Johann Heinrich Bartels (May 20, 1761 – February 1, 1850) was an Enlightenment intellectual and politician: first a senator and, from 1820, mayor of the Hanseatic city of Hamburg. In the autumn of 1785, he embarked on a journey that took him to southern Italy, from which he returned to Hamburg only in 1787. Much of his Grand Tour experience is collected in the volume Briefe über Kalabrien und Sizilien (“Letters on Calabria and Sicily”), one of the most important accounts by a German author dedicated to these regions. Bartels crossed Calabria from its northern borders to Scilla, where he arrived by boat from the north in October 1786. He left a vivid and detailed description of the city, before embarking again for Sicily.

“And from here, I send you my morning greeting.
I have returned from the cliff that provided so much inspiration to the poetic imagination of the ancients.
High above the sea rises the sublime cliff, upright, resembling the body of a human being in which the Ancients saw the image of a woman.
As the sea crashes at its feet, it has created cavities which, blending the violent roar of the wind with the crashing of the waves, produce a sound similar to a howl; hence the myth of the nymph transformed into a sea monster.
There upon the cliff I read my Homer and my Virgil, yet I could not immerse myself in those terrible, sublime descriptions: indeed, all around me there was peace and serenity; and the magnificent view of the island before me with, between us, the calm sea turned silver by the sun’s rays, awakened in my soul images of joy in which there was no place for fear.
Perhaps in the presence of the whirlpool of Charybdis I would think differently; and perhaps I would think differently as well had I not been blessed today with such a serene day. […] We hired a boat and reached Scilla, sailing along the shore close to the fearsome rocks, certainly not as Ulysses once did with his companions. They too, like us, had seen, on one side, Scylla, and on the other, Charybdis, yet rejoiced in the splendid sight of Sicily to the right.
Our gaze extended along the rocky coast of Calabria as far as Cape Cenide, a pointed promontory facing the Lighthouse of Messina.
For the small boat with which we reached Scilla in less than an hour, we paid five carlini, equal to twelve groschen.
Once again we failed to find an inn, and therefore stopped at the home of a fisherman who took care of us as best he could.
Around the cliff of Scilla, almost forming a barrier, several fishing boats had gathered.
The Rock of Scilla, which Ptolemy rightly calls a promontory, stands halfway along the line on which the town stretches, projecting toward the open sea, as if dominating from there the two terraces extending in a semicircle on either side.
The town lies partly upon these terraces and partly on the slopes of the mountains behind it. Before the great Rock of Scilla, not far away, rises a second, smaller rock against which the waves break.
Upon the Rock of Scilla once stood a temple dedicated to Minerva, and this is why some call it the Promontory of Minerva.
According to Strabo, Anaxilas had a watchtower built there against pirates.
Even today, upon that same rock, stands a Castle, now almost in ruins, preserved since Norman times, and which must once have served the same function as the tower.
The principal occupation of the inhabitants of Scilla is inevitably, given their position by the sea, fishing. Yet it does not prevent viticulture and the production of olive oil.
Silk production also represents an important source of income for the population. Yet both the wealthy and the humble prefer fishing.
Even in antiquity this region was famous for its fish, and it remains so today.
Here, as along the coasts of Sicily, people await the passage of tuna in spring, and in the Strait traps are set to catch them.
Many modern travellers have described the tuna-fishing festival, among them Hoüel. […] I greatly regretted not being able to witness this popular celebration in person, and I was all the more pleased to learn something more precise about swordfish fishing by reading Strabo’s account in Book I, a fishery whose methods have remained almost unchanged to this day. According to Strabo’s account, two boats were used, one of which was equipped with a mast upon which sat a man whose task was to spot the fish.
Once the fish was sighted emerging with its fins above the surface of the sea, the man alerted his companions, indicating how to reach it.
Immediately a second boat set off in pursuit while a man carrying a harpoon leapt onto the bow.
As soon as the fish, which meanwhile had begun to play with the shadow of the boat, came within range, the man hurled at it, wounding it, the harpoon fixed to a pole, itself attached to a rope.
In its flight the fish dragged along the harpoon and pole, and when its strength abandoned it, it was recovered by means of the rope and loaded onto the boat.
This, approximately, is Strabo’s description; and it is also the method still used today, with a small innovation that makes the operation easier. To attract and observe the fish, a felucca of a certain size carrying a mast is sent ahead, followed by two small boats. As soon as a fish is spotted, one of these boats is sent forward with a small crew and a harpooner. The instrument— a metal point fixed to a pole—has remained unchanged.
While the wounded fish flees, the rope attached to the harpoon pole is gradually released; and as soon as it becomes apparent that the fish has lost its strength, the second boat following the felucca arrives—the so-called boat of death—which pursues the fish as long as it can escape and retrieves it as soon as it dies. This type of fishing is normally practised during the months of June, July and August. My host was one of those who had made this fishery their profession: he showed me all the equipment required, as well as other tools still used for catching different kinds of fish. I greatly enjoyed observing the care with which people sought the best way to catch any kind of fish.
From their behaviour it is clear that they have reflected deeply and carried out many experiments before reaching such a degree of perfection.
And with what precision they distinguish fish that love the sun from those that prefer shade, and know how not to drive away the former and how to attract the latter with the shadow cast upon the sea’s surface by bundles of shrubs arranged upon their boats!
Likewise, they know which fish are attracted by novelty, which appear only during a certain season of the year, which move in schools, which live alone, and which can only be caught at night, and so on. To capture them more effectively, they have devised various types of nets and developed different fishing techniques, so that it may truly be said there is no fish in their sea that they do not know, nor any that they cannot catch in their nets, even were it to dwell in a swamp or in the depths of the ocean.
I would almost be inclined to say that they surpass the fishermen of Helgoland in skill, and I believe it would be most entertaining to see a fisherman from the north beside one from the south. […] The terrace that lies on both sides of the Rock of Scilla, just above the surface of the sea, and probably formed from marine sediment, is no longer covered with the usual abundance of olive trees and is otherwise open.
Its air, indeed, is the healthiest in the surrounding district; moreover, its location is the most favourable for the occupations of the people, who, if forced to live farther inland, would soon forget the art of fishing.”

Giuseppe Ribuffo