The expedition has left a legacy for me. In things like sleep habits. The best one is that I lost at least a stone in weight. That’s dead weight I put on after having COVID.
Tendonitis: this came on during the last few days. It doesn’t affect cycling so it may not actually be tendonitis but bursitis (supporting ligaments around the heel). I know from previously having it that healing takes a very long time, probably over a year. Currently I’m I’m often limping. This has been my concern as I was just getting into running.
Sleep habits: waking for long periods in the night.
Fitness: this is the best one, I’m on full form. Cycling is great, speedy and much fun. I had specific muscular strains during the trip. Two I remember most – around my hip during days 4 to 6, and between shoulders during the middle week. The latter was most noticeable on descents, maybe from the heavy pack and looking down for footing at the same time.
A long slog through the forest low route. There were constant obstacles like fallen trees and streams to negotiate. I walked with the Czech women to begin with but they were faster and wanted the high variant route. There were Robles of thunder and long spells of light rain, so I decided against that.
I was so desperately tired on getting to the village. The last bit was a steep climb and some light scrambling , which I wasn’t in the mood for. Soon, on the col, there were signs of civilization, signposts and maintained land. I padded onto the road and looked for anywhere open.
There was a ‘refuge’, more a restaurant really. So I walked up and asked some smokers whether they spoke English. One guy did , really well. He offered a dorm, a meal and breakfast for €42. Amazing, I was delighted and relieved. The food portion was large as was was my appetite. I was given a starter, aain and a cheese board to finish (much of which became my picnic for tomorrow).
Broadly speaking, this was a ridge walk. I. Detail, the route regularly swapped sides and sometimes crested the apex of the ridge while the direction remained fairly straight.
I found myself walking with a very young solo Czech girl. She was very pleasant and seed contented to travel with somebody. My pack was heavier than usual, possibly 20kg. This slowed me down considerably, especially on climbs. Worse, water was difficult to find.
Then the refuge came into view after a sharp climb. This was a hot day too. The refuge guardiene was very friendly, I checked in and he pointed out the shop. That container was a cornucopia. I bought cheese.
Usciolo is a refuge nestling between rocks and the tent clearings were widely scattered between large boulders. I got myself a decent patch and set up. Buying a meal in the Bergerie would be a bad idea because I needed to eat some of the heavier food from my pack. Whole preparing it, I got chatting to a woman from a small party who were heading north. She too was Czech (as were her companions). Her husband had worked in the Lake District and his English was also very good. I sat with them to eat which was very pleasant.
Hit a problem. I felt I’ll in the night as though something I’d neaten or drank. That’s the polite was of saying repeated visits to the toilets. If it doesn’t last long, it’s something eaten. If it persisted, I’ll camp at Col de Verdi. If it clears, them go on another couple of hours to Refuge de Prati.
Col de Verdi is at the end of a forest descent stage. The route passed through forest, then a hotter clearing with an appealing fromage Bergerie and a river bridge over swimmable water. Signs of civilization appeared with day walkers and a car-park (with useful signposts). Soon I was at the refuge only to find the German couple Ellie and David drinking coffee. They were in good spirits and set off before me.
After tanking up at the spring by the road, the forest climb was very steep. Notice a pattern? An hour or two up to a lovely col (Boccu d’Oro) and soon – Prati in cooler air that somehow reminded me of UK hiking. The cloud was building on the west side of the ridge (as it often does). Though dense in parts, it wasn’t in a story mood. Soon, Prati was in easy sight
Ruined tents at Prati.
When I got there, I found Roland, the ESA guy and lots of ruined tents. He had a dorm booked. Some tents were occupied which must have been sheltered by low shrubs. It is quite a scattered refuge with a few toilet blocks way downhill. In the main building, I found a nice friendly Berger who I paid for the camping and bought some food. I elected to have pizza for supper but didn’t need any breakfast.
Start in the bunkhouse at Vizz’. The Germans asked if I slept well, I smirked saying “somebody slept well”. There was a middle-aged guy who snored right from the start, all night. I normally sleep well in the first half of the night, then lightly later. This guy changed all that. To be honest, I normally sleep better in my tent. Anyway, I waited for a late start while the last of the rain ran out. There was another storm overnight, and we saw and heard it. But sheltered, we felt safe.
I set off at 10am and climbed up through the forest. Ok, so I missed a turn and had to return but it wasn’t far. I was ‘told’ by a young French woman (they do this quite readily). I thanked them.
Eventually, I got out of the trees and saw Roland. He’s a guy who works for ESA, the European Space Agency making chips for satellites. He’s an interesting guy who seed quite quiet at first but was very cheerful after a few days. He was sitting at a spring so I sat with him for a while as I drank the most delicious water.
Briefly, I heard English voices, a couple were making their way up to the Bocca. We chatted for a bit, they were from London.
The Bocca was a lovely place with suit stones that forms a nice armchair. I must have sat there for well over an hour, fixing my sandwiches and drawing. Lovely. It wasn’t a long day and not too hot so I could afford to.
From Bocca Palmente (1670m) east
I could see the med and a harbour (that would be visible for the next few days). A lovely, peaceful, contemplative time.
The last part of the trail.leading up to Capanelle was fiercely steep but at least I had and easy approach leaving enough energy for it.
The refuge was an independent site associated with a ski resort. I felt a but deflated by it to be honest. It didn’t have the vibe of the others being more like Asco. It was cheaper though (€8 for camping) and I got a decent pizza for supper. The French couple were there doing the same thing. The Germans didn’t turn up until late, they’d need advised to hold on for the bad weather to finish. There was no need really.
The Cumbrian family set off a good hour before me. I was on-time though. Once ready, off I went onto the col (Boccu). Once on the Boccu, we go south passed trees onto a ridge. This is where the thunder developeda. I was cautious but several passed me more boldly. I asked “is it safe?” To a few who went by. “we’re going to see what it’s like and maybe come back” said one group. Another replied with “it’s a Corsica tradition” (that didn’t impress me). I remained hesitant.
Before we set off, little did we know….
Then the situation changed rapidly. Several groundstrikes hit summits across the valley very quickly. Immediately afterwards, it grew darker and the wind picked up. There were deep roars followed by strong gusts that smelt different. The air was different as the mood changed. Next came two merged groups descending quickly. I was back at the trees by now wriggling into my raincoat. They passed and a young French woman said “it’s too dangerous” and a guy – ” get away from the trees”. I was moving now. They said “don’t use your sticks” and “switch off your phone”!
journal sketch; getting down.
I did both, and walked down crouched with my shortened poles held horizontally. Now, the sky turned blacker and angrier. It’s getting serious. The sky is very angry. It’s 8 and it’s as dark as 10pm. Those gusts were full strength pulling my rucksack over to the right. Rain beat down making the rocks you could trip harder to see. Against a blackened background, white tattered clouds raced upwards over the col just as I got off the crest of the col.
Journal sketch; off the ridge.
I got onto a track and found myself with a French guy (Paul). He shouted over the fury – “we stick together”. We both had.to cower to grab a rock each time the 2 second warning roared. That’s the time between the sound and the full blast would hit. The track was a river by now, overtopping our boots. Eventually, the hut was visible. Anotjer guy came out from underneath and shouted “give me your bag”! I wrestled it off and passed it as I dropped off my poles. Next I was under the refuge with about 10 others.
There was a wooden overhang above us as we sat on the ground. At least we were sheltered. Water ran in streams between the planks as I sat. One of the women told me to turn over my bag. It had the rain cover, but true – the water was pouring straight onto the back. I pulled over my pack to put on a down jacket and turned it rain cover upwards.
Then I sat and looked. Ten of us, all looking out. All shocked but the sky calming. I said, somewhat overcome “I’m having the time of my life“. One guy ventured out to check the building to see if it was really locked. It’s open! Quickly we all shuffled round the back and went inside. When I got in, most were stripping off to hang up clothes to dry. There were bunks in the darkness but I found a light.
Sheltering in the Refuge. Something strange happened. Some had maps spread out on the table, some were drying clothes, otyher stended to the log burner and I was writing in my journal. Once sentence was not completed. There was a loud thumping bang, the door blew open on the stove and the room was filled with soot. We all dashed outside onto the balcony. It smelt of propane. There was no flash as the propane didn’t ignite. Inside there were pieces of metal is the tubes from the flue and the rains of a camping gas can. It was misshapen with the base blown off. You can see it in the photo).
‘The bomb’
In the Bergerie, most of us bought coffee. The sun came out and we had a plan. Rumours were that another storm would hit in the afternoon. We had a low level route, mostly in forest. Some were worried about falling trees but I thought it unlikely.
This day saw the biggest climb and the biggest thrills.
Before I reached the col, those heading north were enthusing about how beautiful it is. The long long climb was about to end there and the vista that lay before sent shivers. I don’t mind admitting how much I was moved by this. I stayed over an hour eating cheese sandwiches and taking it in. Down below echoes of voices rose up. You can just see tiny people between the two lakes. They’ve walked up the Restonica valley (about 2 hours below). There is a route up here, (take note for future trips).
Monday 15th August.Rain to start, sometimes heavy. Cleared later.
Start out at 07.30, despite the rain and see how it goes. It’s a very long day to start, but I’m fresh. A quick coffee at the campsite to start and the owner shrugged on looking at the rain. I said “cest la vie”. The rain wasn’t to last and eventually I gained the footbridge opposite a spring.
What is that cow doing? This is an odd one. I xe across a cow on the track engrossed in some bones. It seemed to be playing with a scapula. A big one, probably from a cow. What was it doing? It nuzzled it and turned it over. I had a few ideas, maybe it’s using it like a salthlick, or is it more like visiting a dead relative, like elephant’s graveyards?
Bridge leading to the Mare-mare route I needed to return to the GR20.
Refuge de Sega. This is a nice refuge, it serves Mare-á-mare Nord and some other trails. I had a lovely omelette which was oozing cheese. A good choice. I still had quite a way to walk but the scenery changes from forest soon to something more open.
Bolt action rifles. After Sega, I came across a much needed spring. A chance to sit and drink. Then 2 french guys walked past with a couple of dogs.
Travel day 1; Manchester airport to Geneva to Bastia. If all goes to well, I will camp near Bastia, Camping D’espiranza. I’ve been there before, it’s few km from the airport. Currently, by bag weighs a little under 15kg not counting hand luggage. All up, 20kg max is the aim.
On bag check-in, I was told to get the rucksack wrapped so it would be safe. Then have it weighed, result – it’s a kilo overweight now. Nobody has asked for an additional payment though.
From Geneva, we flew over Mont Blanc in the evening light.
Travel day 2: get to Corté. The idea is to get onto Mare à Mare Nord and walk walk up to Manganu on the GR20. Bastia to Corte is a bit uncertain, but last time, I hitched and it worked with a very short wait. Once there, get provisions at the supermarket. There is Bergerie de Sega half way up for a rest (4 hours). I expect a 9 hour walk, all with steady ascent.
Lucciana Cathedral on my journey to Corte early morning.
Later: I got there simply by using the train from Casamozza. This morning I woke before dawn and set off on foot to the station. it’s all gone well so far. I’m worried about the charge on my phone though.
Micycle 