For us, the goal was simple: to set foot on this mountain we had heard so much about; to appreciate nature and rediscover what a major mountain range truly is. For this, we had dreamed intensely; and in the end, we slept little.
We left at the end of September and planned to finish in early October. Two weeks in total. In our packs, just the essentials so that our happy, proud bodies could flourish to their fullest and occasionally fancy themselves as mountain goats. At first, leaving Brussels, our nostrils were overwhelmed by the scents of the maquis and the Laricio pines. We were relieved to breathe freely again. We take a bus, make a phone call, then came a pickup truck swaying like a boat, turning left then right, climbing slowly. Finally, the vehicle stops. Freedom is ours. Our soles begin to warm up when, on the first slope, we find ourselves nearly vertical. In a flash of thought, a glance, a word: what a place!
Conca – I Paliri
The climbs follow one after another, leading us to the first of the windows that open onto the sea and the mountains. There, we greet a woman who tells us she is waiting for her husband for the final descent, on his way back along the north-south route. A lovely gift. We carry on. It's our first day. We have fire in our heels, moving as fast as Brussels taxis — the excitement is real. We understand that the GR20 is a moving serpent that we will have to tame. The I Paliri refuge awaits us. Once we've claimed our spot, we sit down with a beer, our legs finally relaxing. The next day, we will head to the Asinau refuge. We heard that our tent neighbours will be up at 5:30; we will do the same.
I Paliri - Asinau
We follow the stones, the pines, the wall lizards and, above all, the red and white trail markers; we climb up and back down, pass through a granite gateway with massive boulders, then walk past the Bavella needles, which would make any climber dream. We get a little lost before finding our way again and finish with a fine climb up to the Asinau refuge.
Asinau – I Croci
From Asinau, we planned to head to the Usciolu refuge. We already know that in the morning we'll have 500 m of elevation gain to tackle head-on. We look at each other and go for it. That morning, the sky is filled with a thick mist that reminds me vaguely of the golden hue of a good vol-au-vent. We climbed it. It has to be said it was so vertical I could have given it a 3a grade. We reached the top of the pass; the wind revived us in an instant — we were warm, so it came at just the right time. However, the alpine variant we were supposed to take was too dangerous. The wind began to blow hard. It brought along its friend the rain, that famous drizzle we know so well back home. I have never walked so fast in the mountains; the first shepherd's hut was a welcome sight, and it was I Croci — very comfortable, with a large table and plenty of people like us, soaked to the bone. We could go no further that day. The weather had us drinking coffee, then wine, eating cheese, then sausage. We had to let a full day of walking pass us by.
I Croci – Bocca Di Verde
Next morning, departure at 7:00. That day, we planned to do I Croci - Bocca di Verde. In other words, the longest mountain stage of my life. Just over 30 km with 2000 m of positive elevation gain and 2000 m of descent. There were so many ups and downs that the landscapes we passed through blur together. But always the sea on one side, granite on the other; turn a quarter and there's the pine forest. Bocca di Verde was a conquest in itself, but after a good hot shower, a fine piece of sheep's cheese and a glass of red, we easily find our smiles again.
Bocca Di Verde - Vizzavona
We are on the third day, planning to go from Bocca di Verde to Vizzavona. We warm our legs up a little by taking a slightly wrong turn. Back on the right path, the forest once again gives way to rock, but it grows more beautiful with each passing day. After a long day's walk, here we are in Vizzavona, the nerve centre of the GR20. There is a train station, two restaurants, a grocery store, a campsite and two guesthouses. It resembles civilisation. We take the opportunity to buy some sausage and cheese, a little bread to break the monotony of freeze-dried meals. We'll eat a good dish at the restaurant, followed by a few Pietra and glasses of myrtle liqueur. Time to go — not walking, but sleeping. It must be said that a myrtle-induced sleep is something you dream about wildly. Fresh, it's fresh this morning, as we enter the northern section, today's objective: Vizzavona-Onda.
Vizzavona – Onda
For a few days now, people have been singing the praises of the lasagne at the Onda refuge, so — as we're very keen to have a portion — we set off early and walk at a good pace, as usual. We will have passed through a lovely shepherd's hut, crossed paths with the GR Mare a Mare trails and climbed a fine flight of massive boulders. When we spot the Onda refuge, there is still a long descent of dust and stone ahead. We finish our stage early enough, giving us time for an aperitif, washing our clothes, taking a cold shower and discussing the next stages in the north. Evening comes slowly and with it the cool air, but we are soon warmed by the famous brocciu lasagne at Onda, prepared with all the skill of Jean d'O's wife. It is terribly good. A small glass of red and here we are at the dessert cheese. Once the cheese is finished, Jean d'O brings us a plastic bottle containing an unidentifiable liquid of an orange colour. "Right then, let's taste it." What a flavour — it's clementine eau-de-vie made on the premises. At that moment, I am no longer cold. We are in our sleeping bags; tomorrow the stage will be Onda – Manganu.
Onda - Manganu
At wake-up, the ground is soaked. It rained during the night. We descend through the woods in a long downhill stretch, only to climb back up everything we came down — that is the GR20. This day will see a golden eagle fly over us at 10 m. There is a tremendous thrill in finding yourself at the same height as this bird of prey. Vegetation gives way to rock, but not entirely. We find cattle grazing on the famous pozzine typical of Corsican mountain plateaus. We also pass by a commemorative plaque bearing the likeness of a Savoyard who died during a ski crossing in winter. Farewell, comrade. The day has been beautiful despite the wet ground; we are at the Manganu refuge and haven't seen so many people in a long time. They're going north-south and we're going south-north. People talk loudly, very loudly. Then at night it snores loudly, very loudly. Tomorrow: Manganu – Tighettu.
Manganu - Tighettu
Today, the sun is nowhere to be seen; there is a mist thick enough to daunt any mountaineer. So we wait. 7:00, 8:00, 8:30; we can go, there's a break in it. This is the most incredible stage. We descend from a hostile and unforgiving mountain, only to find ourselves in a landscape resembling the Scottish Highlands. Across this plateau where the path is hard to make out through the mist, shepherd's huts and lakes of rare beauty follow one after another. Once again we plunge into pine forests, where a long, almost flat stretch leads us to the Castel de Vergio ski resort, where we stop to have a bite to eat and take a nap. After refuelling, the path continues until we finally reach an enormous final climb that takes us to the Tighettu refuge, perched at 2000 m facing the entrance to the famous Cirque de la Solitude. Tonight, the sky is overcast. After getting settled, we have a pastis with the refuge warden, who shows us a magnificent mouflon, right there before our eyes, just a few metres away. After one pastis, then two, then three, four, five and the rest, we must face the truth: we won't be able to continue. The refuge warden announces three days of storms. We don't have time to wait up here. So, we'll have another pastis, then two, then three...
The journey is over
Waking up is incredibly hard, not because of the pastis, but because it's over. One last glance at the sky says it all about what comes next. We really will have to descend. At the refuge exit, a sign catches my eye — the one indicating the Cirque de la Solitude, closed. A brief thought comes to me for those who never made it back. My reflection, however, remains always the same: it is the mountain that decides, and we go into the mountains to come back and to be able to talk about it. We took the time to live there, to laugh and to sing; now we must return to a certain reality. How hard that is. I will never forget the granite, the limestone, the schist, the pines, the vertiginous descents, the golden eagles, the wind, the rain, the shepherd's huts, the lasagne at the Onda refuge, the thick mist, the red and the white, the stones giving way beneath our feet, the sausage, the high-altitude lakes, the stone gateways, the good companions of the road, my sweat, the dust, the gentle sweetness of those privileged moments with nature, this island traversed, where sometimes the sky merges with the sea, and the stones with men.
The GR20 by Alex from the Lecomte team