The sight of a mountain
pine-forest in Cyprus would convey the impression that an enemy who had
conquered the country had determined to utterly destroy it, even to the
primaeval forests; he had therefore felled, and left to rot, the greater
portion of the trees; but finding the labour beyond his means, he had
contented himself with barking, ringing, and hacking at the base of the
remainder, to ensure their ultimate destruction.
The extreme heights of Troodos, shoulders and head, are about 6300 feet
above the sea, from which altitude the pines and cypress descend to
within 1500 feet of the level. There are rough native mule-paths
throughout the mountains, and the sure-footed animals will carry a man
with ease where walking would be most fatiguing, owing to the loose
rocks and smaller stones, which cover every inch of the surface. I have
walked and ridden over the greater portion, but in all cases I have been
overcome with anger and dismay at the terrible exhibition of wanton and
unwarrantable desolation. If a hurricane had passed over the country and
torn up by the roots nine trees out of every ten that composed the
forest, the destruction would be nothing compared to that of the native
Cypriote, who mutilates those which he has not felled; the wind would
only upturn, but would spare those whose strength had resisted the
attack. Magnificent trees lie rotting upon the ground in thousands upon
thousands, untouched since the hour when they fell before the most
scientifically applied axe.
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