Stage 11 — Bergeries d' E Capanelle to Bocca di Verdi

During our hike of the GR20 North two years prior we were almost always among the last to start each day's hike. Keeping in that tradition, we took our time decamping, eating breakfast, and packing up. The previous evening we hadn't been sure whether we would take the high variant of this stage or keep to the official low route, but we were feeling well enough in the morning that there was no question but to take the high route. As we ate breakfast on the deck of the gite we could see the junction where the trail split — left to the low route, right to the high route — and watched the other hikers depart, guessing which way they would go. Most went left, perhaps wisely.

Soon we were on our way, scrambling up the steep scree and sand of the bare ski slopes toward the ridge that took us to Lac du Bastani. We shared views at the alpine lake with a few day hikers, had a snack and took some pictures, then continued on toward Monte Renosu. Since this is not the official GR20, the trail is not as well marked. However, the way to the summit is well travelled by day hikers, and a vague path can be discerned. We probably weren't on the trail much of the time, but we just kept going up. Eventually we made it to the broad north shoulder of the mountain and were rewarded with great views of Monte d'Oro, Monte Rotondu, and the distinct profile of Paglia Orba.

An easy walk across the western slope (which brought to my mind Mt Adams back home) lead us to the proper summit, where a metal cross stands among large boulders. We bagged the peak along with two other GR20 hikers who must have been resting at the lake, since they had left the refuge before us but had been following us for a while. We had lunch in a sheltered spot near the summit, then continued along the ridge to the southern shoulder of the mountain. Here the trail that had seemed so clear trailed off into many vague paths among the rocks and scrub. To the southwest we could see the valley and lake where we wanted to go, but the most promising path seemed to go south along the ridge. We kept on that path all the way to Punta Orlandino, where the trail completely disappeared. The couple who we ran into on the summit seemed to be following us, though from our perspective that was not prudent.

We decided to loop back toward the southwestern slope in search of a path down to the valley. This route took us around the bouldery Punta Orlandino, through low scrub that was crisscrossed with goat paths. Looking back to the peak we saw the couple who had been behind us, but they did not follow. We pointed ourselves downhill, constantly finding and loosing what seemed to be a trail, until finally we were a short bushwhack from the lake and pasture we were aiming for. It was clear that whatever the proper route was, we were never on it. It was all worth the effort since the weather was fine and the scenery was beautiful.

We made our way to the edge of the valley, where a grazing cow startled the crap out of me, then we crossed the swampy pasture passing cows, pigs, and some day hikers who had come up from Eze in the south. Following a well travelled path around the lake we arrived at the vacant Bergeries d' I Pozzi and took a long rest in the shade of some chestnut trees, ate some apples, and consulted the map. Sitting alongside the blazed (although still not GR20 red-white) trail restored our confidence, which had been shaken somewhat during our wandering descent from the summit. There was a high, jagged ridge in view to the southeast, which got us wondering if we would be going around it or over it.

Unfortunately, the path we were resting near was not the correct one, which we realized soon after leaving the rest spot. We doubled back to the bergerie and tried to reconcile the guide book directions with the terrain. We made a guess to follow a brook down from the lake and into a beech forest, where any existing path was well obscured by fallen leaves, random stones, and the occasional fallen branch or tree. Keeping generally with the stream, we kept plodding along in the hope that we'd meet up with the low route. After a long while we found ourselves suddenly standing on a wide, level trail, which we knew was the GR20 even before seeing the red and white blaze a few minutes later.

Once we were back on the GR20 we made good time, keeping a fast pace on the mostly level trail. We passed one of the eastern european couples who had camped beside us the night before. Both were sitting down and looked rather glum. We then passed their companions, who were walking slowly. The trail got flatter and wider, eventually becoming a woods road, and up drove a pickup truck with two men and some dogs. They were looking for a lost dog and asked us if we had seen it, but we couldn't help them. At the same time we also caught up to two more hikers, and when I attempted to talk to them in French they asked that we speak English. They were from Denmark, and I believe had ridden with us on the train to Vizzavona. We had a brief conversation as we walked until our different paces separated us. A mile or so later we arrived at Bocca di Verdi, our stopping place for the night.

A paved road runs through the Bocca di Verdi, and while there is no official PNRC refuge, there is a restaurant well situated to cater to motorists and hikers. The restaurant also maintains several bunk houses (which seemed to be recent construction) and a campground, where we found decent tent sites. The Danish couple pitched their tent next to ours, and then we were all entertained by a pig foraging nearby. Amusing until he went for my pack and slobbered all over my (former) lunch bread. So this was the first and only time that we rigged up a way to suspend our packs out of the reach of hungry livestock.

With our tents set up and packs hoisted into a tree, we walked back to the restaurant to have some Pietra and play cards. Other familiar hikers started arriving, including the German couple and their kid (perhaps they arrived by car), a group of four French people who had taken the low route, and finally the six eastern Europeans. We asked the girl serving our beer if we could reserve two dinners, but she told us they were booked up. As if on cue, a large guided group of about 20 people arrived from the south. Just a few minutes later, another guided group of about the same size walked in, also from the south. So much for dinner, we reckoned. I think Markus had the idea to order a few more Pietras, just in case the crowds were thirsty.

The guides always book their accommodations well in advance since they bring so many people, and this can quickly fill the gites and refuges. We later learned from the restaurant owner that he gets groups this size most nights. The hikers carry day packs with their lunch and day gear, while their luggage is ported from one stage to the next in vans. So the groups arrived hot and sweaty in hiking cloths, disappeared to their bunk rooms, then about an hour later showed up again, showered and wearing dresses or slacks, ready for cocktails.

While all this was going on, the east Europeans were involved in their own drama. At least one of the couples wanted to quit the trail, while others seemed to want to continue. We'll never know for sure of course, since we didn't even know what language they were speaking, let alone understand it. In the end they decided (apparently) that two of them would hitch a ride somewhere and then come back for the others with a car. At least they had some good days on the trail, and probably had a few better days on the beach.

We were not headed to the beach, so eating a good meal was important. Luckily the gite owner figured he had enough food to serve us dinner. We order another beer in celebration, and tipped the bar girl who seemed a bit put off and didn't want the tip (we must have broken some rule of etiquette). She had a short conversation with the restaurant owner (probably her father), and then came over with him to thank us. One can only imagine what they had discussed. The gite owner was also the cook, and had been setting up a few large grills on which he cooked pork chops for all of his guests. The two large groups (and a few others) ate inside, while we and the other north-south hikers ate on the patio. I think we had a the better location. Just as we started to eat, two exhausted young French men with full packs walked in from the south. It was already getting dark, and clearly these two had been pushing themselves to make it here. They were a bit huffy about getting dinner, and must have made some negative comment since they were not well received by the owner (who fed them still). Judging by the tape on their feet, the bulk of their packs, and the lateness of their arrival, they were either inexperienced or hiking the route faster than they should have been.

While we were eating our host came over to ask how our meal was, and we spoke for a bit with him about the large groups and how frequent they were over the summer. His English was better than our French, but our conversation was still somewhat limited. After dinner we went into the (now mostly empty) dining room to play a few hands of cards. The long day finally caught up with us, so we headed of to our tents just in time to be lulled to sleep by some polyphonic singing, performed by a few old men for one of the guided groups.

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