He speaks through a scowl and smokes roll-ups; he is a clich?ade flesh "Bonsoir," says the hunter "Bonsoir," replies the camp. Only two words have been exchanged, but the assembled instantly sense that they are in the presence of the Alpha male: he takes his seat at the head of the table.Wild boar roam these hills and I'll wager there's a firearm in Corsica for every last one of them. But after a day in boots this is utopia and the sunsets are to die for: cue a can of beans and a bottle of rustic red.The hunter appears with the dusk, his potbelly arriving in camp fractionally before the rest of him. He is wearing a camouflage vest and a pair of jackboots, and strides through the camp with a primed hunting rifle. A crumbling farmhouse on the flanks of Capu a u Monte, E Case has better views than Olympus, and cold beer to boot. Apart from a couple of dorm rooms, a lilliputian campground and a tap, it doesn't have much else. At the end of the next climb, and another hour watching the turf, the scenery has changed again: a landscape of bright-green chestnut trees, cool air and rolling mist banks.
By the top of the next summit, we could well find ourselves rubbing shoulders with the gods.Despite it all, the first day of our route is actually the shortest and after a gentle meander along the shoulder of the Crete de Pianu Maggiore, where rocky cliffs barrel down into the valley below, we arrive at our destination: the gite of E Case. The Mare a Mare Nord links Cargese on Corsica's western shore, with Moriani in the east, bisecting the island and taking in the storybook villages and rollercoaster mountain ranges of the interior. We start by the sea, among the postcard racks, watch our boots during the first ascent and then look up to find ourselves in a thirsty landscape of rounded boulders, thorn bushes and yawning canyons. We are only hiking the five days to Corte, but the first hill is always the steepest and the horizon (the end of day two) looks a mighty long way from the summit.You can spend hours looking at your feet when you are hiking, and the scenery tends to change in fits and starts, like a jumping record. "One step at a time," I am mumbling, "one step at a time." Day one and I am already sounding like a recovering alcoholic It's going to be a long walk.
I don't know if Led Zeppelin ever travelled here, but there's certainly plenty to sing about. Finding your hiker's stride takes time, sweat and a whole lot of carbohydrate, but once you're in gear, you'll discover a little piece of heaven on every hilltop. The Indian-ink ocean is now a kilometre below us and the bandit-country vistas of the Corsican maquis are in full flush. This is Napoleon's homeland; stopping for a breather and a peep at the view, it's a wonder the little Frenchman ever left The road is long here, and dramatic. We are only two hours into the island's Mare a Mare Nord trek, but a gulf has already opened up between the reality of hiking heavily laden and the gentle yomp we had planned a fortnight earlier in a north London salad bar. The mercury is rising, the rucksack straps are biting virgin shoulders and the raptors are circling overhead.