Stage 12 — Bocca di Verdi to Refuge d'Usciolu

As usual, we took our time getting ready to leave in the morning. The Danish couple had told us they were taking a short day, only hiking to the Refuge di Prati, so this was the second group of fellow walkers that was no longer with us. We still had the German family and the French group of four with us, although we had somehow lost three other small groups who we had seen the previous days. As we got ready to leave, the two large groups brought all their suitcases up to the patio to be loaded into their vans. We watched as they lined up behind their guides and marched off single file to the north. We bought some bread to replace what had been taken by the pig, and on our way out our host came up to thank us, shook our hands, and said we were "gentlemen". Two guys who were perhaps not so high on his friends list, the huffy late-comers, were still asleep in their tents as we crossed the street to rejoin the GR20.

We had descended significantly in elevation the previous day, which meant we had to make it all up again the following day. Much of this ascent happens immediately after departing Bocca di Verdi in the few miles between it and the Refuge de Prati. The Danish couple left after we did, so we did not see them again. While the small French group had long departed, the Danish couple left after we did, so we did not see them again. On our way up we passed a young family out of a day hike, and also the German family who had slept under the stars the night before. We made steady progress, stopping only briefly to have a snack and take some pictures back across the valley. There were clear views to the northwest, where we traced the route we had taken the day before.

The Refuge de Prati was empty (I imagine midday at the refuges can be very quite). The typical stone building is in a great location, high on an alpine meadow with views of the sea to the east. This refuge is ideally situated for those who had taken the low route the day before. It would even work for those who took the high route and prefer the remoteness of the refuge (or who want to miss the large groups that pass through the Bocca di Verdi). The Refuge at Bocca di Verdi didn't have views or solitude, but the friendly service and traditional Corsican meal were ample compensation. We stopped at Refuge di Prati long enough to gnaw on some bread, then continued on the trail under clear blue skies.

The trail crosses a broad meadow before ascending the north side of Punta de Cappella, this stage's high point. It then winds below, over, and around several minor summits along the ridge leading south. We passed a few northbound guided groups, one of which was being followed by a pair of young goats. Although much of the elevation gain on this stage is finished in the first few miles, that portion of the trail is mostly sheltered from the sun, and for us was undertaken in the cooler morning hours. The hike along the ridge took far more effort. Much of it is above the tree line, has many boulder-strewn sections, and in general seems to go on forever. Except for a few short sections the trail is on the eastern side of the ridge. The winds were from the west, which meant we had no cool breeze to temper the heat of the afternoon. As always, the exertion was a small price to pay for the beautiful vistas -- east to the sea, west to the small hamlets in the valley.

Following a welcome descent in the shade of a beech forest, we came to the intersection of the GR20 and the Mare a Mare center. We were just in time to see the group of four French people turning onto the cross trail, perhaps to spend the night in the refuge or the bergerie about 20 minutes off-trail. Shortly afterwards we came upon a private camping area where we could replenish our water (my water was just about gone). Signs in French explained that the area was not open to the public for camping. We sat on the porch of a small wooden cabin, ate a snack, and looked at the map to see what we had left to do. Two older men sat nearby, listening to a radio. As we left, one of them spoke to us in French, though I understood only parts (he was commenting on the heat). Upon noticing that we barely understood, he repeated himself in Italian (no comprehension), then in German, which I understood better. He wished us a good journey and advised us to walk slowly because of the heat.

His advice was well heeded, for shortly after we left the camp we started a long ascent back up to the ridge, then on toward Monte Formicula. After the long hot hike it was a relief to see the Refuge d'Usciolu down in a narrow bowl below the summit. About half an hour later we arrived at the refuge, where we saw two of the small groups who had been with us the first night but who must have stayed at the Refuge de Prati (both groups had hiked the low route the day before). There were several other tents already set up, mostly people walking from south to north. We arranged for tent sites and dinner, set up camp, and headed to the porch of the refuge for the requisite Pietra. Two north-south groups we recognized sat at nearby picnic tables: three French people (who we gave the nickname "Injun Joe, Tom, and Becky"), and a German couple ("March-September").

We sat there drinking our beer, listening to the Corsican music playing on the guardian's radio, and enjoying the spectacular view down the valley with the sea in the distance. A fellow hiker walked up to us suddenly and asked "Where did you go?" Well, at first we had no idea what she was talking about, but then she explained that it was she and her husband who had been close behind us the day before on the ridge of Monte Renosu. They had followed a different (and better marked) route down from the ridge, then continued on to the Refuge de Prati. We described how we had made our descent, then traded other GR20 stories as we waited for dinner (their nickname: "Helmut und Gertrude").

As we ate we watched some late arrivals making their way down from the southern ridge. The first to make it down was a man carrying a very large pack, followed by his daughter (perhaps 7 or 8 years old) carrying her toy bunny, then her mother carrying a small pack. We were all quite impressed (with the man for carrying such a heavy load, with the girl for just being there, and with the woman for putting up with it). One of a group of four young guys (northbound) sitting on the porch even went to the kitchen to buy them some drinks. The guardian wasn't so impressed — he'd probably seen it many times before — and simply scolded them for wearing their dirty boots into the bunk room.

We hike trails like the GR20 for many reasons: for the physical exercise, for the beautiful surroundings, for the solitude, and perhaps for the suntan. What makes it even more worthwhile is the (sometimes unspoken) camaraderie, the evenings spent with fellow travelers recounting the the day's hike, the common experience shared among relative strangers. Our stay at the Refuge d'Usciolu combined all these things with a delicious, simple meal and what seemed to be the perfect soundtrack. After our meal, as we sat talking and watching the sun slowly set, the guardian walked around to each group offering a sample of some sort of chestnut liquor, which he poured from the bottle directly into our mouths.

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