Le Trail Blanc de La Restonica

A hike in Corsica’s mountainous interior was the perfect anecdote to long winter evenings.
Set in the breathtaking backdrop of the Restonica Valley, this year marked the third “Trail Blanc de La Restonica” organised by the cancer charity “Le Marie Do”

Since I am new to the trail running scene and on a more serious note, I didn’t fancy the shame of a rescue party carrying me in an exhausted heap from a mountain, I opted out of the gruelling 14km run in favour of a more leisurely 8km hike.

We left Porto Vecchio before sunrise, my 30 litre backpack in tow with a fail-safe supply of tuna pasta, although not in the least bit appetizing at 6.30am. Poised between the breathtaking slopes, the early morning sunlight illuminated the grandiose buildings and narrow streets as we passed Corte, the snow donned mountains in the horizon.

We waited for the buses to take us up to the starting point, my British orderly queue-forming instincts left us ousted from the crowd piling onto buses. In a similarly unprepared vein, The “Be bold, go cold” mantra, which in normal situations avoids peeling off layers in a cold sweat 20 minutes later, soon left me shivering with no feeling in my feet. But with everyone in good spirits, an hour and half later we finally climbed onto the bus and made the ascent to the start.

The narrow and twisting road snaked upwards with mercilessly sheer drops to the river flowing hundreds of feet below. I felt my stomach turn as, with true Corsican motoring audacity, we sped across an unforgiving one way bridge. Suffice to say I bounded off the bus at first the available opportunity.

You couldn’t have asked for a more congenial start: nestled in the verdant pine forest, a hospitable fire and the smell of spuntinu. As the runners scaled the uncompromising steep road, the walk behind began and the feeling quickly returned to my feet.

The route took us along a meandering road etched through the forest and leading toward the shoulders of snow-fed mountains. A soul-warming Vin Chaud greeted us at the refuge an hour in; the perfect pit stop before another couple of hours of walking, passing a, glacial gorges carved into the granite cliffs.

No convivial occasion in Corsica would be complete without a good spread, a delicious array of Corsican sausages and cakes at the finish to recuperate.

Despite losing all feeling in my extremities for a good deal of the day, the kaleidoscope of sights and wonderful atmosphere left me with heart warming experience. And I might even run it next time.

Le Col de Bavella

I have always been a firm believer that there's no room for adventure and excitement staying inside your comfort zone. This was certainly put to the test Friday when I hiked the Col de Bavella.

Perched forebodingly in the stunning Alta Rocca mountains, the Col de Bavella crosses Bavella Needles, a backbone of granite spikes rising high above the ground.

I was a little in the dark about what the walk would entail and I didn’t want to turn up clad head to toe in lycra. As luck would have it, my ‘middle of the road’ hiking attire sufficed...just.
The walk started through a pine forest studded with chestnuts and paths lined with ocre stained leaves. With the backcloth of dramatic mountainous landscape laced in fine mist and clouds, we steadily ascended up a rocky path.

Reaching the top, the track disappeated virtually disappeared. I watched incredulously as my fellow companions climbed effortlessly, one arm and foot instinctively stretching out and gripping the next rock. As I, not so gracefully, reached the top, my stomach turned. With sheets of cloud sweeping low above us, it dawned on me the slightest wrong footing on the narrow, cragged summit would give way to sheer drops. A companion asked me “Are you scared?” and I managed to stammer a very resolute yes.

We continued to rise and fall along meandering paths, although I use path in the very loosest sense of the word. We scrabbled through the 'Trou de la Bombe' - an 8 metre hole in the rock, and abseiled down near vertical rock faces; my companions doing so with the ease of an ape and myself more like a frightened mountain sheep.

In true Corsican style, the heavens opened with little warning. Soon after eating lunch, we walked for an hour through fierce hale and rain along an open path in the midst of dramatic lightning splitting the valley.

Arriving home and peeling off wet clothes, dealing with cuts and scratches on my legs and accessing the damage done to my trousers from sliding inelegantly down many a rock, I couldn't help but look forward to the next time.