of 
which no line has ever been wet. It is an ideal angler's 
country; and it was this feature above all others that 
made this land of the Miramichi the goal of our annual 
piscatorial pilgrimage. 
The ceremony of "going in" is much the same in all the 
wild regions of eastern North America. You go by rail 
as far as you can and then possibly you may postpone 
for a brief space the inevitable by the use of horses. But 
ii you are bound for the heart of things, you must resort 
at last to one of two modes of conveyance, the canoe or 
your two feet. To reach the Miramichi country from the 
south, one must tramp; and tramp we did for over forty 
miles of trail and tote road, stumbling over windfalls, 
slipping about in mud holes, bitten by gnats and mos- 
quitoes, but happy, for we tasted trout the first night, and 
after the evening pipe and camp-fire chat we turned in to 
sleep on beds redolent of balsam. We were in the woods. 
The next morning is memorable because it brought us 
the sight of our first deer. We had just mounted a steep 
hill beyond the camp, when Harry, our chief guide, whose 
eyes were everywhere, exclaimed : "Look !" About 
twenty yards from the trail stood a young buck, with 
horns in the velvet, gazing at us curiously. For several 
minutes he stood there, motionless, except for an occa- 
siotial nervous twitch of the tail. He seemed to know 
that it was the close season, for when at last he decided 
to leave us, he did so with long, slow bounds, in unhur- 
ried grace. 
All along the trail we continued to see numerous tracks 
of moose and deer, crossed here and there by those of 
caribou or bears. The moose tracks were far the most 
numerous, for this is first and foremost a fine moose 
country. Harry said that they seem to like the old tote 
roads, where the ground is comparatively smooth and the 
brush does not interfere with their progress. The softer 
ground was always stamped deep with the imprint of 
their sharp hoofs. Thus has man's highway become a 
game trail. 
Our course was northerly, closely paralleling the 
boundary line between the counties of Northumberland 
and York. Our progress was slow, never over fifteen 
miles a day, for we varied the portaging, as they call it in 
that country, by fishing here and there, or by such little 
diversions as the chase of a porcupine or the inspection 
of a flock of wild ducklings, and we never failed to see 
a deer or a moose every day. 
Three days of such tramping brought us to Harry's 
home camp, which was to be our headquarters for the 
better part of our stay. This home camp, situated near 
the west end of Miramichi Lake, is ensconced in a long 
deserted lumber camp, or rather in the only remaining 
building; for the rest have fallen to ruin. It consists of 
two large log cabins, one for habitation and the other 
for storage, separated by a narrow passage, which is, 
however, roofed over, so that even a heavy fall of snow 
cannot obstruct communication. Each cabin is about 
twenty-five feet square, and they are almost wholly the 
work of the ax — the roof, the floors, even the doors and 
tables being made of planks of balsam fir hewn or split 
from the log. Here Harry has collected all the articles an 
angler or hunter can possibly need. Besides the inevitable 
ax, there are saws, hammers, tools of all sorts, a veritable 
battery of rifles and shotguns, a large number of traps 
(for Harry turns trapper in the winter months), snow^ 
shoes, sledges, blankets, a large iron cooking stove, and a 
plentiful supply of the woodsman's food staples — flour, 
pork, beans, tea and sugar. There is even a shelf loaded 
with light literature brought in by successive parties of 
sportsmen and another of medicines from the same 
source. Altogether it is the most completely appointed 
camp I have ever seen. Primarily a hunter's camp, it is 
intended for cold weather, and is perfectly adapted to this 
purpose, but in summer I prefer to sleep out in the air, 
and therefore I like some of Harry's smaller open camps 
better. For Harry is a sort of camping trust. According 
to the etiquette of New Brunswick guides, each man has a 
territory which he regards as his own, and, if he deserves 
it, this claim is respected. Harry's particular territory 
is a district about twenty miles square, within which he 
has a score of camps ranging in size from this central 
hostelry, in which a dozen men could be comfortably ac- 
commodated, to a mere open lean-to for four men. Each 
is always supplied with a few cooking utensils, some food, 
and often with blankets. If a lake or river is near, there 
is usually a canoe within easy reach. It is evident that 
much toil and no small expense have been lavished on all 
this equipment, which is so complete that, should the visit- 
ing sportsman prove unsuccessful in one locality (which 
is unlikely), or should he be of a roving disposition, he 
has but to move on to new scenes, where he will find his 
house always ready. Such is this little kingdom of four 
hundred square miles, and over all the inhabitants of its 
woods and waters Harry is undisputed lord. 
We lost no time in setting about our quest for the 
summer trout. For the summer trout cannot be taken, 
like his relative of the spring months, from any and every 
part of lake or stream. When the heat of July comes, he 
withdraws, if he is more than a fingerling, to some spot 
of coolness, and he must be trailed hither as truly as four- 
footed game is trailed on land, and the task is the more 
difficult and exciting because he leaves no hoof marks 
printed in the soft ground. But even though it was July, and 
a superheated July at that, we had some hope that a few 
of the big fellows might still be found lingering in their 
spring haunts, and so the next morning after our arrival 
at the home camp we took the large canoe and headed 
down the lake for the mouth of Pocket Lake Stream. 
Pushing out from the mouth of the little spring brook 
near camp we came suddenly upon the home of Mother 
Loon, who was engaged in keeping her eggs as warm as 
their resting place of water-soaked moss would allow. 
She was taken wholly by surprise, and witlj 9 Jocomotive- 
