The botanist Tenore
says that firs 150 feet in height are "not difficult to find" here, and
some of the beeches, a forestal inspector assured me, attain the height
of 35 metres. They shoot up in straight silvery trunks; their roots are
often intertwined with those of the firs. The track is not level by any
means. There are torrents to be crossed; rocky ravines with splashing
waters where the sunshine pours down through a dense network of branches
upon a carpet of russet leaves and grey boulders - the envious beeches
allowing of no vegetation at their feet; occasional meadows, too, bright
with buttercups and orchids. No pines whatever grow in this forest. Yet
a few stunted ones are seen clinging to the precipices that descend into
the Coscile valley; their seeds may have been wafted across from the
Sila mountains.
In olden days all this country was full of game; bears, stags and
fallow-deer are mentioned. Only wolves and a few roe-deer are now left.
The forest is sombre, but not gloomy, and one would like to spend some
time in these wooded regions, so rare in Italy, and to study their life
and character - but how set about it? The distances are great; there are
no houses, not even a shepherd's hut or a cave; the cold at night is
severe, and even in the height of midsummer one must be prepared for
spells of mist and rain. I shall be tempted, on another occasion, to
provide myself with a tent such as is supplied to military officers.
They are light and handy, and perhaps camping out with a man-cook of the
kind that one finds in the Abruzzi provinces would be altogether the
best way of seeing the remoter parts of south and central Italy. For
decent food-supplies can generally be obtained in the smallest places;
the drawback is that nobody can cook them. Dirty food by day and dirty
beds by night will daunt the most enterprising natures in the long run.
These tracks are only traversed in summer. When I last walked through
this region - in the reverse direction, from Lagonegro over Latronico and
San Severino to Castrovillari - the ground was still covered with
stretches of snow, and many brooks were difficult to cross from the
swollen waters. This was in June. It was odd to see the beeches rising,
in full leaf, out of the deep snow.
During this afternoon ramble I often wondered what the burghers of
Taranto would think of these sylvan solitudes. Doubtless they would
share the opinion of a genteel photographer of Morano who showed me some
coloured pictures of local brides in their appropriate costumes, such as
are sent to relatives in America after weddings. He possessed a good
camera, and I asked whether he had never made any pictures of this fine
forest scenery.
