Wide and trackless, whole mountains are covered by these splendid forests, in many of which the sound of the hatchet has never been heard, nor the foot of man passed, but where the birds, the snakes, and the insects live and die unmolested. The trees which compose them are often magnificent, and consist of larches, pines, firs, beeches, and chestnuts, with a mixture of other kinds.
The Larriccio pine, which sometimes attains a height of two hundred feet, almost without branches, but with a thick leafy tuft at the summit of the long straight stem, is a peculiar beauty of Corsica, and, I believe, almost unknown elsewhere.
The chief forests in the island are those of Sorba and Vizzavona in the centre, Aitone and Valdoniello in the north, and Cagna and Bavella in the south. Cagna and Valdoniello are the largest, stretching over miles of hill and dale, and fighting with the snow for the rocky ledges on the mountain crests.
Vizzavona, Valdoniello, and Bavella are almost equally beautiful, and Sorba not much behind them; but perhaps the views on each side of the Bocca di Bavella, or Bavella Pass, are the finest in Corsica.
Half of the forest of Vizzavona consists of beeches, and the other half of pines; but there are also a good many chestnuts, which were not yet in leaf.
Red and brown branches mixed with the soft young green of the beeches, and the darker hue of the pines, as we mounted the steep ascent under a thick avenue; through which, on the descending side, came glimpses of the dazzling snow of Monte Rotondo, rising up from beneath us to a giddy height in the cloudy sky.
Countless bags of caterpillars hung from every tree, and from the branches above our heads. These bags were some of them a foot long, and had the appearance of white muslin. It seemed as if it was Christmas Day in the forest, and a quantity of nomad cooks had hung out their pudding bags upon the boughs. After a while, snow patches began to show, and, when at last we reached the summit, thick snow lay all around us.
A young Corsican who sat on the box before us was friendly and communicative, and, a little while before reaching the pass, pointed out to us a queer little isolated fort, standing on a lonely hill-top just above the forest; which, as he informed us, with a twinkle of his eye, was built to defend the pass "from the English invader."
Stone shanties, with log or pebble roofs, stood here and there along the steep roadside—mere hovels, built for the accommodation of the road-menders, or cantonniers; and, except the little grey fort on its exposed hill, were the only signs of human life, past or present, in the lonely forest.
We paused for a few minutes on the top of the pass to let the horses regain their breath, to look to the harness for the long steep descent, and probably also for the conductor to refresh himself with another dose of "water" at the miserable little inn on the plateau.