Mont Olmelli, Corsica

Highest peak on the Costa Verde horseshoe

Having being advised by a Doctor not to attempt Monte Cinto because of my cough and the heat, Ian and I looked at the guide books and as an alternative decided to walk the Costa Verde horseshoe, a nearby group of mountains. They could be reached by local footpaths and would provide a good day's exercise in the June sun. We started at 7:00 am with the intention of completing the majority of climbing before the temperatures became too hot. The IGN maps of the area are not very comprehensive in showing the myriad of paths that provide a comprehensive network of connections between the hamlets that are perched on the hillsides. 

We found the paths to the hamlet of Tribbolo and then headed for the chapel of Punta di San Mamilanio perched at the start of the ridge. The chapel hosts a community event every September when local villagers have a barbecue with wild boar on the menu and much drink consumed. We missed the path to the chapel and ended up contouring for a kilometre or so before realising our mistake. We should have followed the orange paint slashes instead of the path most travelled, probably by the hunters. Although the chapel was at 782 metres, we realised that there was a further 500 metres of climbing along a narrow path through the maquis that was scored through the vegetation below the apex of the ridge. 

The flowers, rock outcrops, butterflies, lizards and scents made it a wonderful experience. We had assumed as 'forever optimists' that we would get to Mont Olmelli ahead of the 1 hour 45 minutes indicated on the signpost but we were only just keeping to the schedule as we took in the abundance of views and eased our way over the rocky outcrops We stopped for some lunch in the shade of some trees and then climbed through the prickly vegetation to the bare summit of Mont Olmelli. It was almost midday and the heat was beginning to slow progress.

We thought we had cracked the walk but the next section was a roller coaster through the maquis with a lot of rocky sections so it was almost 2pm before we began the final descent having skirted below Mont Negrine. The final descent to one of the villages was a steep path through otherwise impenetrable vegetation. Chestnut trees had been split by lightning and were a frequent sight as was the evidence of wild boar and gun cartridges on most of the paths. Our thirst kept us going as our GPS reading told us we had underestimated the distance of the walk by about 7 kilometres with all the twists and the lack of path information on the IGN 1:25,000 Carte de Randonnee.

When we reached the village, the bar had closed so we had a further 3 kilometres to walk back to the house to complete a walk that had probably been just as taxing as Monte Cinto. On the flight back to the UK, I met some walkers who had just completed the GR20. They said that Monte Cinto was now an option on the GR20 route since the Cirque de Soleil had been permanently closed following many accidents. The Monte Cinto section involved the climb from Asco and then a shortish descent to a refuge. It sounded a reasonable walk and perhaps we should have just gone for it, cough or no cough.

Preparing for the walk

Mont Olmelli from the lower slopes

Punta di San Mamilanio

Beginning the ridge walk

The smell of the Maquis

Signposts for when the IGN map fails

Looking back from Mont Olmelli

 

Corsican Days

Cascade on Costa Verde

It was my fourth visit to Corsica, a wild but beautiful island that gave France Napoleon and that still has a lurking desire for independence. The first two visits were on family holidays but allowed me to climb  Monte Cinto, Monte Renosa and the Bavella peaks. My next trip was shortly after retirement to fulfil a long-held ambition to walk the GR20, one of Europe's best long-distance hikes. On this occasion, following Aileen's funeral, I was invited to stay with my long-time friend, Ian, and his wife in their house on Corsica. I immediately accepted the offer to visit in June.. 

As the date approached I had anxieties about travelling abroad without Aileen. She spoke excellent French and provided reassurance that we would be able to cope with all eventualities. Other questions arose. Was I healthy and fit enough? Why was travel insurance so high post-Brexit? I would also have to travel to London and then get to Gatwick Airport by 5:00 a.m. for an early flight. The heatwave in the previous few weeks in Scotland had prompted a bout of hay fever for the first time in years and left me with a barking cough that required a regular intake of cough lozenges to minimise the disruption to fellow travellers. 

It all went surprisingly well apart from the cough. The flight from Gatwick took off an hour late owing to insufficient take-off slots but that is par for Gatwick. Bastia airport was an example of what airports should be: impeccably clean, a good food outlet serving local products at local prices and a good bus service into Bastia. I had booked a hotel for the first night in Bastia. It was a couple of kilometres out of town and up a steep hill but had a sparkling view of the sea through the pines and platoons of oleanders in full flower. After a friendly chat with the receptionist, I was upgraded to a balcony room and within the hour I had managed a swim and settled down for a siesta. A fine meal at the nearby pizza restaurant with a carafe of Corsican rose set me up for a good sleep. I was collected by my friends first thing the next morning when they arrived on the overnight ferry from Toulon.

The heavy morning traffic through Bastia was indicative of a rapidly growing region and it took 45 minutes to reach Petinella restaurant and stop for a perfect French breakfast, although I resisted the lavish selection of cakes and pastries. Twenty minutes along the road we called at a roadside fruit and vegetable market and loaded up with local produce that sent the taste buds into overdrive. It was another half hour to the mountainside village where my friends had a house. We were met by a clamour of friendly villagers as we arrived in the square. Numerous greetings and conversations had to take place before we were allowed to unload the vehicle of all the luggage for their long stay. The house had to be opened up and I was charged with sweeping the pedestrian lanes leading to the house. Even before we finished this other village friends arrived and it was time for lunchtime drinks. The intimacy of life in the village was overwhelming. After lunch, Ian arranged with another villager to examine the fountain in the square that had been clogged by builders cleaning their plastering tools. It was like an extract from Clochemerle.

We walked 5 kilometres along the corniche to another village for breakfast the next day. By the time we had visited St Erasmus cathedral in Cervione and walked back, it was lunchtime. We had decided to climb Monte Cinto the next day but my cough was not responding to the Mediterranean heat and my friend's wife decided that I must see a Doctor and booked me an appointment for the next morning. The young Doctor was very thorough and he concluded that my lungs were fine but that my trachea had been affected by the hay fever and my breathing would be affected. Time and fresh air would heal it but I should avoid air conditioning. Fine, I thought until my friend's wife said we intended to climb Monte Cinto. He asked my age and said that in this heat it would be suicidal. I said that I had climbed it before in July but my French was not good enough to win the argument. He and Ian's wife were at one on this and after paying 30 euros for the visit, one of the objectives of the Corsican trip had to be abandoned. 

We spent the afternoon clearing the garden of vegetation and cutting the oleander hedges. Ian and I pulled out the guidebooks and maps and planned an alternative walk around the Costa Verde horseshoe. We could walk out from the house climb 1300 metres, cover 18 kilometres and avoid a 2-hour journey in both directions to get to Asco and the start of the Monte Cinto trail. It would be longer and hotter at a lower altitude but it lacked the sense of danger that Monte Cinto promised. As it happened it turned out to be 25 kilometres on rough trails through the maquis and took almost 8 hours.

After a lazy day recovering from the exertions of the walk, we had another drinks event in the evening and walked back under the stars with Venus providing the lighting and the ships on the Med showing against the backdrop of Elba and the Italian coast. All days were signed off with a carafe of rose on the terrace as we were serenaded by a flock of Hirondelle and visited by brightly plumed Milan (Red Kites) that were circling on the thermals. 

The final day was a walk up one of the many rivers that provide for canyoning and reveal gorgeous rock pools for swimming. We took a picnic and on our return called at a restaurant for beers and ice cream. Time had flown, Ian and I had reprised the last fifty years and had some senior adventures. They were not as crazy as our jaunts of forty or fifty years ago but as the good doctor said, they could have been suicidal. What was more important was the celebration of a lifelong friendship. I was dropped at the airport the next morning after breakfast at the excellent I Fratelli Angeli. The airport was cool, welcoming and efficient, I wish I could say the same for Gatwick.

Bastia Hotel

Going solo

And I stuck with a croissant, bread and apricot jam

Roadside Fruit and Veg Markets

Village Houses

A roadside memorial

St Erasmus Cathedral, Cervione

St Erasmus Cathedral

 Looking across the Med to Elba

Mountain swimming pool

Sunbathing by the pool

Fifty years of friendship

Leaving the village

Legend of the Commonwealth Games

Lackie Stewart beats Ron Clarke (Aus) for 1970 Commonwealth Games Gold

When working in Ross and Cromarty during the summer of 1970, I went to stay with a friend in Edinburgh on a July weekend and headed to the Meadowbank Stadium to watch the Commonwealth Games. Lackie Stewart, the slightly built Scot from Bonhill, Dumbarton had run the legs off the overwhelming favourite, Ron Clarke of Australia in the 10 kilometre race to win the Gold Medal. We were there the following weekend when Ian Stewart of Scotland won the 5000 metres. It was a glorious period of Scottish Athletics and Edinburgh became famed for the friendly games.

I was asked by Gregor to if I could drive him to Balloch for the Loch Lomond 10k. There were road closures and at one stage as we were jammed on the backroads near Gartocharn he got out of the car and began to run to make the start,. The traffic eventually began to move and I was able to pick him up and deliver him with 10 minutes to spare - not enough for his warm up. It made little difference as he galloped in the winner for the second year running. 

As we were waiting for the results to be announced we could see Lackie Stewart seated by himself near the winners enclosure so we approached him and enjoyed 10 minutes hearing stories of Athletics in the 1970s. Lackie often roomed with Ron Hill when on International duty and he regaled us with stories of Ron Hill's mischievous behaviour during marathons. Jim Alder was their other room mate. He told us that David Bedford, the hard training distance runner who claimed he ran 200 miles a week had only lasted for 6 weeks before his fabled training endurance collapsed. 

I asked Lackie about his training regime wondering what had enabled him to run 10 kilometres in 28 minutes11seconds when winning his Gold Medal. I expected him to have trained long miles in the Kilpatrick Hills and acquired his sprinting  speed on the track.but he said it was entirely on the streets of Bonhill and Dunbarton, although there one or two roads that were hilly. He is a legend because of this modesty, an epitome of the amateur athlete who took on the world and by sheer guts and determination became a winner. 

He was a content man as he watched and then presented prizes to the runners: female and male, age group winners, team winners and then posed for photos with them all. Almost a thousand had taken part on a fine summer morning in an event that epitomised all that is best about locally organised and run events. The local Co-op providing drinks and snacks, the local businesses funding T shirts and volunteers from many of the local groups providing the marshals, drinks, and ensuring a spirit of bonhomie 

 Presenting G with Vouchers for Loch Lomond 10k

Meeting a Legend

A few tips

Team Winners as well

Ring of Steall

The Devil's Ridge from Sgurr a' Mhaim

Saturday 10 June 2023

Ascent:       1610 metres
Distance:    20 kilometres
Time:          6 hours 41 minutes

An Gearanach            982m     2hrs  4mins
An Garbhanach          975m     2hrs 22mins
Stob Coire a' Chairn   981m     3hrs 2mins
Am Bodach              1032m     3hrs 37mins
Sgurr an Iubhair       1001m     4hrs  2mins

Stob Choire a' Mhail  990m     4hrs
Sgurr a' Mhaim        1099m     4hrs 53mins

John had been staying in Caol by Fort William for a week to tick off some of his remaining Munros. I had planned to go up for a couple of days but when an old friend arranged to visit for a couple of days and with Gregor and his partner moving in with me for a few weeks, I was only left with the Saturday. I drove up on a Friday evening witnessing Rannoch Moor and Glencoe in the glorious hues of early summer. I called in at the excellent new M&S food outlet in Fort William to buy a salad for my evening meal. Keith and John were debating the route for the next day. The Ring of Steall on the Mamores had been decided and, even though I had already climbed Sgurr a' Mhaim, I was pleased and we agreed to do it clockwise. I had not been on the Ring of Steall since 1989 on a wintry March day when we had also climbed Mullach nan Coirean and Stob Ban, we were younger then. Most of my subsequent outings on the Mamores had involved climbing them all ten on long days so there was no need to ascend and descend of Sgurr a' Mhaim and An Gearanach as part of the Ring of Steall.

I was castigated for wanting to finish by 5pm so I could drive home and watch the European Championship Final. Nevertheless, we decided to leave at 7am for a 7:30am start from the car park at the head of Glen Nevis. We were spot on the schedule and the forecast was for perfect conditions with a south easterly breeze to cool us during the heat of the day. Shorts and  T-shirt were all that was needed. My pullover, wind top and waterproof were merely passengers. 

It was cool on the well-used path through the gorge up to the meadow below the Steall waterfall. I always welcome a couple of kilometres to settle in before the grind of a climb. We crossed the river by the Steall suspension bridge and walked along to the Steall Falls even at the end of two weeks of unusually dry weather was still impressive evidence of the abundance of water held in the Mamores. We then began the relentless but enjoyable climb up An Gearanach. It is over 800 metres of ascent by a twisting path with the backdrop of Ben Nevis and the Grey Corries. There were two or three other groups on the ascent despite the early hour. We made reasonable time and were on the summit by 9:35 a.m. The views of Ben Nevis and the Aonachs were as clear as I have ever witnessed. Sgurr a' Mhaim was showing the anticline of rock strata of its eastern face. 

The clarity of the views of the more distant surrounding hills was equally stunning but after only a short stop for photos, we continued along the rocky ridge to the nearby top of An Garbhanach. We were passed by a runner attempting Ramsey's Round (24 Munros in 24 hours) and his pacer who dropped off to gather some water below the ridge. Keith queried him about the schedule they were running and when asked how he knew so much, admitted that he had done it 30 years earlier, he earned kudos for having beaten Ramsey"s time by 3 minutes. The climb over to Stob Coire a' Chairn was the easy part of the round and we decided to take a break for some food and drink before the longer climb to Am Bodach (the Old Man).

It was a bit of a tease with an initial climb to a 909-metre peak and then a drop and further climb of 200 metres on a rocky path that had been a rock scramble when we first passed along this way.  Am Bodach is a proper peak that you land on, with no false summits or interminable convex slops. Three women were about to leave, they had started on the Ring of Steall at 6:00 a.m. We took some photographs for them before another break, we were an hour ahead of the schedule that I had mentally set for the walk.

A pleasant breeze had developed and it made the long and easy descent towards Sgurr an Iubhair a pleasant amble. There were quite a few parties including some runners coming the other way. A short sharp climb takes you to the summit of Sgurr an Iubhair. It was classified as a Munro until the SMC relegated it although it has greater justification than quite a few Munros. We began the walk across the Devil's Ridge, not as difficult as it sounds at this time of the year, although the exposure in winter conditions is a different matter. It provided good sport with only a small section descending some ribbed rock requiring some scrambling. The final 120 metres climbing to Sgurr a' Mhaim was no problem although the psychological benefits of the final climb of the day made it seem easy. There were several other parties on the summit and we finished food and soaked in the sunscapes before beginning the descent.

It should have been an easy end to a wonderful walk but the steep twisting path through scree and then grassy slopes along a path that was deeply scored into the hill was hard on the feet and legs. It took an hour and three quarters to reach the road at Achriabhach where a hill race had just finished. We spoke to the organisers before I drove John and Keith back to their car at the Water of Nevis car park. It was full beyond capacity and after spending 10 minutes attempting a tortuous seven-point turn that almost ended reversing over the edge, I was able to set off home just before 4pm. The going was slow in the glen which was buzzing with visitors. After a stop for some drinks in Fort William, I was pleasantly surprised at a relatively quiet journey home. I had time for a shower, a beer and a meal before nodding off whilst watching Manchester City win a tedious European Championship Final. 

Keith on Wire Bridge at Steall

Steall Falls on a very dry day

Keith and John on the ascent to An Gearanach

Sgurr a' Mhaim showing its curves

Ben Nevis, Carn Mor Dearg and Aonach Beag

Ben Nevis, CMD & Aonach Beag from An Gearanach

An Garbhanach, Stob a' Coire Chairn & Am Bodach from An Gearanach

An Gearanach & An Garbhanach from Stob a' Coire Chairn

Ben Nevis and An Gearanach from Am Bodach

Stob Ban from Sgurr an Iubhair

Sgurr a; Mhaim from Devil's Ridge

Sgurr a' Mhaim starting the descent

Route - Ring of Steall