Day 6: Hotel Castel di Vergio - Refuge de Manfanu, 17 km
Across from the hotel a resupply station is being built. In a large tent bottles of water are piled up high. A few pigs waddle in to investigate and are chased into the forest. That very same forest I enter not much later, a pine forest without rocks or roots. I can finally stretch my legs and it feels amazing. Through openings in the trees I see the interlocking mountains slowly getting lighter, from blue to green. Despite the early hour it’s already warm. Even when I climb the trail is simple, with wide zigzags. On the Bocca San Pedru there’s a little chapel with Jezus behind bars. The col offers a view of a pleasant valley where cows are grazing. The lead cow carries a bell which clangs cheerfully and for a moment I imagine myself in Switzerland. In the middle of the pass there’s a tree which has been shaped by the wind and drags its branched behind it like a waving flag. We climb a bit further to a hill sporting an electricity pylon, the first real blight on the landscape. Another hill follows and as if to celebrate I’m up I hear my first skylark. After another hill I descend to Lac du Ninu, a wide lake surrounded by a lovely green landscape. A stream springs from the lake, the start of the river Tavignanu, and I am surprised such a fast flowing stream can spring from such a small, quiet lake. I would expect the lake to be drained completely in just a day, that much water flows across the rocks. I cross the stream with stepping stones and end up in an area with deciduous trees, which I have missed in these past few days. Now and again I am overtaken by an ultra runner. They have a shirt number and a label on their backpacks. An ultra race, or so it seems. Later I hear it’s a 110 k from Corte. Wow. In this landscape and with this heat, rather them than me, that’s for sure. I pass the Bergerie de L’Inzecche below and a bit later I hike in between the Bergerie de Vaccaghja’s disconsolate enclosures, which sells homemade cheese and cold drinks. After a last climb I reach a wooden bridge across an attractive stream to the refuge. A moment later I find a spot in the shade for my tent. After that I walk past the refuge back to the stream and gratefully sink into the pool below a waterfall.

Day 7: Refuge de Manganau - Refuge de Petra Piana, 10 km
Through the mesh of my inner tent I see stars growing pale in the early morning light. The first hikers set out with flashlights while I pack up my gear. The source is a scrawny trickle and to avoid the line of hikers queuing now I have filled my water bladder to the brim yesterday already. Around 05.45 in the morning I cross the stream above the waterfall via stepping stones. The path gradually climbs to the end of the valley, but remains friendly. It zigzags up calmly and although there are plenty of rocks and boulders, I do not have to scramble anywhere. Now and again there’s a bit of level grass and although you’d think cows don’t get this high up, their pies prove different. To my right a waterfall flows into a deep gorge and there’s even a small lake, clear as a mirror in which the peaks show their sunlit colors. In front of me a wall of grey, sharp peaks rises up and I zigzag further up. The yellow signs and ribbons of the ultra race accompany us and I have renewed respect for the athletes who have run this course. The last stretch to a small passage in the rocks is fairly steep. For a moment I need my hands again, but then I am up in a jiffy, the Bocca a e Porte at 2.225 meters. From here I see two lakes, Lac de Capitellu and Lac du Melo, with blue mountains behind them. It’s beautiful and sparkling, so much so I can’t take a decent picture from this angle. Fortunately the route encircles the lakes, so I will get my chance. When I am high above Lac du Capitellu I have an amazing view of the rocks and mountains in the distance. This is exactly why I love hiking in the mountains, this impressive beauty of nature. There is no comparison. Although there’s no longer a elevation gain of descent of hundreds of meters, there are enough little climbs and puzzles down. Then we reach a steep rock that sports a chain. It looks intimidating, but upon close inspection, the chain is largely superfluous. Although it’s nice to have on hand, apart from a small section there are enough handholds to make it down safely. At the next descent there’s yellow tape, directing the ultra race off GR20’s route. I climb on and at the Bocca a Soglua I rest in a rock’s shade. When I continue the path leads up. The path leads across huge rocks  and I puzzle my way across, ever trying to plant my feet at a somewhat level area. There’s a slippery rock which I circumvent by hiking on a small ridge a bit higher, avoiding the wet rock on which water flows. And that’s the last really exciting bit today. I reach Bocca Renosu, where a large group of hikers is resting and for a moment there’s grass with little streams running through it. The next pass, Bocca Muzzella is not far. I see the path descending, a brown-grey ribbon which looks deceptively easily hikeable from a distance. The truth is different, stone continue to prevent a normal rhythm, descents of a meter or two where you have to mind every step and lean heavily on your trekking poles. Around a corner a new mountain appears and not until the next corner I see the rigid lines of tents for hire which characterizes a refuge. It’s on a plateau at the edge of a valley and it seems like there’s no shade whatsoever. While I descend further a stream flows across the path. It doesn’t make hiking any easier. Furthermore there’s a jumble of paths, hikers voting with their feet on the easiest route down. I follow this path, then another and sometimes choose my own, keeping an eye out for the markers. Then the route crosses the stream and there’s dry ground for a bit, all the way to the refuge. There is indeed no shade to be found, but in between the bushes I am nicely out of the wind.

Day 8: Refuge de Petra Piana – Vizzavona, 22 km

I wake with a headache and a tongue like dried leather. I have a cold. With this wonderful weather? With a cotton ball-filled head I set out. From the refuge the trail heads down steeply. It’s hard, but not very complicated. The stones have been positioned such that the form steps. How much work that must have been. Below me I see a red roof. When I get lower, water starts flowing. A beautiful waterfall crossed via stepping stones, but also a stream flowing freely across the trail along the path of least resistance. At the house with the red roof some sort of jeep track starts, but stones keep making hiking troublesome. The trail runs parallel to Ruisseau de Manganellu, a river full of gorgeous waterfalls surrounded by smoothly polished rocks. Later the trail diverges from the river until I only softly hear its flow. Eventually I reach the Bergeries de Tolla, where the Ruisseau de Manganellu and the Ruisseau de Grottica converge. I follow the last a bit upstream. The path disappears and I find myself a bit below the official route. I climb back to the trail, which turns out to be some sort of jeep track. The route climbs steadily until I reach three jeeps. Here the trail stops being a track and winds in between the trees which have been abundantly way marked. This I do enjoy, a small path swinging along the trees, no more rocks, but trees and roots and soft earth. I cross a stream next to a waterfall, approach the forest edge and stop to apply sun lotion, because the sun is fierce today. Noel approaches from the opposite direction. He and Eithne hiked the high variant and he’s looking for a swimming pool. After a brief chat I continue on and, just as Noel predicted, reach the Bergerie shortly. It’s not even noon yet and slowly the idea takes hold to hike two legs today. I buy a drink and some chocolate, take my leave of Eithne and head out to Vizzavona with Norwegian Peter. Right behind the Bergerie I climb up, fairly steeply, to the refuge, which looks out across the valley. From there we climb even higher to a blunt hill overgrown with bushes. Peter lags behind, but he doesn’t have trekking poles. I really couldn’t do this with only the strength of my legs. I reach the top, but know a even bigger climb is to follow. And indeed from the hilltop I can see the jagged peaks of new mountains. The path winds up in easy zigzags and occasionally there’s a bit of a scramble, but nothing compared to those first  four incredible days. Still there’s a plaque here with the picture of a smiling man and his dog, both disappeared in April 2003 when he traversed the GR20 by ski. From the Punta Muratello at 2.100 meters it steeply down and that’s a lot slower than going up. Soon Peter overtakes me, swift-footed dancing across the rocks. There are a few, slanting rocks, but they are not so steep I need my hands. Sometimes hikers have created an easy detour around them, but I always choose the hardest path. I trust my boots to find a grip on the slanting rocks. The clouds above the mountains have turned grew and although it’s not raining, the temperature has become a lot more pleasant. When I reach the tree line, the path remains rocky. I am starting to get enough. A small bridge squeezing through a gully offers diversion. I hear children’s voices. The path continues downwards along a series of waterfalls and pools, the Cascade des Anglais. I have no more energy to admire them. And when I again find myself standing in front of a challenging descent where I am sure to have to scramble I think in a Gargamel-voice “I hate rocks!”, I know I am tired. After another bridge the forest path becomes wide, but continues to be rocky. Despite my fatigue I pick up some trash, although I bend over reluctantly to do so. I feel like walking in a park more than a forest, there are benches and in the distance I can hear traffic. Still it’s three kilometers on this gravel path and that is a long way. The forest goes on and on. Seldom I have been as glad to see the end of it. A house! Vizzavona! I step onto the tarmac and stop at the first campsite I encounter. Near the showers I meet Julien. He has two nasty abrasions on his heels, caused by ill-fitting shoes. He will swap out the GR20 for the beach tomorrow and I can’t blame him. Noel and Eithne will arrive here tomorrow and have two zero’s before going on. They will make it, but I will miss their company.

Day 9: Vizzavona - Refuge di Prati, 34 km
The weather in Corsica is busy turning. I can hear it in the wind, which rolls in which vicious gusts. Bad weather is coming. From my tent I look up at the clear sky and set out as usual. After a lazy zero in Vizzavona full of tasty and calorie-rich food it’s nice to get up at 05.00 in the morning again and leave at 06.00 hours with a backpack as heavy as the first day filled with new meals. The worst of the cold is over, although I still cough on occasion. I leave Vizzavona on the only road, just as I arrived. The GR20 – South is well marked. For a brief moment I hike across a rocky path parallel to the road and cross it later. A wide, easy forest road follows. No wonder this leg can be fairly long with 16 km. Finally I can walk normally, without constantly minding my feet. When I get higher I see a very dark sky behind me and I am glad I am not up north now. Fairly abruptly the route leaves the gravel road. A small forest path climbs and winds. It’s not hard, but enjoyable. When the drizzle starts, I remain dry below the canopy. I am approaching an open hill where I am exposed to the elements. The wind tugs on my backpack and I am flogged by rain. With difficulty I reach Bocca Palmento’s 1.645 meter top. No place to linger with this weather. I quickly descend to the tree line and the canopy’s protection. But once there the thin layer of leaves doesn’t offer any protection against the downpour. I don my raingear, but quickly take it off again when it gets dry. I pass a few buildings, the Bergerie d’Alzeta, which are closed. The path winds along the mountain, just below and just above the tree line. Teenagers hike towards me, it seems like an entire class has set out. Short pieces of road appear in the route, but right before a ski-lift there’s a nice little scramble. I pass the tents from the refuge d’E Capanelle, where a hiker is pitching his tent despite the early hour. The next leg is short, I can take it. The route is steep, but nowhere complicated. Almost unnoticeable the path climbs, I cross streams, brooks and rivers, usually with stepping stones. I turn around a mountain and have an amazing view of a valley’s end, a bowl of grey mountains. A river flows down thunderously and later I cross another. At the Plateau de Gialgone I take a break again, carefully watched by a herd of cows. I can’t linger long, I want to hike. There’s been a fire here, I can see it in the blackened trunks and dead pine trees between the shrubs. The route descends rapidly until I reach a wide forest path. I hike parallel to a river below, a stony path which would be annoying this late in the day, had not hikers worn out a smooth trail in the forest next to it. At a picnic site I climb a gravel path to a road an just at the junction is refuge di Verdi. It’s a gorgeous spot. Tent pitches in between the trees, between the pines. I could be happy here, even if one night. The temptation looms large. But I have something different in mind. There’s a next refuge not much further. Four kilometers, two hours of climbing. I want it and I don’t. I am truly addicted to hiking. Nobody will stop me. I fill my water bladder and go.
It starts out calmly, a gravel road upwards. Then the gravel road becomes so steep I can’t imagine a car driving here. I leave the road and into the forest I go. The path climbs and I climb with it. Between the slender trees I see blue sky and slowly the blue takes up more and more space. I don’t trust it. After every top or ridge there’s another one. That’s how it goes in the mountains. As it does here. Once out of the trees I have a wonderful view of a series of peaks. The past follows the contours of the valley, fairly level and I can catch my breath for a moment. There’s green, which relaxes. When I have to climb again, there’s a stone stairway. I climb. A few hundred meters to the pass. My right hand cramps around the trekking pole. On the pass I see land on the other side. Neat squares with fields and pastures, villages, a town, the sea. According to a signpost the refuge is 20 minutes away. The guidebook said fifteen. I hike and see nothing yet. The sea hikes along with me on my left. A tent. A green, corrugated iron roof. The refuge is in the middle of a pass. The wind blows hard, there’s cold showers in brick cubicles. It’s not a nice place to be. Why couldn’t I have stayed in the forest?     

Day 10: Refuge di Prati - Refuge d'Usciolu, 12 km

The dense clouds have just enough holes in them to show a gorgeous sunrise behind a mountain peak. But the rumbling from a neighboring valley is not to my liking. I pack up my gear, pack up my tent and when lightning starts to flash above us I hide in the refuge with the other hikers. For an hour and a half it rains and thunders. Then it improves, although it remains cold and I am wearing my thin windbreaker for the first time. When it clears up, I set out, although clouds still ascend from the valleys surrounding us. Now and again the clouds lift their skirts and I can see right into the valley, where to normal world slowly imposes itself on us with roads, neatly organized fields and little white houses. The path climbs briefly by remains somewhat level then, now on this side of the ridge and then on the other. That doesn’t mean the trail is at all easy. The GR20 – South is easier than the GR20 – North, but it’s still a challenging hike. There are slabs which are doable despite the rain, steep climbs and equally steep descents. I add new abrasions, bruises and scratches to my already extensive collection. Still the landscape is shrouded in clouds, giving it a mysterious outlook. All that is not relevant is lost. The route descends to a nice forest and starts climbing handsomely again. Although I enjoy the path, the forest and the soft soil underneath my feet, I only slowly gain altitude. The climb leads to Bocca Di Laparo and when the clouds momentarily disappear I see a electricity pylon and some buildings. Now that I could have done without. The way markings lead me up higher and the path remains complicated. Huge boulders across which you can find your way, large holes in between. It’s scrambling and searching again. I am careful, braking an ankle now would be a shame. At the same time I am starting to realize I am not going to be walking a leg and a half, as I intended. Apparently Vizzavona’s extra calories have been spent, although I am steadily nibbling away at my biscuits in these lower temperatures. Regular rumbling in the distance makes me feel like I am hiking towards thunder instead of away from it. In a neighboring valley I notice a dark blue sky, but it slides into another valley before I reach today’s highest point, a pass at Monte Furmicula at 1.950 meters. From there the path finally descends, although there are still enough rocks to tease me. There’s a nasty, steep descent across a tangle of trails, but then I am finally at the refuge d’Usciolu. Another cold shower awaits, this time even in a cubicle without a door, with just a shower curtain. I am wondering how badly I want that shower.

Day 11: Refuge d'Usciolu - Bergerie d'Croci, 15 km

When I wake up, the clouds hang below us in the valley. Mountains are dark islands in a white sea. I am pleasantly lazy today and set out an hour later than usual. That’s still at 07.00 in the morning, but it’s starting to get warm already. The route starts climbing right from the refuge, although it’s not steep or complicated. There are large slabs, but the rocks is rough and gritty like concrete and my hiking boots are doing just fine. Of course there’s some scrambling, but nothing can stop me now. Once up we stay on the ridge, Arete a Monda, hiking on one side, then the other, sometimes squeezing through narrow passages in the rocks. Once I descend to a forest after such a passage, because I recognize something of a trail. A Polish couple making the same mistake doesn’t see any markings anymore and when we turn back we see we should have returned to the other side of the ridge right away. The land we look out upon gets more and more civilized. To the right of the ridge are the villages Cozzano and Zicavo, a helicopter flies to and from a quarry. To the left of the ridge there’s forest, with only in the distance smooth fields. The route crosses more tops like Punta d’Usciolu and Punta di a Scaddatta, but because we remain roughly on the same altitude the climbs are short and easy. Then we descend, a narrow path through tall bushes and later open forest. After a open spot, where several familiar hikers rest, I push on, further down. Just like that the rocks disappear from the trail and I can hike wonderfully, although I am still distracted by the countless lizards scattering before my feet. There are beautiful hills and the path runs through high ferns. I am no longer accustomed to such greenery after all those days above the tree line. The path descends to an idyllic stream, Ruisseau de Partuso. I could bath here, but how would I ever get going again? I cross the stream and follow another shallow river upstream, the Ruisseau de Veracolongu. I follow the path which loops around to the Bergerie de Bassetta. There I take a break at the terrace. Another group of hikers is eating and what they have looks so appetizing I order the same thing, a luxury I have not allowed myself yet. After I while I hike on, although hiking with a full stomach is less pleasant than with an empty one. Fortunately the route remains simple, with little hills and dips in between. I am not going to make the two legs I wanted to hike today, I have already decided. The next leg ends in a almost 2.000 meter climb and I don’t feel like playing hide and seek with a thunder storm again. Still I nibble away at of tomorrow’s distance, because I hike on to the Bergerie d’l Croci, where I am hoping for the warm shower which will surely be missing at the refuge de Matalza. Bergeries are privately owned and offer a bit more service and quality than the refuges, which are managed by the PNRC, the Parc naturel regional de Corse. From the refuge there’s a wide gravel road, with more sand than gravel and it’s wonderful hiking. The landscape is full of brooks and hills and I am thoroughly enjoying myself. It’s three kilometers to the Bergerie and it takes me longer than I expected, given the landscape. But once I’m there, the campsite is quiet and most tents for hire are empty. The Bergerie is in the middle of two legs and apparently is not very popular among GR20 hikers. It’s to my advantage. First a shower, although not scalding hot, it’s not cold either and that’s nice. Then I wash my clothes until the water coming out of it is not so brown anymore.

Day 12: Bergerie d' l Croci - Village de Bavella 19 km

The day starts out clouded and because of it wonderfully fresh. I follow two ultra runners up to a large gravel road and look at the strange clouds over the mountains. Apart from regular cirrocumulus clouds there is also one strangely rounded like a giant UFO. When the route diverts me from the gravel road it’s for a short, exciting path before returning to the easy gravel road. It feels like a highway. I hike around a valley till the Bocca di Charalba at 1.743 meters. I climb something and descend something, but it’s nothing to write home about. Suddenly I’m at a rocky hill without way marks. I climb a bit… nothing. I descend a bit… noting as well. Back then to the last marker. I can see it from a distance, but where is the next one? Not until I’m right next to the marker I notice the next ones. The route climbs up perpendicular to the path across the rocks. I climb after the red-white paint marks. The large slabs are rough stone and I have no trouble getting higher. I reach the pass on the shoulder of the Monte Alcudina at 2.025 meters, where a number of hikers are resting after their climb up from the other side. Below me is the refuge and across from the valley I see a series of jagged peaks. And behind them, the sea. The end is literally in sight.  

I start the decent and it’s long and steep. The refuge disappears from view, only to reappear from behind a hill. It’s a gorgeous place, the view of the valley and the mountains is amazing. There are no hikers and from the deck I admire the birds singing their song uninterrupted from the treetops. After awhile I go on. It’s still 11 km to the end today after all. The route descends into the valley and early on there are plenty rocks. Then the route descends into the welcome shade of a pine forest, although the number of rocks on the trail doesn’t lessen. I cross a sizable river and the route continues on the other side of the valley. Now and again the path is easy and I can make headway, but often enough I puzzle my way downwards carefully. My left big toe is none too pleased with the decent and later it turns out there’s a hole in my sock. Whoops! The pine forest gives way to birch and not much later I am hiking in between juniper bushes. Now and again I encounter day hikers, but hikers with backpacks are absent. Below me I glimpse a white building with a red roof. Hopefully I speculate it’s Bavella, although I am aware that lies in a different direction. Prior to Bavella the trail curves to the left and again I am hoping the end of the hike is near. Only 4,5 km, a German couple vacationing here says. It doesn’t seem like a lot, 4,5 km, but I am struggling. The clouds are gone and it’s hot again. The route climbs and becomes harder still. Again I am climbing and scrambling. At least I’m getting higher fast, where I see a road. The last few meters up. A parking lot. Crowds. It looks like a theme park. That many tourists all of a sudden. I get why they come here. Looking back I see a spectacular mountain range, the Bavella. Village de Bavella consists of a few bars and restaurants and a small bungalowpark. The first restaurant has a refuge in the basement and because I can’t see myself hiking two more hours, I book a bed.

Day 13: Village de Bavella – Conca,19 km

In the silence and darkness of the refuge I oversleep. Whoops. An hour later I emerge from the refuge into a fascinating display of hectic cloud patches blowing right across the parking lot to the sunlit peaks behind it. I follow the road downwards till a hairpin bend where the tarmac goes left and I turn right past a source onto a gravel road. The first signs of Conca bars are already up in the trees. A bit further I get to leave the gravel road, a wonderful forest path with few rocks. I descend a fair bit and immediately climb again to the Foce Finosa at 1.206 meters. The mountains continue to protrude above the trees and impress this last day. Many tour operators skip this last leg entirely and end the GR20 in Village de Bavella, but I don’t regret finishing the trail as it is supposed to be. After climbing for awhile I descend again and the sound of a generator it the first clue I am approaching refuge d’l Paliri. The refuge is beautifully situated and I enjoy the view of a bald rock face and a huge rock with graceful holes in it, where a little kitchen has been bricked on one side. The smell of gasoline and the penetrating sound of the generator chase me off again. The route enters a forest which by en large deprives me of mountain views. Fortunately there are also open sections, where I can enjoy rocks with names like Punta di ‘l Anima Damnata, the rock of the damned soul. After that new rock formations continue to appear. Usually the last day is one of saying farewell to nature and civilization encroaches long before the end. Not this time. This remains amazingly beautiful and I am not bored for one second. It has become very hot and I am sweating profusely. Then it gets even more beautiful than I thought possible. I reach a top with naked granite, the Bocca Di u Sordu. Like we have undulating dunes, here the waves are made out of rock and apparently the rock is soft too, because they have worn in peculiar shapes. The flat rock make for nice walking and are gorgeous to look at. And from every hilltop the sea, and with it the end, comes closer. A town, the white trails of boats on the water. After the granite rocks I descend. The path is well and easy, only the open areas are hard. I cross a river, Ruisseau de Punta Pinzuta, although given the narrow trickle I would sooner call it a stream. I descend further and according to my map it’s the very same river I cross again. On the other side I look up to a waterfall, in this summer’s heat a modes trickle across wide, polished rocks. The water flows in a series of inviting, deep pools. This time I can’t resist temptation. Why hurry to the end? I take of my backpack, take of my clothes and lower myself down in the lukewarm water. Woooooonderful.
Still I can’t stay at ease long. I crawl out and just when I am drying myself off a group of five ultra runners take the plunge. From this point forward it’s only five kilometers to Conca. That doesn’t seem long, but in the mountains everything takes longer than expected. Every time I think: is this the last climb, the last descent? But there are always more. I follow the path towards the end of the hills and fortunately it’s not hard or complicated. Then I reach another top, where a passage in between two rocks looks like a door. When I pass through it, I see houses on the other side. Conca! It’s two kilometers down still. The village disappears from view again, the path sinks into the ground like a trench. There are enough rocks to think one last time: I hate rocks. Then… tarmac. I descend to the village, where I share the terrace of the very first café with other hikers. We congratulate each other, because we made it!

Check out my pictures of this hike here.