102 
FOREST AND STREAM: 
[Aug. t, 1963. 
Into Val del Bove. 
The folloAving paper is the conclusion of the narrative, of which 
the first part was given in our issue of July 25. It is from the 
pen of Mai. Albert Woodcock, at the time United States Consul, 
Catania. This relation of Maj. Woodcock's ascent of Mount 
^tna was given in a series of letters to his son, Dr, A. J. Wood- 
cock, Riverside Farm, Byron, 111., who has most courteously 
edited them for publication in Forest and Stream. 
But two of our party responded to reveille, Mr. Aelig 
and myself. The order was: 
"All who wish to ascend the cone to see sun-nse, 
fall into line." Mr. Aelig, a native of "the Alps, who 
had climbed the highest peaks of Switzerland, the ath- 
lete of our party, fell into the line with fourteen others 
who' had just arrived from Catania. 
They filed away m their upward march. I seated 
myself by a snow pile and luxuriated in munching this 
delicious article tmknown to Catania, unless brought 
down from ^tna on the backs of mules. I never saw 
the heavens so bright and beautiful but once before, 
and that was when I visited ^tna in 1884. I can 
never forget that scene. Very many starry clusters 
were visible that cannot be seen in the lower 
altitude. The constellations seemed larger, nearer, 
and glowed with a richer light. The "Milky 
Way" was broader; its effulgence more bril- 
liant; and it seemed a great highway of bright glory 
stretching across the heavens, such as angels may fre- 
quent in their visitations to earth. Meteors shot in 
fiery curves through the sky. The myriads of stars 
that spangled the heavens mingled their sparkling radi- 
ance with that of the moon, and the great cone and 
its slopes were bathed in a soft, silvered light almost 
as bright as daylight. Shakespeare says there are ser- 
mons in stones' Certainly there was a most eloquent 
sermon in that beautiful starry canopy. Brydone ac- 
counts for this unusual brilliancy of the heavens as 
seen from Mount yEtna by saying: 
"Wc had now passed through over 12,000 feet of gas 
vapor that blunts and confuses every ray before it 
reaches the surface of the earth." 
I returned to the observatory, and to bed for another 
hour's rest, when we all arose and went out to see the 
sun rise from the Torre del Filosifo (Tower of the 
Philosopher). This tower is now in ruins; nothing 
remaining but its foundation, which is mostly com- 
posed of ancient bricks like those in the walls of the 
Greek theatre of Taormina. This tower is said to 
have been erected many centuries before Christ by 
Empidocles of Agrigentium (now Girgenti), who was 
a poet and philosopher. He was .doubtless a crank, 
for he afterwards threw himself into the burning crater, 
hoping thus to convince the people that he was a god. 
The mountain ejected one of his bronze sandals, 
showing to the people that he was but mortal like 
themselves. Horace speaks of him in his "Ars Po- 
etica." The tower was probably built by the Roman 
Emperor Hadrian about A. D. 120, from which to wit- 
ness sunrise. 
Soft twilight was stealing upon us, gradually grow- 
ing brighter. The Calabrian peaks emerged from the 
great sea below us, and seemed to be almost beneath 
our feet. Some flashes of red streaked upward from 
behind the eastern crests. The sea was of a dark gray, 
over which were rolling fleecy vapors. Soon the red 
streaks upon the sky flashed into colors of gold, the 
sea changing to a purple. As the sun showed its upper 
rim above a prominent peak, the sea changed from 
rose to ultramarine, and the vapors were driven away. 
We returned his glorious smile and were happy, for we 
were bathed in sunlight. The valleys away below us 
were in dark shade, but the peaks above them were 
bright with the rays of the sun. Mr. x^elig joined us 
radiant with pleasure at having seen sunrise from the 
top of the great cone. We took a hasty lunch, pre- 
paratory to our descent into Val del Bove. Our blank- 
ets, overcoats and everything but our rations were sent 
back with the mules to Nicolosi. When in Nicolosi 
we had engaged mules and drivers to enter the valley 
at its eastern outlet by way of Zafifarano and meet us 
at the foot of the great descent. With our two guides, 
Antonio and Vinccnzo, we set out. We passed the 
ruined tower of Empidocia and soon came to a rocky 
crest overlooking the valley. Here Ave seated ourselves 
and passed a half hour in viewing the wonderful scen- 
ery outstretched . below us. We looked down upon 
a great black gulf of horrid desolation cut out from 
the side of Mount j^^tna. It is walled in by mountains 
on the north, south and west. These rise almost per- 
pendicular into the heavens from 2,000 to 4,000 feet. 
On the west side the valley has almost eaten its way 
into the fiery heart of the monster volcano. It sloped 
to the east opening out towards the sea. The north 
wall, or mountain chain, is called Serra del le Concaz- 
zio; the south, Serra del le Soluzio, which terminates 
at the west in the lofty peak, Mount Agnuolo. The 
great crater of ^tna forms the west wall. 
Val del Bove is five miles in width. This great 
black chasm is sufficiently large to hold Mt. Vesuvius 
within its embrace, in which that volcano would appear 
insignificant by the side of its great compeer. Below 
us, seemingly beneath our feet, was a chain of lofty 
rocks called Serra Gianicolo, that curved around to the 
southeast. This rocky chain with the western part of 
the Solfizio Mountains encloses a region called Tri- 
foglietto. According to Sir Charles Lyell and other 
eminent geologists this mountain basis was formerly 
a great crater of eruption like that of Mount jSltna. 
Its great throat is now filled up to the very lips of its 
distended mouth with volcanic sand, scoria and lava 
bowlders. 
About half way down the valley, jutting out from 
the northern wall, towers upward like a great pinnacle 
Rocca Capra (Goat Rock). A little to the west and 
south of Capra looms upward into the sky a great 
solitary rock called Masara. To the south of Masara 
is a lofty mountain peak calk4 Finochio Superiore. 
Directly west of this is anotlier and smaller crest 
warned Finochio Inferiore. Around the rocky base df 
these towering peaks the fiery lava 'had swept in riy,&rs 
and congregated into billowy crests of stone. 
A little further down the valley and ne^r the south 
wall was visible the rocky brow of Mou^ijit Callana.5«r 
Below us a short distaiTce northeast of the., GianicolQ,.' 
rocks were two large craters side by side, thrown up 
in 1852. The large and easterly one is called Cente- 
noria. From our high perch we looked down into the 
great black throats of these two craters, lit past ages 
trees grew in this valley. Vegetation wove its carpets 
of green upon its inclined slopes. It was the great 
pasture field of herds of cattle, hence its name Val del 
Bove (Valley of the Oxen). ■ Still, from the earliest 
records we have of this valley, serpentine courses of 
lava were visible wending their way through it. When 
Sir Charles Lyell first visited the valley in 1828 trees 
were still scattered through it with here and there 
an oasis of beautiful verdure breaking in upon its ter- 
rible sterility. The eruption of 1852, one of the great- 
est that history records, changed all this. The two 
craters mentioned above threw out a sea of lava that 
rolled over the valley, destroying every tree, and every 
green thing and converting it perfectly into a scene of 
indescribable horror. 
Simond says: 
"It is a hideous place like a pit in Dante's hell, dis- 
used for some unexplained reason and untenanted by 
friends." As we looked down upon it, it resembled a 
great sea of storm-tossed billows with curling crests, 
suddenly, as if by magic, turned to. lifeless stone. Sir 
Charles Lyell visited the valley six j'ears after the 
great eruption of 1852. He says, "The stern and severe 
grandeur of the scenery is not such as would be se- 
lected by a poet for a vale of enchantment." The char- 
acter of the same would accord far better with Milton's 
picture of the infernal world; and if we imagine our- 
selves to behold in motion, in the darkness of night, 
one of these fiery currents which have so often trav- 
ersed the valley we may recall: 
"Our dreary plain, forlorn and wild. 
The seat of desolation, void of light. 
Save what the glimmering of these vivid flames 
Casts pale and dreadful." 
The fearful descent was before us, 4,000 feet down- 
ward, with a very steep decline. The guides said they 
had never known of a woman's essaying the descent. 
Prof. Silvestri told me the same, saying it would be 
very difficult for a lady. The order came to descend. 
The eye of our lady was resolute and she seemed full 
of confidence and cool courage. The guides lifted her 
down a great precipitous rock, we scrambling after as 
best we could. With a guide on either side she led the 
van in the perilous descent, the rest -of us like bold 
squires following in the rear, save our Alps friend, 
Aelig, who shot off at a tangent far away in advance. 
A loose bowlder touched with the foot would start 
downward, at first slowly and then instantly increasing 
its speed until, bounding and thundering with fury, it 
disappeared into the dark regions below. The decliv- 
ity is composed of tufa rock, its surface being slightly 
sprinkled with volcanic sand, making it difficult to get 
a foothold. My Italian friend, Signori Allegro, who 
made the descent a few days ago, broke his alpenstock, 
fell, and commenced to roll downward. Had it not 
been for the agility of his guides he must have been 
dashed in pieces on the rocks below. He told me that 
when he was rolling downward he suffered in mind 
all of the agonies of a fearful death. About half way 
down we came to the first rock of the Gianida range 
called Teatro Piccolo (Little Theatre), There, pant- 
ing and blowing wc were glad to rest in a shallow 
cave or opening protected from the sun. 
After refreshing ourselves with cold coffee, we again 
set out. We found the lower half of the declivity less 
steep and more thickly imbedded with volcanic sand. 
We had a better foothold, and found the descent less 
fatiguing. We finally reached that part of the Serra 
Gianicolo, called Teatro Grande (Great Theatre), a 
stupendous pile of stately basalt formation, its lofty 
summit being crowned with tufa. It is rectangular in 
shape. Its strata are horizontal, and it resembled a 
huge pile of finely split cord-wood. The Americans 
named it the "Cord-wood Pile." High up on the side 
of the south range, overlooking the ancient crater of 
Trifoglietto, a cluster of gracefully formed pinnacles 
shot upward into the sky. Together they resembled a 
great ancient castle with turrets, and walls, and donjon- 
keep. This we named the castle. The mountains that 
rim the valley are made strikingly picturesque by im- 
mense vertical ridges of dolorite and green stone, that 
stand out in bold relief like great ribs from their per- 
pendicular sides. Two of these vertical ridges or walls, 
parallel and near to each other, reminded us Americans 
of the Devil's Slide in Echo Canyon; though they are 
much larger and grander, we, of course, called them 
the Devil's Slide. 
On reaching the bottom of the valley we expected to 
find our mules awaiting us; but they were not there. 
We scanned the black dreary waste with our glasses. 
They were not to be seen. We hallooed, but no re- 
sponse came back save the echoes awakened from the 
lofty rocks which seemed to mock us in our distress. 
Our coffee and water were gone. We had wine, but 
this is no substitute for nature's beverage of pure 
sparkling cold water. We were weary. We were 
thirsty. What were we to do? We could not sit in 
this horrible pit waiting for mules that might never 
come. Far distant to the south, across an arm of the 
lava sea, we saw some green trees high up on a gentle 
declivity of the mountain. We resolved to make for 
this bright oasis. Miss Jones led the way, a trusty 
guide on either side. We ascended the lava bad. It 
was cruel, wicked and hideous in its black cortortions. 
The lava in places, when hot, had twisted itself into the 
forms of great serpents, and then congealed to stone. 
Sharp, jagged points projected upwards assuming fan^ 
tastic shapes not unlike animals or fiends as sketched 
by Dore. We would climb one great billow, surmount 
its ragged crest, then descend into the hollow; then 
mount another; and thus we crawled along like snails 
in our weary gqyrse, There wa§ tio mysic q{ purling 
streams, or babbling brooks to cheer us and give us 
hope. There \vere no songs of birds; no sharp treble 
of\iil"*fects, npt even the chirp'Of a cricket, but every- 
thing was black, silent, stone-dead. Our hands were 
cut, our clothes, torn, and our feet became sore. Our 
herd^ine's arms 'were black and blue where the guides 
grasped them in the descent. Some of our party began 
to murmur, but not a word of complaint escaped from 
her lips. I .ha.d planned the expedition and suffered 
..remorse for leading my friends into this horrible valley 
,td> wander like condemned spirits in purgatory. 
yVfter toiling for a couple of hours in the midst of 
frightful chaos we reached the south shore of the lava 
sea. Three wolfish looking dogs dashed forward and 
with loud baying disputed our further passage. Their 
loud barking and hostile attitude gave us pleasure, for 
we knew their master must be near. Pie soon ap- 
peared from behind a rock, stormed off the dogs, and 
with looks of the utmost astonishment gave us a wel- 
come. He was a shepherd, and a fine type of' the 
Sicilian peasant. Plis long knit cap of blue hung 
downward, like a bag, from his head to his waist, ter- 
minating in a tassel. Pie wore knee breeches with 
stockings, a short jacket, and sandals of raw cowhide 
on his feet. Pie gave his name as Pasquale Cavallaro. 
Plis sheep and goats were reclining in the shade of 
the beech trees on the mountain side, the beautiful 
oasis we had seen in the distance. Among the trees 
a spring of pure cold water bubbled upward, but its 
limpid stream was licked up by the ascid soil within a 
few feet of its source. Pasquale conducted us to his 
hut. It was roughly built of lava rocks, circular in 
form, and surmounted by a conical roof of thatched 
straw. Inside was a great open-mouthed fireplace. In 
front he had erected a shade with boughs cut from the 
beech trees, of which the leaves were still green. Be- 
neath this bower we seated ourselves upon lava boul- 
ders, cushioned w-ith goat skins. Limpid water cold 
from the springs slaked our thirst. An abundant re- 
past spread beneath the leafy canopy appeased our 
famishing hunger. At once we were in good humor 
and happy. 
We were seated upon the southern rim of the ancient 
crater of Trifoglietto. A great mountain peak rose 
perpendicularly 4,000 feet into the heavens above us. 
Upon its crest was a shepherd looking down upon the 
convivial feast below. At the base of the range a 
species of sorrel grows, and broom is sparsely scat- 
tered about. Pasquale's sheep and goats picked their 
scanty hving from this vegetation. The Messina Con- 
sul had lost the soles of his shoes. The soles of mine 
were going "flippity flap" at every step and I was 
obliged to cut them off. Our heroine's little shoes 
were torn into fragments and looked like tufts of 
feathers, but what cared we now, rested and refreshed 
as we were, with the long-looked-for mules approach- 
ing in the distance? Our guides had found them a 
mile or two dowm the valley behind some great lava 
billows, where they had ben awaiting us since early 
morning. Pasquale said he had never before seen 
foresteri (foreigners) in the valley, hence his great sur- 
prise. We made his heart glad with a few pieces of 
silver. We then mounted and were away, Pasquale 
saj'ing: "I kiss the hands of the lady and the gentle- 
men. God bless your worships." 
Our rough, stony bridle path wound along beneath 
the overhanging cliffs of Solfizio. We finally reached 
Mount Callana, flanking its base to the south. There 
we made a steep descent over great beetling rocks into 
the Callana valley below. To our right towered above 
us an immense lava cascade 400 feet in height. In 
the eruption of 1852 the lava poured over it in fiery 
sheets. When the eruption ceased the lava of the fall 
cooled and hardened to stone. The cascade and its 
lava sheets are as perfect as if carved out of the igne- 
ous rock by sculptors. From the valley of Callana our 
way wound through the Porteli, the east gateway (or 
e.xit) of the great valley, and we were soon among 
fruit orchards jnd vineyards. A sparkling stream, fed 
by the snow above, came foaming and purling in an 
open aqueduct, making joyous music in its course. We 
soon entered Zaffarano, a town of some 4,000 people, 
where we found our carriage from Catania awaiting us. 
We proceeded to the beautiful villa of Marana. The 
gate was flung open to us by the servants and we had 
a warm welcome into this hospitable domain. This 
villa is owned by Signori Nunrio Consoli Marano, a 
wealthy merchant of Catania. 
Signori Marano is an ardent admirer of our great 
republic. He had placed his villa at our disposal. It 
is one of the most beautiful and lovely of all Sicily. 
A fountain was playing in its court. A great flower 
garden surrounded it. Myriads of flowers of every 
hue, from the pearly white to the deepest blush of pink 
and rose, were in bloom. Their sweet fragrance per- 
fumed the air. Palm and other semi-tropical trees 
waved luxuriantly their broad leaves. An artificial 
grotto, embowered in ferns, was mirroring itself in a 
crystal lakelet below. Golden pheasants, with their 
beautiful plumage, added to the richness of the scene. 
/Etna, towering above us, was crowned by a white 
flossy cloud. Thus we had emerged from "Inferno" 
into "Paradise." Blackened, begrimed like chimney 
sweeps, we retired to the bath in our rooms. We came 
out clean and refreshed. Miss Jones appeared at the 
head of our dinner table entirely transformed. She 
did not in the least resemble our heroine of ^tna and 
Val del Bove. The Goddess of Liberty could not have 
presided with more grace than she did at our festal 
board. 
In the beautiful parlor of the villa, we Americans 
were gladdened by a fine picture upon the wall of the 
President of the United States, and by a splendid pho- 
tograph of General Grant in uniform. 
Zaffarano, as above written, is a village of over 4,000 
inhabitants. Its altitude above the sea is 1,748 feet. 
It has many times been shaken to the ground by earth- 
quakes. Lava fields almost surround it. The views 
from it of Mount yEtna and the Solfizzio Mountains 
are very fine and remind one of the scenery of the 
Alps.. An earthquake a few weeks before had shaken- 
the town. One of its churches was badly injured. We 
saw a large number of women carrying sand and stone 
in their aprgn? tQ th^ wQrkTOW, Thus they manifested 
