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Leader Magazine
SUMMER 1965.
CORSICAN ADVENTURE.
by Capt. G.F. OWENS, The Worcestershire Regiment
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Whenlock, Appleby, Reading, Edgar and Andrews practice their French on Newly Weds.
The idea of visiting Corsica formed in the mind of Major I.A.P-G. Leigh, M.B.E., R.E., on being asked to plan and lead the Army Boys' Expedition for 1964. Corsica is a country to be visited at the earliest opportunity. It will not be long before the island assumes the over-crowded, expensive atmosphere of the French Riviera. Corsica has everything the mountaineer (and indeed the tourist) on the look out for something different could wish for; ease of access; cheapness; pleasant and dependable climate. The mountains are remote enough to give the necessary feeling of being away from it all, while villages are nearly always sufficiently close to enable the mountaineer to travel light. The aims of the Expedition were first to bring out the qualities of initiative, leadership and endurance and secondly to give boys experience in mountaineering.
Selection for the expedition was very competitive. After a number of visits to Snowdonia by applicants, seven boys from the Regiment were selected out of a total of 30. They were: J/Sgts Whenlock, Reading; J/Bdr Edgar; J/L's Appleby - "D" Company; J/L's Andrews, Hammond - "B" Company; J/L Kirkwood - "A" Company.
BEFORE THE MOUNTAINS
The Expedition, divided into an Advance Party and Main Party, left Dover on 12th August in a minibus and an ancient but reliable 32 seater bus. We reached Nice, on the French Mediterranean, after three days' driving. During this time the boys learned self-sufficiency. They were given their ration money in francs and purchased food along the route. This led to some amusing incidents. One member entered a supermarket to buy some jam. He saw a jar of lemon curd and decided to have that instead. That evening he sat down to enjoy the spread. To his surprise, the lemon curd turned out to he mustard! However the appropriate French phrases were soon mastered. This was probably due to the fact that the boys were extremely keen to make advances towards the delectable French girls. Every effort was made to create an entente cordiale. The picture below shows a typical stop in a provincial town made to buy food. The boys did not hesitate to practice their French, particularly if there was a chance of flirting with a pretty girl.
On arrival at Nice we boarded the Napoleon to complete the sea-crossing to Corsica. Whenlock caused much envy by making acquaintance with a very attractive French girl. He seemed upset when Corsica appeared on the horizon, but the rest were enthralled and excited by the spectacle of mountains rising out of the pure blue of the sea. The island seemed as high as it was long.
After a day on the coast the Expedition moved into the mountains and set up a base camp at Corte.
The day on the coast had been very hot, and, being unused to the climate, it was a pleasure to get to the cooler atmosphere of high altitudes. We arrived at Corte by mountain scenic railway. It was a fantastic ride. The train zoomed, at a remarkable speed, along a rising and tortuous rail which led through ravines, over gorges, and along needle sharp ridges. One looked dizzily over precipitous slopes and expected at any moment to be launched into space. Miraculously the train negotiated almost right angle bends and headed off in a different direction.
Corte, erstwhile capital of Corsica, and cradle of Resistance fighters in many wars, is situated in the centre of the Northern half of the island and provides access to the mountain areas: Monte Cinto (2710m), Monte Rotondo (2625 m) and Monte D'Oro (2391m). From Corte, the Gorge of Tavignaro leads into the mountains below Monte Rotondo. Base Camp was set up in the higher reaches of the gorge. Here things were different. The camp site chosen was on the steep banks above a rushing river under the branches of tall pine trees. The air was sharp and cool. There were no flies or mosquitoes. From now on we would be on mountain routine: up at first light and fast asleep half an hour after last light.
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The Expedition prepares for the hinterland of the Island.
ON THE MOUNTAINS
Our first summit was to be Monte Rotondo, the second highest in Corsica. There were three routes open for consideration. The normal route was within the compass of the inexperienced mountaineer and led straight up through the amphitheatre to the top. The other two routes followed the two ridges - The North East and The North West Aretes. These required a knowledge of rock climbing techniques. To acclimatize ourselves and gain experience in our surroundings the central route was chosen. It was agreed that an early start be made. This was a wise decision, as by noonday, the sun was exceedingly hot. The fierce sun was a considerable factor in planning, although we became more accustomed in later stages. Starting at half past five, we wended our way up the footslopes of the mountain through a pine forest. This gave way to dense maquis - a pungent smelling vegetation - through which the way meandered laboriously uphill. After an hour and twenty minutes we arrived at Lac d'Oriente. We marvelled at the lush green lawns cut by shallow twisting rivulets of swiftly running water, feeding into the lake. Memories of the upper alpine pastures of Switzerland flooded into the mind. The cattle and goats clarified the impression through the melodious tinkling of bells round their necks. After a short pause, we pushed on up to the summit. The route was extremely steep and reminded one of Cader Idris, but far larger in scale. At eight o'clock we were on the summit having a second breakfast. There was a wonderful view all around; the Monte Cinto chain to the North, Monte d'Oro to the South and a profusion of lesser peaks in every other direction. Haze cut down visibility, but the sea could clearly be seen thirty miles away. At this time of the morning it was very chilly at high attitudes and we descended rapidly to the gorge. The round trip was accomplished in four hours. The guide allowed five hours for the journey up.
The next day was spent in the camp. The programme at main base was rock climbing on nearby crags. Abseiling, an important aspect of mountaineering was practised.
Meanwhile we had been casting our eyes in the direction of Monte Cinto, the highest mountain in Corsica, towering over 9,000 feet. It seemed possible to tackle it direct from main base. This would involve a walk over a ridge and plateau of sixteen miles - the source of our information coming from a small recce party which had climbed to the top of the intervening ridge. They claimed that a plateau stretched away as far as the eye could see and then dropped down to the foothills of Monte Cinto. In good spirits we started off early next morning up an old mule trading route. It took two hours to get up the ridge. It was very steep and strenuous, but we thought that the climbing was now behind us. To our dismay we discovered that the reported plateau, Alzo, was a minute tract of level ground. No sooner had we covered half a mile than once again the track plunged down thousands of feet through a pine forest. We stumbled down over huge boulder and fallen trees, pushing our way through overhanging foliage. Reaching the bottom, we surveyed the next part of our route - another steep and awe inspiring ridge. This had not been bargained for. It barred the way to Monte Cinto. Midday drew near and we were feeling the effects of heat. One member was visibly drooping. We plodded up and up the never ending slope, reaching false crest one after another. These gave the impression that the top of the ridge was just over the rise. But one's hopes were constantly dashed by the vision of the track ascending beyond the immediate horizon. The view of the Monte Cinto chain from the view top of the crest was not appreciated at the time. We looked down the switchback. It seemed that a hand could be stretched out to touch Calacuccia, our destination. Once again the feeling of frustration was experienced at not seeming to get any closer to our objective. The ground was extremely uneven and our feet weer bludgeoned into a state of aching tiredness. Parched and clamouring for refreshment, we invaded the first bar. Glass after glass of Grenadine (pomegranate squash) and lemonade was consumed until the owner threw up her arms and declared the bar to be out of stock. We dragged ourselves wearily off to the next bar. The journey across had taken 7 hours and had used up most of our energies.
A camp site was selected by the side of a fast flowing river and we thankfully climbed into our sleeping bags as soon as night fell. We had decided not to bring tents because of the extra weight. This was amply justified, as we lay under a brilliant star-lit sky. Constellations showed clearly, the orbits of two man made satellites traversing the sky caused the mind to speculate on planet life. Dreams were conjured up of landings on the moon, Martians with space guns, flying saucers and many other fantasies. The night's sleep brought its solace and next morning we felt able to tackle Monte Cinto. Starting off at the crack of dawn, we followed a rock strewn path which contoured a long ridge leading to the base of the mountain. Direction finding was difficult. The route was checked when a group who had spent the night on Cinto descended to our plodding group. The way led up an extremely steep rough scree slope. It was very exhausting because the feet were constantly slipping and sliding on the loose surface. A real effort of the mind and body, broiling in the sun, was necessary to keep moving upwards. Water bottles were low in content. The previous days' effects could now be felt. After an interminable time the summit was reached. The vista that greeted the eyes was truly magnificent, for the whole outline of the island could be seen. Crest after crest of pink coloured rock tinged in purple stretched towards the sea and pine-filled gorges with silver threads of water nestled deep between the heights. The mountain tarns, like sapphire set in a brooch reflected the vivid blue of the Corsican sky. We sat in a world of our own, each with our private thoughts. The setting provided tranquillity and peace of mind. Our normal busy, bustling everyday life in a clamorous civilisation of constantly frustrating endeavour seemed far, far removed.
After spending some two hours on the top, we returned swiftly to our bivouac camp. We prepared for our journey back to the main base. To return the way we had come was beyond contemplation. The decision was taken to go back by road. This involved a long detour which made use of the Scala de Regina Gorge and the Restonia Gorge. The distance was 25 miles. Without dwelling on details, it will suffice to say that the journey was very hot and tiring. For the last 10 kilometres every step was painful - a feeling of walking on needles. "Doc" Peter Hobson was kept busy inspecting smelly, blistered feet and applying remedies.
A rest day spent at the camp swimming in a dammed up pool and sunbathing soon revived everyone. We decided to tackle the North East ridge of Monte Rotondo. This route in rock climbers' jargon Was graded "Very difficult". Having packed ropes and slings, together with rations and extra clothing we were ready to make our attempt. We set off as usual at half past five, before the sun came over the top, and reached the lake some two hours later. After a short rest, during which we sorted out the climbing gear and repacked our sacks, we began the climb.
From the lake, the route lay up an easy slope to the jagged skyline, where the serious climbing began. This consisted of an abseil of some fifty feet, which placed us firmly on the climb. Thereafter the ridge was interesting and gave the authentic feeling of being on a climb. We reached the summit at about one o'clock. Later we descended by the normal room to the lake and, after a brew up, went on down to the main base.
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Hammond (ex 'B' Coy) abseils down a vertical face.
AFTER THE MOUNTAINS
Corte was now completely sold out of Quaker Oats and it was time to return to Calvi, to give everyone an opportunity to swim, relax and buy presents. At the camping site was a British family with a high powered speed boat and water skis. The sons of the family chummed up with some of our boys, who spent a happy couple of days flashing around Calvi bay in a tearing hurry - an opportunity they had thought they would never have. Others swam, lay in the sun and visited the town and citadel where one legend has it Christopher Columbus was born.
The ship which was to take us to Nice, the Napoleon, arrived during the afternoon of 30th August and we were all on board by eight o'clock in the evening, sleeping bags laid out on the deck for a night at sea. Leaving the dockside an hour later was a memorable occasion. The town and waterfront were a blaze of light and colour, with the flood-lit Citadel towering above the ship. The whole town seemed to have turned out to bid us farewell. The atmosphere buzzed with animated conversation, punctuated by uninhibited laughter and singing. The boys sang Auld Lang Syne as the ship's siren blasted and the boat moved away from its moorings. I was not the only our who was sorry to be leaving. But I shall be going back. I am sure most of the boys will, if they get another chance.
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Wenlock with 'friend' spies out the coast of Corsica. Kirkwood looks on.
POSTSCRIPT
The aims of the expedition have already been stated. There can be no doubt that the qualities of initiative and endurance were strengthened and the knowledge of mountains broadened by our experiences. The boys had been given considerable freedom, and few restrictions had been placed on them either on or off the mountains. They responded to this trust very well. The equipment was well looked after, they paid careful attention to their own personal efficiency and at all times were well behaved. The boys seemed to have acquired maturity in a short space of time. I noticed the difference in their character after this expedition. Confidence in manner and ability, firm resolve in difficulties and independence of character were particular qualities that stood out.
Above all, the expedition was a holiday for volunteers who were paying most of their expenses from their own pockets. I think they would all agree they had their money's worth. It was the chance of a lifetime and none regretted their participation in the adventure.
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