I apologise for this being so late. When I got back from this hike, I aimed to get it up and written in a month. Work intensified though, so that self-imposed deadline turned into Christmas, then New Year… And now it is the middle of January and we’re in the New Year and I have finally managed to get this published. Still, it’s a start. The second half is written actually, just need to upload the hundred photos or so, and this takes the most time.

Hope everyone has had a good start to 2025! I think year is going to be fantastic personally, I am looking forward to it for sure!


Day 0 | Friday 27/09/24 | 0km | 0m Altitude | Preface

Man, this is gonna be so good. But also, long. Eek, sorry. So, I guess, sit down, grab a cuppa, wrap up in some blankets and just enjoy this little monologue. Dip in and out of it if you wish, that’s what I would do at least.

Earlier this year (2024), Reid had messaged Rob and me asking if we fancied doing something bigger whilst he was in Europe. He was extending his stay to two months, and so would be free from the end of September for some more hiking and exploring. Initially, we only had the weekend-long Tour du Ruan as a plan after all. We threw around some ideas before eventually settling on the GR20. This is touted as being the ‘hardest hike in Europe’, and so naturally we thought ‘oh it can’t be thaaat difficult…’

On top of that, I had promised my sister several years ago that we would do the GR20 together one day. Now with her having finished university (congratulations once again) and maybe about to move abroad (join the club), this may be one of the last serious chances we would have for a number of years. Therefore, I invited her along after double checking with Rob and Reid that that was cool. We had our party, the four of us. Lessgo!

I booked two weeks off work and organised for one of my colleagues to cover my teaching duties whilst I was away. First proper holiday since starting work, by the way! I finished work at 17:00 on the Friday 27th and I hustled home to start packing. Because, you know me, I had not physically done it. I was packed in my head and knew where everything was, it was just a process of actually doing it now… Eventually, I left the house, pumped up. Our flights were from Paris Orly early on Saturday morning. Therefore, I had booked the last TGV train going from Lausanne Gare – Paris Gare du Lyon on Friday evening with the plan to stay at the airport overnight.

As I was halfway to the station, I realised to my absolute horror that I had forgotten my spoon. My spoon! It was a modern-day tragedy, I swear. Probably why I should have packed earlier, as a point. I had a chance to turn around and run home to get it, but before I did so, I double checked my train and for the second time in about thirty seconds, I had a heart attack. My train was cancelled. Or, at least, it was now leaving from Geneva, not Lausanne. Honestly, my poor heart. Therefore, I had to get a local Swiss train (RE33 for the win) to Geneva before I had a twelve-minute changeover to catch the long-distance train. Plenty of time!… Right? Right!?

Well, it all worked out in the end, I arrived safe and sound into Geneva (after listening and laughing at posh English school girls gossiping about boys enroute), got some croissants for dinner, and boarded the TGV to Paris. The TGV is well nice by the way, double-decker. Yeah. I snoozed. Some mad lad opposite me opened a can of ravioli and started eating it raw. Respect.

I arrived into Paris and caught the metro all the way out to Orly. It was stuffed full when I arrived, but it slowly emptied as it went down the line, people finishing their working weeks and getting home. It was just me and some other guy when we pulled into the last stop, the airport. A fifteen-minute stomp, and I was soon at the room Reid and I had booked. Nice! There were some armed guards just down the hall from us which was interesting. Obviously looking after a person of interest. Didn’t bother us though, we pretty much got into the room and fell asleep within minutes. We needed it, tomorrow was going to be the start of the GR20!

Day 1 | Saturday 28/09/24 | 11km | 1650m | Calvi – Ortu di u Piobbu

Reid and I were up at 05:50 and were out of our room fifteen minutes later. We walked to our terminal with our packs on our backs, intending to meet Rob at check-in. He had caught an overnight bus from Berlin to Paris which had arrived at some incredibly early time in the morning into the centre of Paris before he had also made his way to the Orly, spending a couple hours sleeping on the floor of the airport. Absolute legend. I love it.

We passed through security altogether, checking our bags in to the flight (which were kindly packed into nice, protective plastic bags which would make absolutely amazing pack liners) and carrying some stuff onto the plane in a dry bag. Such a hiker move. We spent a little while at the gate, drinking coffee and eating some pastries and yoghurt (with attached wooden spoon that I subsequently kept for the rest of this trip) and listening to Reid tell us about his time in Europe so far. Mainly Scotland. And yeah, honestly, Scotland is so beautiful I swear. And he caught the absolute peak weather, sunshine miraculously! Sounds like he had the best time. We didn’t really see many other people in hiking gear headed to Corsica. We were hopeful that that might mean the trail would be super quiet for us. Shoulder season after all. Shoulder season is the best season, end of discussion. We had planned this hike to take advantage of this fact. The huts would be closing at the very beginning of October, meaning we would start the trail with some nice huts to stay in and buy food from, before the southern half would be more remote and independent. Ideal for us, because that would turn people away and so we hoped the trail would be nice and quiet.

We hopped on the flight and snoozed all the way to Calvi, the northern terminus of the GR20 (within approximation). Totally chill flight, although I always find nowadays that my eyes get real sore from flights. I think it’s the dry, recycled air which just takes the juices out of them, you know? Just encourages you to close them and sleep is all!… Haha, but yeah, easy flight. There was a guy across the aisle from me who looked exactly like Napoleon which was kinda funny since Napoleon was Corsican. That actually prompted a question in my mind, right, if you have one of these historical figures displaced into the modern day, would they rise to the same level of greatness/infamy? Like, if Napoleon was modern day, would he be president of France? Or would be living a quiet life elsewhere, living a life in marketing or something? I don’t know, but an interesting question nonetheless.

The landing was proper choppy, I will say. We came in over the sea, and then low over Calvi town, and as we got lower to the ground, between two sets of foothills, the ride became like a rollercoaster, and some people shrieked. Rob also woke up. At points, the plane lurched so violently that my stomach did a flip. Wild fun. We made it though, evidently.

We disembarked when we got onto terra firma, and stepping outside we could see why the landing was so choppy! It was blowing an absolute gale! But finally, nice sea breeze. I have been saying for the entire time I have been in Switzerland that weirdly, one of the things I miss the most is the sea breeze. It’s just fresher, you know? And the aching cry of seagulls too. Ah well. Nice to be by the sea again for sure!

We met Flora at the airport. She had arrived via the overland route, having caught trains down through France, and then the overnight ferry to Bastia, before making her way to Calvi and the start point. She had also picked us up some gas which was ideal! Legend! We made our introductions, collected our bags from the belt (safe in their plastic bags), filled up some water, took out some more cash and then made our way to the taxi rank. Lessgo!!

We got a taxi with a guy called Jerome. Rob and I were the guys who could speak French, so that’s what we did, very slowly asking him to take us to Calenzana and talking about ourselves on the way there. He was cool, an ultra-runner and part-time taxi driver. Works, I guess. Absolute maniac of a driver though, not afraid to thrash the throttle. We arrived safely into Calenzana though and he dropped us off at the start of the trail. We were all buzzing. The scenery of Corsica was also so incredibly Mediterranean! It was the classical ‘Macchia Mediterranea’ as they say in Italy, scrub and rocky, all sun-bleached and fragrant. Oh, soo good!

We were dropped off at 11:00. Or maybe it was closer to 11:30… Interestingly, the national park (which I understand to be most of the island…) had a ban on people starting the hike after 11:00. Or maybe it was more like a strict guideline. Which I find weird, but understandable. I wasn’t at all worried though, I knew we were all fit. To the first camp refuge, Ortu di u Piobbu, it was a measly 11km after all. I mean, that’s not hard, right?… Right??

Well, after taking a picture of us beside the starting sign (and the motorbike that was stylishly parked beneath it), we set off. Up through the backend of Calenzana town. It was a wonderful mix of Mediterranean architecture. A touch of French, a touch of tumbled down Italian, a hint of its own identity. The streets were deserted except for the lizards scuttling out of the sunbaked paths and the wooden shutters creaking. The start of a trail is such a sacred, holy thing for me. There is something so special about those first steps, that first five minutes where life’s stresses and worries melt away and you realise that for the next [insert time T], it is just you, your pals, your thoughts, feet and backpack. Everything else takes a backseat. I could feel my shoulders relax already within the first several minutes. So good.

We hiked out of town, along a rocky jumbled path, taking care where to tread, as we pushed on up. It was uphill, and it was going to be uphill allllll day. There were birds wheeling about in the washed blue sky and the sea breeze swayed the trees in a sleepy rhythm as we passed under them. We couldn’t see the horizon due to the hazy nature of the day, the line between sea and sky blurring together.

The path led us up and up, out of a small forest and gently zig-zagging up a hillside, surrounded by the Macchia Mediterranea. Flora and I had a nice wee catch up, chatting about x and y and z. PhDs. Life decisions. Uncertainty of the future. Dreams. Yeah, classic stuff we always end up chatting about. On the way up, we passed several hikers going the opposite way. They all looked excited to be finishing soon. They were NoBo after all, and we were SoBo.

The zig-zagging path led us up onto our first small ridge where the wind suddenly picked up in strength. It was kinda cold, despite the baking sun! We turned around and looked back on where we had just come from. Below us, we saw the town of Calenzana, and further towards the coast was Calvi. The Citadelle de Calvi perched up on a rock out at sea at the end of a curving bay. It looked wonderfully idyllic. We also saw away to our left, the airport runway where we had been an hour and a bit beforehand. How amazing. To the south, in the direction we were going, were mountains. Mountains! Ridges upon ridges of them, a rough red, rising up out of the low-lying bleached sandy green Macchia Mediterranea. 

From this first ridge, we continued on, dropping down a little before turning slightly east and starting another climb. We were meant to be climbing over 1500m in total today. Definitely going to get the heart and legs going for sure! And indeed, halfway up, our stomachs came calling, collecting rent and demanding food payment. Therefore, we sat down in the middle of the path and had our first trail lunch. Not a single person was within sight, except us. What a luxury. Wraps all around for lunch, except Flora who was suddenly and unusually bougie. She whapped out fresh tomatoes and mushroom pâté and put us three to shame. Rude, honestly. But also respect it! She did share as well, which was nice. This was also the first instance of my struggles with my wooden spoon. It bent and creaked in my peanut butter and I genuinely thought it would break and I wouldn’t have any utensils for the entire hike…

After the brief lunch stop, another coating of suncream, and then we continued up. I don’t know why I bother with suncream sometimes, especially when we’re heading uphill and it’ll be sweated away within minutes… We headed through spry forests, new growth surrounding us, with occasional patches of burnt-out trees. I guess in this heat and sun, at the height of summer, forest fires must be a very real possibility. There were also heaps of path side brambles for Reid to snack on, something that delighted him for sure! We continued hurtling up though, switchbacks following switchbacks as we climbed up through this forested hillside until after an hour or so, we emerged out onto another col, Bocca u Saltu. ‘Bocca’ means pass/col/bealach in Coriscan. We were knackered man. What a climb, we were all panting and a bit sore by the time we got to the cairn marking the bocca. A mountain – Capo al Dente – reared itself up across the valley that was suddenly dropping away in front of us. Its scraggy sides were jagged and raw. Time, wind and rain had stripped away all the loose rocks and soil, leaving the skeletal bones of the mountain visible to our prying eyes. It was just so brutal, so raw, so beautiful! So red too. We stood atop this bocca for a wee while, drinking in the magnificent scenery before us with our eyes, and gulping down water between gasps of air.

Eventually, we continued cracking on. Turning south now, the path dipped down for the briefest of moments, before it charged back up with a vengeance. We were skirting the rim of this valley, making our way towards the western flank of Capo al Dente. We made our way through a sheltered pine forest, needles carpeting the path, making it a pleasant climb. We climbed up and emerged above the pine forest, and then the real GR20 made itself known. To get to the pass, the only way was up, quite literally. We had to scramble up some rocky terrain where chains and ropes were attached. It was just wack, I loved it so much. It wasn’t quite rock climbing, but it was slowly approaching that point. Kinda amazing. So cool. As we made our way slowly through this rocky section, we caught up with two French girls, one in bright neon fluorescent pink. Didn’t talk to them though, and before long, the path turned back into regular trails, and we started the final push up to this pass/bocca/col/bealach, following behind these French girls.

Before we got there though, we came across the most perfect spot for a snack, and so we sat and ate some peanut butter puffs crisp things that we had brought along whilst chatting about stuff together. Royal families and Scotland etc.. Flora really questioned Reid about his recent time in Scotland. She had just spent the entire summer skirting about homeless in her van in the highlands after all. Reid needs to go back to Caledonia though for sure, there is so much more for him to explore and discover! In my opinion, at least.

Eventually, reenergised, we zoomed on. It was an easy stretch from here. After emerging onto Bocca u Bazzichellu, to the west of Capo al Dente, we dropped below the ridge and contoured around the valley, passing underneath Capo al Dente and leaving it behind us, arriving at the refuge. A nice cruisy hour or so. Got the legs stretched and pushing along. Such a pleasant route, nice trails.

I arrived at the refuge before the others and sat down by the sign at the entry, waiting for them to arrive. The sun was slowly sinking in the sky, heading for the horizon. When the others arrived, we checked in with the wardens, letting them know we had arrived and that we had already paid, before we went hunting for places to pitch up. The actual refuge building itself had burnt down a couple months/years/indeterminate-time before, so it was actually only camping here. We found some free spots that were loosely clustered together, and pitched up. But boy oh boy, the ground was rocky as! The pegs did not want to go in unless you gave them a proper whack with a stone. I really did not feel comfortable doing that to my wonderful Hilleberg pegs… Eek! Still, it had to happen.

We then got ourselves some drinks from the wardens and sat down together to cook as the sun made a dramatic exit of the day, flaring the sky up in oranges, yellows and reds. What beauty. Honestly, such good omens for the rest of the hike. Such a good first day! We went to bed that night happy, content and looking forward to the coming days together.

Day 2 | Sunday 29/09/24 | 8km | 800m | Ortu di u Piobbu – Carrozzu

So, the previous day, we had covered over 1600m of elevation and about 11km in about five or six hours. Happy days! The initial plan for today was along the same lines – same distance, same elevation (within approximation). Therefore, we figured we could easily complete the days hike to Refuge Haut Asco without too much stress. As such, we had decided the previous night to aim to leave at around 09:00. From the day’s title though, you can tell things went sideways…

Well, I was up at 07:45, and after a routine morning, we were all packed and ready to go at 09:30. Easy. One tragic, incredibly melodramatic event that happened this morning though. I threw away my trusty pair of jandals. My $2 jandals from the (NZ) Warehouse! They had put up with so much and I loved them dearly. But now, they were broken beyond repair and just unreliable and not trustworthy anymore and I could barely walk five paces without the strap popping loose… So, with that in mind, I regrettably threw them away. They were just a hindrance now. Was there a funeral? No. Will there be? No.

Leaving Ortu di u Piobbu, we filled our water bottles up at the stream which crossed the path (the official water source), and then engaged in an immediate uphill battle through a forest. I feel this is going to the rhythm of the GR20, constant uphill battling! The weather was wonderful though. Blue skies and a bright sun rising, banishing the cool shade of the day. We overtook a bunch of people right off the bat. Two German guys with large, green Ospreys, and then a short while later, two smiley French guys, topless already. Typical.

This immediate uphill battle was short lived though, since we topped out at a small col still surrounded by trees. We stripped off our jumpers and jackets, and then continued on, dropping steeply down off this col through a rock-strewn forest. It’s funny, going uphill and then immediately losing all that altitude. Sometimes it just feels dejecting because you’re losing everything that you just gained! Guess we’ll have to get used to that over the coming days.

The path levelled out, and then led back into a loooonnng uphill pull. We had basically come over the side and into a valley and we were now walking directly up it, towards the mountains that were waiting patiently at the back. This was a funny stage of hiking. Because we had dropped in over the side of the valley before turning and heading uphill, we were constantly walking with our left leg higher than our right leg, and the ‘path’ became seriously sloped. I say ‘path’ because the nice trail through the forest petered out into just the occasional splash of paint and we were left rocking-hopping up the valley.

This uphill climb continued well into the morning. The state of the ‘path’ was really not good, it was non-existent, let’s be honest. We just knew we needed to make it to the end of the valley, and that there were some paint markings to follow which other hikers had also followed. We clambered over large chunky scree slopes, scrabbled up rock faces, jumped across rivers and fought through the Macchia Mediterranea, always going uphill. There were red mountains ringing us as we approached the top of the valley and far behind us, the sea glittered in the bright sunlight (the sea is honestly so good to see again).

We overtook another couple who also seemed kinda shocked by the state of the path. Especially in comparison to the previous day’s path which was clear and easy to follow at all times. But we kept the push going until finally, finally, we reached the top of the valley, and the col that was waiting for us there.

What. A. View. The final climb was steep and demanding, and we eventually came out over the top of it and all of a sudden Corsica revealed herself to us, mountains ranging into the distance. These mountains are something which I don’t think I have really experienced yet. Whipped raw and rugged so that the bones of the mountains were left visible, the scree slipping away. Red and brutal, they tore the horizon asunder, creating a frantic line. It was awe-inspiring. How on Earth were we going to be able to hike through and over all those mountains!?

We sat down here, deciding to take a break with this utterly fantastic view in front of us. It was already 11:45 and the previous couple hours had been completely energy sapping for us. And so, naturally, we brought out the Whittaker’s and coffee. These always get the energy back up. Flora happily agreed with us that Whittaker’s is the best chocolate. I had been living in Switzerland for a wee while now, and Rob was German. These are two of the traditionally best chocolate industries (apparently) and we concluded that Swiss and German chocolate pale in comparison to Whittaker’s. It’s just… I don’t know, Whittaker’s is ‘proper’ chocolate. A big slab of the stuff. Not this dainty small 100g bars you get now which are 50% sugar. No, it’s chunky, raw and just all round solid good stuff. I would choose Whittaker’s over any other chocolate any other day. Real Charlie and the Chocolate Factory vibes, you know, with the golden foil.

After our little break, we put some suncream on (again, vaguely pointless since we were about to sweat it all away) and then hoisted our packs and got going again. We put our poles away (unnecessary in this scrambling terrain) and got cracking on this aggressive uphill. We had graduated from rock hopping and bush whacking to now ridge walking. This was no normal ridge walking though, but rather GR20 ridge walking!

There was a nice steep climb along this ridge to start off with, frequently having to get our knees up onto rocks and using our hands to pull ourselves up. Crazy! After twenty minutes of doing this, a well-trodden path emerged once more, and we dipped down under this ridge to walk around this large bowl of mountains. A large C-shape in effect. Behind us, and to our right, the ocean stretched endlessly and unbroken into the horizon. Ahead of us and to our left, mountains crudely split the sky and ground.

This ridge walking was honestly so good. We ringed round this bowl in the mountains, frequently having to use our hands and knees to climb up sections, all marked out by flashes of red and white paint. A pair of ultra trail runners overtook us at one point, but apart from that, the only signs of life that we saw were a pair of fellow hikers on the trail, kilometres ahead, tiny pricks of luminescent light lit up. Barely a pixel through our eyes. I privately suspected that it was the French girls from the previous day, luminescent in their pink gear.

Eventually, an exhausting hour later, we had covered a measly 1.6km. We were knackered. Completely gone. But it’s OK, we had done the vast majority – if not all – of the ridge for today, and we were now sitting on large flat rocks at Col d’Avartoli, time for lunch. Wraps, peanut butter (dug out with a wooden spoon grrr), a snack bar, some crisps, and an entire litre of water later and I was good to go again. Not going to lie though, going back to the wraps and peanut butter is not exactly the most appetising thing. Like, I loved it on the TA, but somehow now… I really had to work to eat my food at points. I am sure it will grow on me again!… Wispy clouds were also making their way into the bowl-like valley we were ridge-walking around, and as we were finishing up with lunch, the clouds started assaulting us, getting whipped up and over the ridge, over our heads. Suddenly the blue bird day that we had was slowly disappearing.

After lunch, we heaved our packs back on, and then set off once more. There was a nice gently sloping section that ran down to another col. Still no need for poles. And then, all of a sudden, the path dived off the edge. Just disappeared deep down into a valley, which was almost steep enough to be a ravine. Well, only one way me and my knees are going to survive this, and that is with music in my sweet sweet earholes. We all paused at this col to put in some earphones, and then we set off. I chose the method of kinda… Just… Freefalling and occasionally catching myself. Some people would call this ‘running’! But I actually had such a good time of this. I bombed down into this valley, into the shade, l’umbra. I was full running at points, my pack bouncing up and down with each footfall. I sprang from rock to rock, rounded corners on the racing line, and at all times, my music was providing the perfect soundtrack to the absolute joy I was having. I was flying. I left the other three well behind. At points, branches did whip across my face and I startled a lot of lizards and even a snake at one point. I nearly stepped on it. Didn’t know Corsica had snakes… Hope they are not dangerous or venomous at all. I remember it being small though, in the brief glance I got of it as I swept past it.

A breathless 50 minutes later and I jogged into the next refuge, Refuge de Carozzu. Nice. Downhill sprint/jog/freefall, complete. I trundled through to the main hut and sat down outside where there were some other hikers. I got myself an ice tea in a can, and then sat and waited for the others to arrive. Despite all this running I just did, the others only arrived 15 minutes later, coming in and sitting with me to rest and relax. Maybe my run wasn’t as fast as I thought it was…

The time was now around 16:20, and we had a tricky tricky decision to make. The signpost stated that it was a 5hr hike to the next refuge, Haut Asco, where we were aiming to get to today and where we had a reservation for. The path was meant to be the same as today, up to the top of a valley, along a small ridge, and then steep down once again. We were pooped. Spent. And with the time as it was, we were uncertain if it was exactly wise to continue, especially with the light starting to die. We would be going steep downhill in the dark of night time as well. Therefore, with all this in mind, we made a collective decision to stay here at Refuge de Carozzu and make an early start of it tomorrow. There was no point risking anything right now.

Rob went and spoke to the warden to explain that we were not going to get Haut Asco and catch our reservation after all, and he arranged accommodation for us here. The warden, either taking pity on us or due to Rob’s absolute charisma, gave us four beds for a greatly reduced price. We could have tried to change the booking to this refuge if we had had phone signal, but no such thing, surrounded by mountains as we were…

Now that we had secured beds in the hut, we laid our sleeping bags out, and then settled in to hut routine. But alas, I had no jandals anymore!… Ah well. We had a nice evening, even managing to get hot showers in! Well, my shower alternated between boiling hot and freezing cold, but on average, it was lovely. In the common room, we sat and chatted to a couple, Ralf and Lenken. Nice people, they only had a couple days off, and so they were not going to be doing the entire GR20, but instead, they were looking at getting off trail somewhere in the next couple days. From what we had heard and researched, really the only place to get off trail in the coming days was at the next refuge, at Haut Asco… They would figure it out though no doubt. I went off to bed before long though, at 20:30. Early wake up the next day after all.

Day 3 | Monday 30/09/24 | 13km | 2000m | Carrozzu – Tighjettu

My watched started gently beeping at 05:45, and I was immediately up. Lessgo, I am so ready for this day. It’s going to be momentous.

I took all my gear through to the common room, and then cooked breakfast and packed up there in silence, by the light of my head torch. You know, not to disturb all the other people who had slept here last night as well. Hastily gobbling down my dry, stodgy porridge (with my shit wooden spoon, excuse the language), I was ready and raring to go. I headed out of the refuge as the others were finishing up as well, and the stars were still visible. Pricks in the canvas of the night sky, which was steadily going from inky black to violet. The world was waking up.

With a slow breaking dawn all around us, we set off, headtorches on and showing us the way forward. Almost immediately, we passed someone who was cowboy camping. Strictly, this wasn’t allowed here on the GR20, only camping in places that were ‘sanctioned’. But, in all honesty, whilst I respect this rule and try to follow it, I believe that sometimes it should be allowed. As long as you follow the golden rules of Leave No Trace and don’t do it frequently, then it should be OK. But also, this depends on the area that you are in, after all, you don’t want to camp where there is endangered flora and fauna. I mean, it’s just common sense and assessing your impact at the end of the day…

After passing Mr. Cowboy, we immediately crossed a bridge. It spanned from side to side of the valley that we were in, and there was a cold, laughing river at the bottom of it as we crossed one-by-one, the bridge swinging side to side as we did so. And then from here, the long uphill pull started. Oof. To distract ourselves, Flora and I played the ‘country game’ – going through the alphabet, we named all the countries which started with A, B etc.. I think we did pretty well as well. I know that we both enjoy that sorta thing. We got to P before we stopped, mainly because we kept getting distracted by tangential asides.

As we did this, the sun rose on a pink morning, the dusky red mountains around us setting the atmosphere. What a beautiful day this was going to be. The valley we were headed up was honestly just so wicked. There were layers upon layers of rocks, boulders perched precariously, stunted yellow Autumnal trees with red berries. In the early morning light, it just looked oh so very cool, this light is some of the best for hiking in my opinion. The path slowly turned from slabs of rocks to scree. For the entire time that we hauled ourselves uphill through this valley, gasping for breath, we were not actually in the sun until finally, scrambling up a rocky gully after more than an hour, we reached the col where the sun hit us directly in the face and the wind snatched our breath away, chilling us through and through. You should go listen to Nielson’s Helios Overture, it kinda felt like that in some sort of way. Kinda. Well… Maybe not actually, but I wanted to suggest this overture anyways because it is great.

At the col (Bocca di a Muvrella), we stole a breather and a snack. I gratefully gulped down a whole bunch of water before we set off again. We were conscious of a time crunch, having to make up more ground today than we had been planning to due to the slow day yesterday. From the col, we hopped across rocks, skirting under Pico a Muvrella to Bocca di Stagnu. We stayed close together as we did this, shouting to each other if we came across unsteady rocks and where we had to navigate steep gullies and keeping up a general hubbub of conversation. Whilst skirting this peak, there was a steep drop down into the next valley off to our right (south west), but we safely got across, and to the next col. No problem. We could see Haut Asco from here, at the bottom of a steep steep slope. D’accord, allons y!

I put in some music because, once again, this was the only way me and my knees were going to make it through this. Well… I say that, but actually, I think my knees survived this trip fairly intact. I bombed down this as well, not quite running as I did yesterday. Conserving energy. As I bombed down, there were plenty of hikers coming up the other side, having started their days in Haut Asco. They looked absolutely knackered, and no surprise there because this was a brutal climb to start the day with. But again, I think this was just the entire trail in general. Up and down like a yo-yo. I spoke to several of these hikers as they were puffing their way past me. This seemed to mainly be a group of, like, proper elderly English gentlemen, out to destroy their knobbly, knocked-knees.

From here, I kept plummeting down the hill until I entered a sparse pine forest, passed a couple of other late starters going north, and then arrived at the end of a gravelled road which Haut Asco was situated at the top of. I believe it is a ski station, for those brave enough to ski on Corsica. It was also, like, one of the only roads that we will come across until we get to Vizzavona, the halfway point, and at Conca, the end point… I think. I sauntered into the refuge area, sat down, and bought four colas that I spent the next twenty minutes staring at, waiting for the others to arrive. I was totally not dreaming of downing all of them, then and there and pretending they didn’t exist… But I was a good boy and waited for the others to arrive and share in a small congratulatory drink together before we would continue on our way. When they did show up, Reidso produced some berries he had foraged, the legend, so we had a nice snack of berries and cola.

Whilst we were sitting at our picnic bench, chatting, laughing, Rob told us some trail gossip from the previous day. Apparently, there was a guy called Vladimir who had been hiking from Carozzu to Haut Asco with his friend, but had gone missing. The friend hadn’t realised, had turned around, waited for him to catch up, and then when Vlad hadn’t shown, the friend had run back to the previous refuge, checking to see if Vlad had fallen or not. When he couldn’t be found, the friend turned around and hiked allllllll the way back uphill at double tempo, checking every nook and crannie to see if Vlad had fallen in at all, before descending into Haut Asco. Only then, did he find Vlad safe and sound, waiting for him at Haut Asco. Vladimir had just wandered slightly off the path at some point when his friend had been searching for him, and so they had completely missed each other, passing each other like bishops on a chess board. But as a result of all this exertion, the friend had injured and tired himself out, and they had decided to quit the trail.

As Rob was telling us this story, there were a couple of guys behind us who, as it turned out, were this friend and Vlad. They came over and we had a laugh and a toast to their safe health and heard the story again from their perspective. Mountains are dangerous, and communication and staying together is imperative.

After this wee break at Haut Asco, we gathered up our gear again, and prepped to set off again. Now, we had a big afternoon ahead of us. This next section was the highest point on the GR20, and had the meanest climb up to it. So, like, this morning was just a nice warm up, yeah? We refilled our bottles, applied the suncream, packed away some small odds and ends, and then together, trouped out.

We passed through some shady woods on the other side of Haut Asco where there were people trail running and dog walking, but before long, we had the trails to ourselves again. The trail passed through a wood and into the upper course of a river, large boulders off to our left and right and mountains etching the sky. Magnificent. Within ten minutes of leaving Haut Asco, we were once again completely and utterly immersed in the solitude of nature and the craggy mountains. We climbed up this river, it tumbling downhill on our left, before we crossed a small bridge (where we naturally struck some poses and snapped some photos) and started on some absolute bonkers trails. Or, really, I should say ‘trails’. Trail is a generous word for what was ahead of us.

We trustingly followed the painted splashes as they threaded out a route from between these boulders. There were points where we had to haul ourselves, hand over hand with a chain, up a rock wall. My sister was bewildered. In the Health-and-Safety-Conscious UK, these would be classified as scrambles and you’d have to have harnesses and helmets and ropes in order to climb them. Here, we just trusted in the chain and our own strength. Good enough for me. But these crevices with chains were not just once or twice. Oh no! These were pretty much continuous for the first half an hour.

We battered away at these sections until, our stomachs grumbling, we found a wonderful little rock circle that had been constructed before, and settled down for some lunch. The rock circle blocked out the cool wind, and we were left basking in the sun. I think my sister was maybe dying. She couldn’t move. It was all ‘Al, pass me my wraps’ and ‘Al, can I have my noodles’ and ‘Al, my water is just out of reach, could you…’. And yeah, by the way, you’re completely correct, my sister is an animal and eats noodles in wraps. I both condone it, but also respect and like it. Just, the texture is just weird man…

Whilst we had lunch, a hiker passed us by with a nice Millet pack. He smiled at us, before continuing on. We hadn’t seen him before, but he looked like he was going at roughly our pace. Maybe we would catch him up in the coming days!… (And so, Pablo enters the scene)

After finishing lunch, we packed our bags, and with groaning knees and aching backs, we got back on to our feet, and prepared to set off again. This was absolutely brutal. I cannot stress to you how tiring this was. Like, we were doing two days at once, in effect, and the terrain just meant maximum effort at all points. I wouldn’t have it any other way though, there is such a deep, satisfying joy to this sort of thing.

We continued up hill. Up. Up. Up. Up a little bit more, and a touch more up. Unlike the Alps, this was more like NZ where it pointed you in a straight line, the easiest and quickest way to the top, and then made you march up. No easy switchbacks, no sir, not for you. We passed up scree slopes, and climbed higher and higher until, finally, approaching early tea time, we were starting to look down on peaks of mountains from where we were. It was sapping and draining work. A lot of people were also coming down the opposite way, and they all passed us with a mix of pity and… well, more pity. Not exactly encouraging. Flora managed to talk to some Canadian girls who gave us some encouragement that we were nearly at the top. Feeling this, we entered the last push which was arguably the worst part of this climb. Chains and sheer rock faces again, but add in scree slopes too. Oof, energy sapping. I loved every second.

We got there though. 15:45, not too bad. We got to the top, to this Pointe des Éboulis, topping out at the highest point on the GR20 at 2607m. Not too shabby. We had come all the way from sea level, isn’t that incredible? We threw on our jackets immediately and drank in the view and some water. Away behind us was the valley that we had just climbed up. Didn’t look so steep when you’re standing at the top, full of the glow of achievement and bone deep tiredness. Away ahead of us spread the rest of Corsica, which from here, looked just like mountains, mountains and more mountains. What else could you want!? On our left was Monte Cinto, the highest point on Corsica at 2706m. Flora, at the start of the day, was well keen to make a side trip out of it and go and climb it. Now, having arrived after that climb, she was, shall we say, less than enthusiastic… Though in all fairness, us three cows didn’t fancy climbing it, so she would have been by herself which I don’t think was exactly appetising for her.

After some pictures, laughter and some feijoa gummies, we set off once more, ridge walking down and around a wee corrie tarn, Lac du Cinto, dropping up and over Bocca Crucetta, and into another valley. We could see Taghjettu Refuge. It properly reminded me of the approach to Hunters Hut from the TA. Another knee crunching descent lay in front of us though, and so as one, we put in some music, and got boogieing. I sat at the back this time, and sang along to the Amazing Devil (a band, I promise) as we headed down. Reidso was 100m ahead of me, Rob another 100m in front of him, and Flora was leading the way to the refuge. We were each in our own worlds, just loving life. Easy company where laughter and cheer are the mainstays of interactions, and there is no drama, tension or negativity, but mutual support and acceptance with a shared goal. 

An hour later, we pulled up into Taghjettu. I honestly could not remember the name of this refuge for the entire trip, and resorted to calling it (pasta) tagliatelle refuge. We arrived at the tagliatelle, and dropped our packs at the camp spots, and then went and saw the hut warden. At Pointe des Éboulis, Rob had managed to grab a single bar of internet and using this, he had changed our booking online. Easy as. Therefore, we showed this booking confirmation to the hut warden and he seemed happy with that and welcomed us to the refuge. We then had a look at his little supply of goodies, and to my utter delight, he had spaghetti. Therefore, after a little discussion, we bought some. Flora and I bought just a jar of pasta sauce and 500g of this pasta, and Reidso and Robso did the same, except they added in some saucisson. And beer.

We carried these supplies back to our camp spot, pitched up on the horrendously rocky ground, and then sat and made dinner by headtorch as the sun dipped behind the mountains and evening fell quickly. We cooked an entire kilogram of spaghetti to eat between us. And I will admit now, I was surprised because not everyone could finish their portion. I reckon that in total, Flora, Rob and Reid each ate about 150 – 200g of pasta, and I ate an entire 500g to myself. Don’t judge, please. It was hard work towards the end. But yeah, an entire bag of spaghetti for myself. It was so good, no regrets. The only difficulty was actually getting it into my mouth with this horrific wooden spoon. I ended up just tipping my pot up and drinking the spaghetti in effect. An absolute mess. Such a good day though, and sleep stole upon me within minutes of me lying down after this mammoth dinner.

Day 4 | Tuesday 01/10/24 | 15km | 950m | Tighjettu – Castel de Vergio

The night was super windy. At points, I had had to get up and out my tent to redo my guy lines and make sure everything was OK. I was not so worried about my tent, knowing that it could withstand Harper Valley, but I was more worried for Rob and Reid’s tents which were in more exposed places than mine. And for Flora’s which I didn’t know how capable it was.

As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry. When our alarms did go off and we got up, everyone’s tents were still standing, and we all looked vaguely well rested… Kinda. Maybe contrary evidence can be presented from the first conversation between Rob and Reid that was a total length of three spoken words and a million unspoken words, about how much coffee they needed: ‘Five? Four?… Five.’

We set off just past 08:00, the sun having risen pink and rosy. Today, in theory, was simple and nice and easy and just chill. What could go wrong? The GR20 led down past our camp spot and ran along into the valley below us. We followed it down, mutely walking along in a convoy. We entered a pinewood where soft needles carpeted the path and the paint flashes were on the trunks of the trees to our left and right, showing us the way forward. I honestly don’t think you need a map for the GR20. It is very well marked, and there is usually a painted red and white sign somewhere within sight at all points along the trail. Sure, sometimes they are obvious, at other times they are faded and hidden away, but they are always there.

The path led down the valley and flattened out, before it started to turn to our right (west), rising up and over a shoulder of a hill and into another valley. Guess what is coming! You’re correct, another uphill pull! We rested a little bit on this corner of these two valleys. The forest was wonderful, but very quiet. Not too many birds out and about today I figured. All the evergreens were, of course, still green. But all the deciduous trees were the wonderful Autumnal colours.

Whilst we were resting, a couple of people passed us. An elderly Russian gentleman who was trying to catch up with his friend up ahead on the trail, and a French boy band. Three of them passed us by, one of them with wooden branches as walking poles and who looked like an almighty look alike to Failed-Hitcher Kevin. RIP Kevin, still don’t know what happened to him.

After they had all passed us, and we had had our small break with snacks and water, we set off once more. I put some music in once again, and headed on up at a breakneck pace. I think I had said to the guys that it was only ‘a small uphill’, but boy did I turn out to be wrong. I headed off rapidly and initially it felt so good. I emerged out of the forest and on to the classic GR20 trails, rock hopping and having to use my hands at points to climb up and over rocks. I repassed the elderly Russian and French boy band, and kept up this prodigious pace. But my map reading skills evidently need work because the climb was greater than it had looked on paper, and I completely and utterly crashed halfway up. There was a point where I had just made it to the top of a huge rock slab, crossed a stream (where I stopped and splashed cool water over my head and neck), and was making my way up again when my body was like ‘hooolld up, let’s take a break’ and I stopped and stood there gasping air for about ten minutes. I also proceeded to drink the majority of the rest of my water. I think the heat of the day had just all-of-a-sudden gotten to me and that, coupled with a bad night’s sleep and the major uphill just hit me all of a sudden.

Rob caught up and I think he was feeling the same. Reid walked up as well, and then finally Flora and we all stood there in the sun taking a much-needed breather. Feeling better again, we set off once more. We were so close to the top, and twenty minutes later we came out on top of Bocca di Foggialle. We were greeted by the most vicious wind you can imagine. I was totally not expecting it because there had not even been a suggestion of a breeze in the valley we had just come up. I layered up and stood admiring the scenery whilst the others arrived. At the top already were a father and son duo, sheltering behind a rock wall with their (greyhound?) dog. The dog was the centrepiece though. Firstly, it had a coat on. Secondly, it had little booties on (which the father-son duo were trying to fix, they had ripped on the ferocious Corsican rocks). And finally, it had these amazing ski goggles on, to protect its eyes from flying dust, I guess. It was a very well-equipped dog.

The father-son-dog trio left and we took their place, sheltering for a little bit behind this rock wall, before we too continued on. Around the corner was Refuge Ciuttulu di i Mori. From our place behind this rock wall on the ground, I was adamant that we could just about see the refuge, only about a kilometre away. Specifically, there was a spot of white high up on the mountain that I was so completely sure was the fancy, permanent tents that these refuges had for people who wanted to hike this in luxury. How wrong I turned out to be, and how the others did not let me forget it. Instead, it was a patch of snow, or a hole in the mountain or something.

We left, and ten minutes later, we arrived at the refuge. Lunch time. We collected more water, and then sat down. We put some of that rehydration stuff in our drinks, electrolytes and that sorta thing. And then, feeling like we deserved a treat, we bought some cooked food from the wardens at this refuge. Namely pasta (yum) and eggs (yummer). And coffee. We had several rounds of this, before we decided that we needed to be up and going.

We headed out once again from our shaded lunch spot and into the ferocious midday heat. The rest of the day was going to be very nice. I was looking forward to it. Leaving the refuge, we contoured around a shallow bowl of this gentle valley that the refuge was perched above and at the end of. The cool wind was coming from our right, from the west. Looking into the blow westward, we saw the coast and there were these wickedly cool villages, perched on clifftops above the crashing sea that we could see from our high vantage point. The dusty trail then ran through green fields, before dropping into this gentle valley, and stuck to the side of the river which gushed down, clear and cold. It was oh so tempting to swim in, and sure enough, we soon came across a beautiful little pool at the bottom of some slippery rapids. We all looked at each other, grinned, and then went and jumped in. Or, at least, Rob (AKA Tarzan) went straight in, Reid and Flora slowly and cautiously jumped in (with a lot of shrieking from Flora. Sorry for calling you out), and I was a complete wimp and had to throw myself in with a large amount of willpower. I floundered about, and then climbed out again straight away, undoubtedly also shrieking. Freezing! But, to be fair, it was nice and refreshing, washed off the dirt and sweat for sure.

We dressed again, and then continued along. Down through this beautiful valley, white sun-bleached rocks on all sides and small patches of vegetation. We continued along, crossing over a couple bridges as we continued heading downhill through this beautiful valley with its river and the mountains surrounding us. They had changed colour. Up further north, the mountains were a raw red colour, but now these were more white and more rounded than before. I am sure my sister the geologist could tell us something about this. Rob and Reid were indulging her too much in my opinion hahaha

I felt my skin was burning though, this valley effectively being an oven in my opinion, throwing light all around the place. Therefore, I was well glad when the path entered into another forest and I was back in the safety of the shade. We continued boosting along through this forest which was just wonderful to walk in. Pine forest again, so there was another carpet of needles to walk softly upon (which is not what you’d expect from walking on needles…). We passed through a farm where there were some people rock climbing on a nearby cliff, and then on and down towards Castel de Vergio. The trail was so nice to walk upon at this point. A soft breeze through the trees, a sound of insects and the sun slanting through the branches at points. One of the best, well-maintained trails up until now! It exited the valley and ran south, into a vague open area that was a top of a wide pass in a valley that ran east to west. Open skies around us.

Eventually, after cruising through this forest along these wonderful paths, we arrived into Castel de Vergio. This was a hotel that was situated on a paved (!) road that ran east to west, connecting the two coasts of the island through the heart of the mountains. OK, one of three roads we’ll come across, I was wrong earlier, I had forgotten about this one. We checked in to the hotel’s campsite where there were plenty of other hikers staying, including the French boy band, and the other single hiker we had seen the previous day on the way up to Monte Cinto. There was a salad bar at the hotel where we could pay a fixed price and then eat as much fresh food (!) that we could fit into a container. Absolutely luxurious. We waited until after we had pitched our tents before we tucked into that treat! Funny how fresh food tastes so much better when you’ve been outside, exercising and adventuring. We had a real good evening in each other’s company. We played a little frisbee (from the QCT), had nice hot showers and tucked in early.

Day 5 | Wednesday 02/10/24 | 16km | 900m | Castel de Vergio – Manganu

We were up at 07:00 and we slowly packed away before having breakfast. I went to the hotel where there was fresh bread waiting. I bought a couple of baguettes, as well as a fresh wheel of Brebis cheese. Oh yeah, this is going to be good. I was already looking forward to lunch. I also got some pain au chocolates, purely for myself you understand. Also, so, I have this secret theory that everything in life is just a circle. Like, for example, as an inexperienced hiker, you bring whatever food you want. For instance, when I did the Fife Coastal Path, we had loaves of bread, jars of honey, vegetables and all this unnecessary weight. Then, as I became more experienced, I read more and more about nutrition on the trail and about thru-hiking, and started tailoring my food. I got the cous, porridge, wraps and really tried to cut down on my weight of food that I was bringing. Lots of dehydrated stuff. But now, I feel I have come to the point where I am like ‘actually, I would prefer to bring wheels of cheese, jars of marmite and whole loaves of bread.’ Like, my opinions and viewpoint has gone full circle. So nowadays, when I go hiking in the Alps, I just bring what I want because it’ll make me happier than dehydrated stuff ever will!

Anyways, back on track. The day was another scorcher, fifth day in a row. We were lucky with the weather, so far. But the weather forecast was predicting bad things for the afternoon… But nothing to be done except put one foot in front of the other. Lessgo!

We headed out at a fair pace, and immediately bumped into this guy Pablo, who we had seen a couple times now. Turned out he was a French-British-Canadian guy and we walked along with him, chatting away. Super interesting guy, a nice Millet pack (not as nice as my Light Red, you understand. Just lots of compartments and zips and it had a nice aesthetic) and La Sportiva boots. Because these are the things I notice immediately. He had even lived in Scotland for four years! Glasgow though.

As we hiked along, chatting to him, I couldn’t help but notice the absolute beauty we were passing through. Primarily, this forest. Just, stunning. Wow. One of the highlights of this trip. I don’t know much about trees and this hike is really revealing my lack of knowledge of identifying them. But it is also motivating me to go out and learn more about them. Maybe buy a book or two. I would love to be able to understand what type of forest I will be walking through in the future. For now, I would guess that this was a beech and chestnut forest. The branches framed a nice pathway for us to head along, and we steadily climbed up a hillside, switching back and forth. Much easier and gentler than the paths from the previous days!

Soon, we passed out of this forest and arrived at Bocca de St Pierre. Again, the views from here south were stunning. Mountains and coastline. My two favourite ecosystems. Layers of mountains still remained for us to cross. We could also see a string of pylons, stretching east to west, crossing the island as well. First time we saw them at all, pretty much!

We continued up this ridge now, heading vaguely south-east. As we climbed, we passed some of the coolest trees ever. These were actually iconic. Whenever you google the GR20, pictures of these trees will probably pop up. They look windswept and harried, and yet their actual survival is evidence of the resilient nature of our arboreal friends. It also shows the direction of the prevailing wind, probably. Naturally, we had to pose beside these trees. There is that famous saying by Bruce Lee, ‘Be like water’, but I think it should be ‘Be like a tree’. Slow, steady, constant and happy to adapt.

After the photoshoot, we pushed on until we got to the end of the ridge, under the shadow of Capu a u Tozzu. We crossed under its peak, across to Bocca a Reta. As soon as we crested this col, we saw a wide, flat valley open up before us that we would be heading down. There was a lake, Lac de Nino, sitting idlily, small riffles across the surface from the gentle breeze from behind us. Just looked dreamy.

We headed downhill, along well-worn paths, deep ruts in the sandy soil leading the way through green grass pastures where cows grazed off to the side. It was almost a Swiss scene! We arrived at the lakeside, and it was just too nice not to stop. We set up beside the lake, under a large rock, and then got the cookers out for some tea and coffee. We split open the baguettes as well, and we set about eating an early lunch with the fresh cheese. I think we all agreed that this cheese was just perfect. It was finished then and there. Even Flora enjoyed it! After this lunch stop, we cracked out the frisbee and proceeded to have a toss about. That is until someone managed to land it in the lake and Flora had to wade out to collect it again.

However, our perfect break was rudely interrupted by the glorious weather taking a sudden turn for the worse, changing on a dime. Namely, dark clouds came rolling in from behind us and a wicked wind got whipped up. This encouraged us to pack up and be off at once. We rolled out, convoy style, the five of us, heading down this valley. In theory, it was a simple run all the way to Refuge de Manganu, several kilometres down the trail. As we headed out, Pablo stuck beside me and we ended up talking heaps about physics and stuff. Always enjoyable.

We set a decent pace, and we made our way along at a good pace. We passed through the most amazing forests, gnarled trees looking like they came directly from a Brothers Grimm fairytale, and hollowed out living trees, all decorated with red, yellow and golden leaves, shining out despite the heavy fog that was rising up around us as the dark clouds pressed in behind us.

We paused a moment to put on our rain jackets, and then proceeded along as the rain kicked off, getting slowly heavier. From this awesome forest, we passed through a bunch of abandoned farms, and then down into another wide, flat-bottomed valley/glen/vale. The weather was now a little grim, primarily heavy fog surrounded us, meaning that our visibility was severely cut. We had to jump over some puddles as well, as we walked through this wide valley, the rain coming down around us. Cows were also there, on both sides, looking a little forlorn in this weather.

Towards the end of this valley, the fog and rain lifted a little, revealing more forest close by. And the colours were just incredible. So Autumnal. New England ain’t got nothing on this. We climbed a little bit up this small tributary valley until we arrived at Manganu. Not going to lie, this name definitely sounds Māori! We sat down outside the hut, and then had a small debate. The next section was much the same, primarily a climb out of the valley on to an exposed ridge, and then down into another valley. It was the exposed ridge that we were mainly worried about. We had a couple of options. We could either push on to Petra Piana, the next refuge, now or we could bunker down here, or we could turn around and head back down the valley to where we had been, and take another turn and down towards a road and a train station. We were unsure what to do. The weather was meant to get worse, and stay worse for the next couple days. Indeed, as we were discussing this, the rain came back on, a little heavier than before. We discussed for a while, and we were about to make a decision to continue when, all of a sudden, along the path we spied two groups emerging from the heavy fog. These two groups turned in at Manganu and started telling everyone that it was impassable up ahead, far too wet and slippery. This tipped the balance in the other direction, and we decided to stay here tonight, see what the weather would be doing the next day. Already, the rain was intensifying.

Rob and I went and spoke to the hut warden, and most luckily, we managed to get the last five beds for us all, and a half price rate! Winning! I think the wardens took pity on us, plus it was the shoulder season so I don’t think they really cared anymore. We paid for our beds, and then headed inside and set them up. Top bunks, fun times. It was only 14:30 though, how were we going to kill the rest of the day?

The father-son-dog trio headed back down the valley, the way we had just come. They had arrived a little ahead of us. I think this was the final straw for them. Like, the dog’s shoes were not the best and as a result, the dog had cut up its paws on the rugged terrain so far and it couldn’t really continue easily.

In the common room, we met our other fellow hikers. Primarily, we sat and chatted to the French boy band. Their names were Michael, Flo (for Florian) and Simon. We got some drinks with them and played cards whilst chatting about all sorts of things. Incidentally, they had met each other in NZ a number of years ago! Crazy! I think they enjoyed talking to Reidso about that. They were the funniest, most stereotypical French guys you could imagine, it was hilarious. As Flora would say, Flo had an impulse just to be topless in general.

There were also a couple of girls from Berlin who were doing a long trail for the first time, Lara and Theresa. They were fun to talk to for sure. There were also a bunch of other people at some other tables, but we never quite got round to talking to them. There were a pair of guys that I guessed (it was a hunch) were army, and there were a couple of French girls (not the neon pink ones), and finally there was a guy, Marius, who I would describe as being a typical surfer bro with sun-bleached white hair. That sorta vibe. These were the people who had turned back and informed us it was impassable. And then there were a whole bunch of people who were sleeping outside in tents. Between the army guys (what I am calling them from now, never mind if they actually are or not) and the French girls, they drank 16 beers and turned into a loud, giggly group as the evening proceeded, playing a variety of card games. It was funny to watch from afar.

I ended up sharing another 500g of spaghetti with Pablo, before I headed to bed fairly earlyish. I was feeling very uncertain about the coming day. The weather was bad. Nearly zero visibility and if two groups had turned back stating that it was too wet and slippery to continue, what chance would there be for tomorrow? It reminded me very much of Mangawaiiti campsite where the same uncertainty held, as well as having a random bunch of people thrown together in a confined space. Same vibes, you know?

Day 6 | Thursday 03/10/24 | 8km | 900m | Manganu – Petra Piana

I woke a number of times in the early morning as people got up to check the weather outside. First at 05:00, and then every 30 minutes from then on, practically. All the reactions were a screwed-up face and a shake of the head. Didn’t seem particularly promising…

Indeed, when I got up at 07:30, the weather was worse than the previous evening. Sideways rain and a cold, brisk wind. Well, I stayed inside in the common area as a result. Gotsta eat my Whittakers porridge and drink my tea and mull over some decisions. Rob, Reid and Flora all appeared and we had some nervous discussions about what to do. We fixed on packing our bags, ready to leave at a moment’s notice, but to hold on for now, hoping for a break in the weather. The next refuge, Petra Piana, was only up the hill, along the ridge, round the bend and down a little. Not too far in all honesty. At least, it didn’t look too far on the map!

Meanwhile, Pablo had also packed his bag and sat with us, also anxious to make a decision. The two French girls (who both turned out to be physios), the two German girls from Berlin and Marius all decided to turn around and head back down the way we had come, out to the road and to the closest town, Corte. From there, they could easily catch a train to Vizzavona and continue along the GR20. The two military guys on the other hand headed out to try and tackle this section to Petra Piana. Their argument, which I agreed with, was that they could always turn back if the trail truly was that terrible. It was worth actually going to have an explore of what the conditions on the trail actually were like, in their opinion. I was also invested in them, because if they did not appear again, then it would seem that it was perfectly doable. (Or that they had had an accident. But happy thoughts!)

Soon, at 10:30, a guy showed up out of the rain from the south, from Petra Piana. We chatted to him about the trail and he said that it was perfectly doable, although he wouldn’t like to do it in our direction, SoBo. The entire path had effectively turned into a river and some of the rocks in this valley were fairly slippery. As a result of this, we came to a collective decision to check it out, and see what the path was like, before possibly bailing out to Corte and catching the train to Vizzavona.

Because we were ready, we immediately sprang into action and shouldered our packs, dressed in full waterproofs, and then left all of a sudden at 11:15 with Pablo tagging along. The rule was the following: as soon as anyone felt uncomfortable with the conditions, we would turn back and head down to Corte and out to the train station. Let’s see how this goes then, hey? We said goodbye to Michael, Flo and Simon who had decided to stay put and have a go the next day.

We left the refuge, crossed the bridge back onto the trail, and then turned right, southwards, and headed up the valley. The river, which tumbled down the valley and past Manganu refuge, had probably tripled in size and within minutes we were soaked from all the rain. Oh yeah, this is proper weather! We had our hoods up and the rain was beating against them, making conversation difficult. We had to keep turning and checking that we were still all as one group. After all, we really did not want to get separated.

The path followed the side of the river up the valley, climbing steeply, before veering away south-east and up towards the waiting ridgeline. And let me just tell you now, ‘path’ is a generous word. It was basically a river we were walking up, ankle deep. There had been so much rain the previous day, overnight and at the moment that water was running down from the mountains above us and new rivers were being formed, including our path. As we strode uphill, we were walking against the current effectively, the water running downhill, around our feet. It was kinda incredible. Thank goodness for trail shoes though. Pablo got water in his Gortex boots and walked, sodden feet, for the entire way. At least our shoes drained quickly.

We climbed uphill, battling through thorny bushes and weaving in and out of the undergrowth, hunting for the white and red painted flashes. Luckily, there were plenty of them painted everywhere, so there was no chance of getting lost. The large river off to our right tumbled down waterfalls and there was the occasional grove of Autumnal, golden trees shining in the gloomy atmosphere. We caught a break in the weather soon after we left, meaning that we walked for a period of time without our hoods up, which was nice, but as we turned aside and started the steep steep climb up to the ridge, the rain intensified again and we went back to getting soaked through.

Throughout this walk up the river, and then turn up and towards the ridge, there wasn’t a single point that any of us found anything vaguely slippery and the only uncomfortable thing was the fact of how wet it was in all honestly. And also, how sweaty we were getting climbing steeply uphill with waterproofs on. Climbing uphill in full waterproofs must be one of the worst experiences one can go through…

Eventually, after wading up paths, and then scrambling up a steep slope, we arrived at the col – Bocca alle Porte – where a freezing wind chilled us. Didn’t help that we were wet. There were absolutely no views, and so we didn’t hang around, but got going once more. The ground tumbled away into thick fog/mist/cloud on either side of us as we made our way along this ridge. Thankfully, it was a generic and normal ridgeline, no hands and chains needed at all really. Halfway along the ridge, we came upon a massive column of rock, looming up out of the drizzle, that we took the opportunity to huddle behind out of the wind and rain and check-in with everyone. Moral? Surprisingly good. Energy? Could be better. Warmth? Yeah, it’s chilly. We had a couple bites of energy bars before we continued along, pushing away the misery that could easily take hold.

Soon after this section, towards the end of the ridge, we came to the sketchiest section on this ridge, maybe a kilometre or two from Petra Piana. There was a steep crevice that we had to climb down, using chains and all. Here, we communicated to each other and supported one another as we came down, turning this sketchy situation into something that I now take pride in, seeing how well we helped and supported each other. Soon, we were all down and the last stretch was before us. As we were making our way towards the end of the ridge, all of a sudden, the wind blew away a hole in the clouds, and we saw it blue, up above us, all of a sudden! The Sky. What!? We also glimpsed Lac de Mélo down below us. It was vaguely acceptable weather for about five minutes, before it closed back in around us.

We had a last little climb to Bocca Muzzella (mozzarella?), and then all of a sudden, the path pointed in a straight line downhill, towards where Petra Piana refuge was waiting for us. We had nearly done it! Incredible! It had really seemed not so possible the previous evening and even this morning, and until that other hiker had come through this section going in the opposite direction, I think we would have otherwise bailed out to Corte and went round to Vizzavona via train. In the end, there was not so much peril at all, and by going slow and sticking together and keeping the moral up, I think we had a pretty good day of it in the end!

We trudged downhill, through the mist and rain and the paths/waterways until Petra Piana showed up all of a sudden. This was, strictly, the last day that the refuges would be manned and I think all the wardens were not caring at all anymore. We went and spoke to them in their little hut and they just pointed us to the main refuge and then they told us that we could sleep there for free! Brilliant! It was pretty much 16:00 on the nose and we hadn’t had lunch at all, not wanting to stop anywhere in this weather for long. Therefore, we bought a bunch of pasta, sauce and cheese (this cheese, oh my goodness, so good!) from the hut wardens to gobble down.

We walked into Petra Piana and miraculously, it was warm! The two army guys from previous refuge were already there, along with another French guy who was heading NoBo (what’s the acronym for East or West bound?). They had stripped down to base layers and they were building a fire in one of those old iron oven things that are designed to basically radiate as much heat as possible. Oh yeah, warmth, so good! Petra Piana was a funny design. There were two rooms, one after another, in series. The common room and the dorm. The building was also kinda futuristic, a triangle shape. As a collective group, decided to keep all the wet things to the common room in order to try and keep the sleeping area warm and dry.

Soon after we arrived, a Dutch couple heading north also arrived and we had our party for the evening. Before long, the French army guys – called Théo and Dmitri – had their fire built and were starting to hang all their wet clothes around it, from washing lines strung up across the common room, far above the fire. We joined in, stripping down and changing into our dry clothes before setting up some more washing lines across the common room to hang our stuff on. Personally, my entire bag was soaked through. My new pack was water resistant, but in no way at all was it completely waterproof meaning that a lot of the stuff that was just loose in there was wet. A shame, but I could hardly complain in all honesty. I hung it all up to dry anyway. Nothing disastrous.

We then sat and made tea and chatted to everyone else in the hut. Théo and Dmitri were absolutely jacked guys with not a lick of English. They were from Toulouse and were just plain capable. It turned out that one of them was indeed army and the other was in construction, digging swimming pools. This was their first long trail together, and they were already planning on doing the Tour de Mont Blanc (TMB) next, when they found the time. There was the other French guy as well, Léopold, who was heading NoBo and had a time crunch since he had the ferry from Calvi booked for Sunday, so three days from now. He had done a small day today, but tomorrow he was intending to get up at 04:00 and do a triple, heading all the way to either Ciuttulu di i Mori, or tagliatelle refuges. Absolute madman, I respect it. He had the largest blisters on his feet and spoke like a wise old sage, telling us all about the trail that was coming ahead for us. He only has a bivvy with him and has been hurrying through this hike, doing massive days that I wouldn’t even consider doing!

The Dutch couple that arrived, Nadine and Reuben, were older, maybe towards retirement. They were very cool people though, but were only doing half the trail, having started this morning from Vizzavona. They had spent every four or five years doing big travelling trips, and had hiked or seen most of the world it felt like. They absolutely adored Scotland as well, which is another tick mark against its column.

I sat and made some pasta for Flora and me which consisted of tomato sauce, protein chunks and the cheese I had just bought which was beyond delicious in my opinion. Strong. Mature. Pablo sat and made a Carbonara, and Rob and Reid had themselves a wonderful cheese, pesto and sausage combo. The wardens had also swung by and had donated us a whole palette of eggs, probably close to twenty or thirty of them, for free. Therefore, after we had dinner (I once again ate close to 500g, cleaning up whatever people couldn’t finish), we sat and cooked all the eggs for tomorrow’s meals. How exciting!

We also sat and discussed the next day. We had an option of routes. Either, we could stay high up on the Alpine/Haute route, walking along a ridge to Monte d’Oro and then the only real descent coming at the very end, into Vizzavona. Or, we could drop down into the valley and then climb up and over the top of Monte d’Oro, the ‘proper’ GR20. There was also a possible hint of staying down and skirting round the bottom of Monte d’Oro, and come to Vizzavona from the other way. This would have much less altitude to do. Rob, Reid and I were keen to drop down into the valley along the GR20 route, and then make a decision based on how we were feeling to go up and over Monte d’Oro, or round the mountain and come to Vizzavona via the low route. Flora on the other hand was undecided since she did not want to do too much climbing – her legs weren’t feeling it. As such, she was keen to do the Alpine route. Pable had already declared that this was the way he was going, and so Flora was considering going along with him, although he was leaving very much quite early in the morning.

After plans were made, we then washed up our dishes and settled down for the evening. We took a group photo, and then I went to bed, knackered but pleased that we had managed to get through such a horrible day. Let’s see what the tomorrow brings. 

Day 7 | Friday 04/10/24 | 16km | 400m | Petra Piana – Vizzavona

Well sure enough, Léopold was up at 04:00, and had left ten minutes later. The two army guys, Théo and Dmitri were up at 05:00 and out the door by 06:00. I woke briefly when Flora got up and started prepping to leave with Pablo, ready for their own Alpine/Haute route. I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I also got up at 06:30, just as Flora and Pablo were shouldering the packs and stepping out of the door into the foul weather still raging (but slowly subsiding). I wished them ‘Bonne courage’ and then set about making myself a cup of tea in the comfort and warmth of the indoors. Next to emerge from the dorm room was Nadine and Reuben who had proclaimed the previous night that they would be the last up and last to leave. Well… I see no Rob or Reid yet…

I spent the early morning talking quietly with them about their travels. They had been everywhere it seems. They had also made the conscious decision to have a large amount of time to go travelling every five years or so, which I find incredibly laudable. Something I would like to emulate for sure. They also spoke a lot about their time hiking in Sweden, one of their favourite places to go hiking. Which bodes well for the Kungsleden down the line. Keen for that for sure!! We sat around eating breakfast whilst we chatted, porridge with sugar and a boiled egg on the side, from the wardens. Cheddar cheddar.

They were setting about to leave as Rob and Reid got up themselves. We had a wonderful morning together after Nadine and Reuben had stepped out the door, heading NoBo. It was a chill morning, a slow pack up as laughter rang about the hut. We were in no rush. The weather started clearing up at 08:30 as well, revealing the valley we were perched above. Just magical. There was this soft yellow, golden light with the grey clouds skirting and twirling around the mountain tops. I think this may be one of my favourite colour palettes, grey, gold and yellow. We eventually stepped outside of the door ourselves, ready for the day. The rain had also stopped, thankfully. We were so not fussed about being quick today. Vizzavona was at the end of the day and we would get there when we got there. There would be a bed waiting for us, and our resupply box as well. Our bags were light and the path was easy to follow. I’m sure that’s some part of a hiker blessing.

The wardens of the refuge were clearing up, now that the season was officially over, packing boxes and boxes onto the backs of donkeys and mules and preparing pallets of equipment for the helicopter to come and pick up later in the week. We headed out of the refuge, and turned down into the valley. Since the rain these past couple of days, there was water streaming everywhere once again, all heading in the same direction as us, down. The paths became riverbeds once more and we strode down them. We passed abandoned buildings, gÎtes and farmsteads left alone for the beginning of winter. Cows were still up in the valley though, still up in their open pastures. I wonder if Corsica have the same policy as Switzerland, where they come and collect cows with helicopters… Hmmm…

The steep valley slowly levelled out and we gradually entered a pine forest, tall straight pines reaching up into the heavens. The needles from these pines had laid themselves into a thick, red carpet along the trail. The walking was easy as now, soft and comforting on the joints. Additionally, for the first time, there were no real rocks about on the path, and so it was plane sailing. Luxury! This forest was another one of the highlights of the trail so far for me, personally. It was just so calm and easy and such a welcome respite from the harshness and raw nature of what we had covered so far.

Rob, Reid and I made our way cruising along through this forest. There was a roaring river away to our right. Under the tall pines, there was a sea of golden-brown ferns, sweeping away and up the slopes of the valley we were in. We also passed fire salamanders which looked amazing and that we sat and stared at for several minutes, each time we came upon one of them, hanging out on the track. To our right, the river grew in strength and volume (noise and mass/second) as we continued down the valley. Before long, we reached the bridge and crossed the river. Here, we had a choice to make. The low route, round the bottom of Monte d’Oro. Or climb up and over the mountain. We were in such a relaxed state of mind, and our bodies were wanting a small respite, that we decided to stay down low and go round the bottom of Monte d’Oro. Therefore, we continued down the trail towards Canaglia.

The river was now on our left and it was still growing in size. Lunch time came, and we took the opportunity to each it on a large boulder in the middle of the river, and crucially, in the sun. That was a cool lunch spot. We watched boatman skirt the surface on the calm pools of water by the side of the river, that raged downhill on the other side. We balanced ourselves, our packs and our cooking stoves carefully on top of this stone as well, moving very slowly and cautiously, and enjoyed our time together.

Before long, lunch was over and we continued down the trail towards Canaglia. At points, the trail had fallen away, big land slips that we had to get round, but it was never a real issue. We had a nice discussion about what we would do if we owned land. I think this is something that is slowly becoming less realistic nowadays. Before, land was possible to buy and own and then to develop for your purposes or needs. Now, especially in Europe, I think that buying land is very difficult and expensive to do. I would love to buy some though and build a house and garden upon it. Or, buy land and rewild it, completely letting nature take back over. That would be my two options.

We arrived into the small hamlet of Canaglia and then turned west and headed round the bottom of Monte d’Oro, along a rarely used path, judging by the amount it was overgrown by. Once again though, it was an amazing forest we passed through. Wild and untamsed and untouched completely. There were mushrooms of all varieties everywhere, and funky berries all colours all around us. There were fallen down trees and new growth everywhere. All in balance, as nature should be. Having mushrooms grow in these sorts of areas though is sign of a healthy land.

We passed a caveman site which we had to take a look at, and then continued on and into Vizzavona for the last kilometre or so. My foot started hurting in this last stretch, something that all of a sudden absorbed my complete focus. It was the same pain that had stopped me for several days in Whanganui, this muscle from the top of the foot, over the front of the ankle and up my shin. In NZ, I had taped it and then sat and rested for three or four days or so. I didn’t have that luxury this time though, and my mood plummeted as we approached Vizzavona.

We arrived into this little village/town/settlement/train station/thing, marking the halfway point, and then found our way to the ‘refuge’ – really a hotel/restaurant/bar – where we had reserved some beds. We had sent a resupply box here as well. However, when we asked for it… The guy said it wasn’t here. Oh no… I checked the tracking number with the one bar of signal that I had and the French post declared that it was still en route… Oh no! There were no real shops in Vizzavona, the only one being at the campsite which was small and overpriced…

Well, there was not much of an alternative. We went and grabbed our beds in this refuge (where we found the army guys, Théo and Dmitri also staying), and then headed up to the campsite and did a spot of shopping. We got enough stuff to last us, collectively, until the end of the trail. We also knew there were spots coming up that we could buy food from, so we were not too worried, despite how worrisome it sounds on paper…

The train also arrived into Vizzavona whilst we were at the shop at the campsite. The campsite was situated up the hill from the station, so we saw all the people get off, and they were clearly all GR20 hikers. They started the small climb up towards the campsite, before we recognised them as the French Boy Band! Michael, Flo and Simon! We went out onto the road and greeted them with smiles, and then pointed out the refuge/hotel where we were staying (at the bottom of the hill they had just climbed…). Flora and Pablo also arrived from the other direction, having come over Monte d’Oro, and they were completely bamboozled by the fact that we had arrived earlier than them. Namely, they had left a good two/three hours before us. They were also not expecting us to go round the bottom of Monte d’Oro, and so they were totally expecting themselves to arrive first. I think Flora was a little put out haha, but all was good.

However, since we had evidently discouraged people from staying at the campsite but instead at the refuge, the owners got a little annoyed with us and came and sent us away, not to appear again. Oops. Ah well. We went back to our refuge and sat inside there, chatting to everyone. I had a hot shower, before I then lay down in bed. My foot was still hurting and I was really worried for the next day. I did some stretches with it and taped it, but in all honesty, from my experience with this injury from Te Araroa, I was not sure it would be fixed with an overnight sleep. I was feeling miserable, feeling that I would not be able to continue the trail. I fell asleep quickly though, exhausted and miserable as I was. I could only pray that a good night’s rest would do my foot some good.


Thank you for reading this nonsense and complete self-indulgence. I hope you enjoyed looking at the pictures at least! Please leave a comment if you feel in the mood, and I will try and reply. Part 2 should be out soon!

Thank you to Rob, Reid, Flora and Pablo for the photos.

Comments (3)

  1. Karen McLeay

    Reply

    Can’t wait to read the rest of the saga Al.
    I have completely indulged myself reading it nonstop!
    The commentary adds so much more than just seeing the photos… What a mission it was, and I love the teamwork and respect you have for each other.
    Very proud of you all. Wonderful humans❤️

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