One of the favourite parts of my walk. After a slanting hillside climb the sea was uncovered. The track was pleasant. Joyous, one person described it, on her GR20 trip when she encountered easy paths.

Echoing hills reminded me of Jean de Florette. Coast reminded me of Crete.

Ten minutes later this was near disastrous. I turned a blind corner, stumbled over unexpected rock. One of my poles stuck, snagged, wouldn’t move. Something had to give. I speak of a tiny fragment of time I couldn’t control. Similar, a few years ago, when I crashed eighty miles an hour returning from Scotland. A realisation point. You do nothing because you can’t.

Despite that as I fell I told myself, steered me head, away from that rock. My right shoulder crashed down hard, my thumb was cut, my carbon pole snapped. I was defenseless against the weight of my rucksack.

You don’t feel immediate pain, so check body for injuries. A man and his son ran towards me, helped lift me up again. I couldn’t move.

 

Sea and Corsica

Tuesday October 27, 2015