Go bouldering, find an ancient way of making wine
- Simon
- Sep 19
- 3 min read
Imagine you are out bouldering and you discover that the rocks you are scrambling over had a special value for the ancient Etruscans, thousands of years ago. The Etruscans carved out basins inside them in which they could tread their grapes and catch the precious juice
For this escape you need to transport yourself to the chestnut forests of Southern Tuscany, on the slopes and valleys around a long-silent volcano, Monte Amiata, not far from the old pilgrim's path to Rome, the Via Francigena. Walking in the woods you will come across oddly shaped boulders, remnants of volcanic rock spewed out in a former era.
And if - like me - you can't resist a bit of climbing or, in this case, bouldering, you try out some of the boulders for size. The rock is rough, trachyte, easy to grip but sharp on the hands and fingers. I cut myself on one, the blood oozing onto my jeans.
You see that the boulders are more than oddly shaped. They are, in places, carved. They have wide basins, usually at different levels, with channels or spouts between them. You realise that you are looking at something fashioned in a distant period, clearly designed for a liquid and most likely - you learn - for making wine.
There are quite of few of the stones here. People in the area call them pestarole. Experts have puzzled over their purpose because they were made far back in time and very little other evidence survives around them. Most likely they were used by Etruscans, who lived in the area two and a half thousand years ago, before the Romans marched in.
But wine-making has become the favoured theory. You can imagine people standing in the upper basin, treading enthusiastically, pushing the juice through into the lower basins, then carrying the precious liquid away for fermentation in bowls or amphorae.
There are links below to some articles about the pestarole and how one landowner has been making wine in the old Etrsuscan way.
Following the boulders leads you to bigger finds. At the top of a forested hill, ambling between chestnuts that are nearly ready for harvest, with old oaks and pines dotted around as well, you push aside a branch and see a much larger array of giant stones. They stand in a group cresting the rise and offering a view across the valleys around Seggiano, a view that is only available if you can climb a stone and lift yourself above the canopy of trees.
The biggest is il Sasso del Corvo, the Stone of the Crow. Someone has been here and drilled in a couple of lines of bolts for a series of straightforward climbing routes. You'll wish you had brought a rope and a harness, and better shoes. I didn't. I missed out.
I followed several routes up a medium-sized boulder, shaped like a pyramid, then shimmied up an easy rock beside the Crow. And from there I had the view.
On the descent you are crunching old chestnut spines and pine needles beneath your shoes. There are mushrooms all around. Russula and Boletus but no Porcini that I can see - you might be luckier. It's the season, after all.
I carry Ottie, the Border Terrier. She's got a spine in her paw. The forest floor is spiky if you don't have shoes.
Some people dream of living in a place surrounded by boulders of character - sloping, pitted, overhanging, grey and white and dark, lichen-covered, built in layers like a stack of sandwiches. You can find them all here. Kindly rocks surround your house. Some support the structure, some sit and guard it from the bank above. One is shaded by a huge fig tree, which is heavy with fruit. You climb the boulder to reach the highest figs. You look for the ones already crawling with insects, the sweetest. I am calling it the Fig Boulder.
So here is an unexpected combination: Etruscan-carved wine rocks and gentle bouldering. It's a happy one, though.
Comments