Stage 5
Week 1 - Stage 5, Friday, 11th May
Calenzana to Pont de Tuvarelli-Chiorna (45.5kms.)
Total Ascent - 873 metres
Total Descent - 1, 012 metres
I awake at 7:00am - tired and aching - not the best night's sleep ever had. After a cold shower in a shower block that needed a little TLC (clearly, hadn't been cleaned since the last holiday season), I decided to treat myself to a proper breakfast. So, walked along to the local supermarché and bought a packet of muesli and a pint of milk (ooh...a bar of chocolate will do nicely for later on). Back at the campsite with breakfast, tent and clothes packed away, I cycle back to the supermarché to stock up on water and then head out on the D51 to the village of Moncale.
A short climb and then down to join the D81. A quick right and left at Suare finds me on a nasty climb to the Bocca di Marsolinu. Nasty because the road was steep and the temperature, by now, climbing steeply as well. The scenery - not particularly interesting - just the usual stunning view as I look back down the valley! A number of locals toot and wave as their cars pass by. The summit can't come soon enough, but when it does...oh what a superb view on the other side! I stop, for three reasons: to catch my breath, grab an energy bar, and take some photos.
Bocca di Marsolinu. This is why I like long, hard climbs...the breath-taking views that follow. How does the line in the song by The Courteeners go: "If something is easy then it's not worth the reward.” This time, it's a gentle downhill ride of about 15 kms through a verdant valley with hardly a man-made structure in sight. Although there was the rather strange sight of wild boar skins hanging along a barbed-wire fence! The coasting is over all too soon and I find myself crossing a bridge over the river Fangu. My first sight of a true river and my thoughts immediately turn to fly-fishing - it certainly looks promising?
On the far side of the bridge I notice a Porta Cabin which, upon closer inspection, houses the local tourist information office. I stop to enquire about the river and its contents. To my surprise, the 'tourist officer' says, "Yes, in the river live trout". What a dilemma, I'm only 50 kms into the day's ride with about another 45kms to Porto. Should I push on to Porto, where I know there to be another river, or stop here and fish awhile? If I stop here to fish then I could cycle into nearby Galeria for my overnight stop.
As is usual in these circumstances, I decide to push on. A psychiatrist would no doubt analyse this behaviour: "John is constantly striving for something that even he does not know. Constantly wanting to move on, not content with where he is at any one moment. What is he running from?" Enough of that pyscho babble (true as it might be!). Heading on up the road towards Osani and Partinello, I stop at a small café for a second ponder. The owner is very polite and cheerful. "Excuse me." I say, "Do you know if people fly-fish on the river nearby?" "Mai si, Monsiuer!." Fifteen minutes later, refreshed from my coffee and Snickers bar, following the cafe owner's directions, I turn off the main road onto the D351 to...well, to nowhere really. To the Forest of Fangu and the foothills of Monte Cinto. In other words, a 'cul de sac', a dead end. The snow-capped 2,700m peak that is Monte Cinto has been the backdrop for most of my journey today.
According to the lady at the café the road follows the river for a several kilometres. On the left I will find a very old bridge. Is it here that the locals fish? Full of enthusiasm, I set off, only to be disappointed. At the bridge I found half a dozen locals, not fishing, but swimming! Disconsolate, I peddle on not quite sure where the road will take me.
At the side of the road, a worn-out sign saying, "Gite d'etape 5kms". I decide to continue along what will ultimately be a dead end in the hope that I can combine an afternoon's fishing with a bed for the night very close by. I can hear the sound of the river, below and to my left, hidden by dense foliage. The river remains teasingly out of site. The signs to the Gite take me over the river, by way of a small bridge. The boulders in the stream below worn smooth by countless millennia.
The road, which by now is no more than a track, leads me to...Paradise! Only 45kms today and I don't care. I have no desire to cycle another metre today. The Gite is situated right on the bank of the river. The owner greets me with a warm smile and a firm handshake. He informs me that I am the only guest, so far, for the evening and shows me to a room, which houses two bunk beds, and says, "take your pick!"
I unclip the panniers from my bike and carry them into my room for the night and plonk them on the bottom bunk nearest the door. I then set about my ritual (we are creatures of habit after all is said and done): wash my clothes and then myself. Once I've hung the clothes out to dry (so pleased to have brought a couple of metres of cord with me), my mind turns back to the river.
If there is a heaven then surely this place has to be part of it? My host confirms there are, indeed, trout in the river and I'm free to fish wherever I please. Fiften minutes later finds me scrambling over boulders and wading up a crystal clear river in search of wild trout. The sun is quite high in the clear blue sky with the temperature up around 25° Centigrade, but I'm hoping the trout will still be searching for food in the cool water.
A bend in the river slows the flow of the river and looks like a likely holding spot. My first cast is...abysmal! It must be due to the downstream breeze (more likely to be just a bad cast!). A couple more attempts and the fly lands where it's supposed to and immediately induces a timid rise. My next cast is slightly farther upstream. I mend the line before the fly passes over the same place that produced a rise last time. I'm ready this time for any...but whats' that noise?
I turn my head to look downstream from where I can hear the sound of a dog barking, splashing and laughter. From around a bend in the river, I can see two young guys snorkeling up the river, followed by a large dog! Oh well, I think that's the end of my brief fishing trip. I head back to the gite, pack away the fishing rod, and then...well, if you can't beat 'em join 'em! The water is cold, but very refreshing. I lay back in the shallow water and chill.
Back at the Gite I meet a serious hiker from Germany named Andreas. He is travelling the famous GR20 trail that traverses the island diagonally from North to South. The walk is 180kms long with a variation in altitude of 10,000 metres. This is not a walk for the faint-hearted! Andreas says the walk had been tough over the past couple of days, a lot of snow on the higher stages of the trail had made camping a little chilly. Difficult to imagine with the temperature in the high 20s at lower levels.
The owner of the gite has just returned from his fishing trip along the river with the same outcome as me. So, he sets about preparing the evening meal while I sit and chat with Andreas to learn more about his experiences of Corsica. I discover that not only is Andreas a keen hiker, but also a very good photographer. He certainly puts my efforts to shame!
For supper, we are joined by a third guest. He is from Quebec and finds my French accent somewhat amusing, says it has an American twang. What a cheek...his accent is further removed from a proper French accent than mine! At this moment, the owner joins us and settles the argument - he finds both our accents amusing!
Supper is ready and with the sun setting along the river, a German, a Quebecois and an Englishman are treated to a hearty, three course meal. A lamb pasta dish followed by a selection of cheeses and rounded off with a chocolate tart. A splendid end to a very special day.
