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COAST to CÔTE, A WALK OF 1,100 MILES FROM CAEN IN NORMANDY TO CASSIS IN PROVENCE: THE DIARY - Britain has long had its Coast-to-Coast Walk, Wainwright’s great invention now firmly established as a National Trail. I had long dreamed of walking a French equivalent; a “Coast to Côte.” A glance at a map, however, will reveal one distinct problem, the sheer scale of France—a Channel to Med walk would, at the shortest, be 3 or 4 times the length of the British equivalent.The French Grande Randonnée (GR) network is very extensive and many potential routes offer themselves. For ease of access, a route starting at a Channel port is an obvious incentive. For the purist the route must also lead, wholly on GR.s, to the Mediterranean. My personal Coast to Côte route, designed using the French National GR route map, was to follow the GR 36 from the port of Ouistreham (Caen) to the Loire, then follow in succession the GR 3, GR 46, GR 4, GR 9 and finally the GR 98 to emerge on the coast of the Mediterranean at Cassis near Marseilles. This journey of 1,800 kilometres or 1,100 miles is clearly beyond the holidaying capabilities of even the most determined backpacker and would require an undreamed of understanding from your employer. To solve the problem requires the traditional problem-solving approach, chop it up into smaller sections, a week here, a fortnight there, then stitch it back together into a glorious mental whole. – Stephen E., England, 11 December '01 1st INSTALLMENT, DAYS ONE TO EIGHT: Caen to Saint-Denis-sur-Sarthon, 128 miles on the GR 36 Days Nine to Sixteen - Saint-Denis sur Sarthon to Mayet on the GR 36, 194 kilometers or 121 miles Days Seventeen to Tenty-four - Mayet to Montbazon on the GRs 36, 3 and 46; 223 kilometers or 140 miles Days Twenty-five to Thirty-one - Montbazon to la Châtre, on the GR 46, 167 kilometers or 105 miles Day One - Ouistreham to May-sur-Orne, 26 Kilometres. So it was that Janice and I found ourselves on the beach at Riva-Bella-Plage alongside the Channel port of Ouistreham on a freezing cold October morning, in the pre-dawn darkness, as spiteful showers pattered in from the west. Riva Bella Plage is better known historically as Sword Beach from the D-Day landings of 1944, the liberation of France would be a theme that would haunt the journey throughout the first week in Normandy. After visiting the sea—dipping a toe to gingerly and symbolically mark the beginning of the trip we retreated back to the warmth and security of the port buildings to wait for first light. Because of the time-difference between the UK and Northern France, dawn broke quite late, around 8.00 to 8.15, but given that it was October you could also walk on later into the evenings. By 8.15 we were seeking out the first waymarks of the GR 36 close by the lighthouse and lock-gates marking the start of the Caen Maritime Canal. Few people were abroad as we headed off along the canal, a very convenient landmark making navigation for the first hour very easy. Gulls wheeled overhead and cormorants sought their fish breakfasts as we headed inland to leave the sea behind. The first 5 kilometres to Pegasus bridge followed the broad canal on a wide, metalled tow-path; this was not without interest as we startled no fewer than 6 kingfishers along this stretch of path. Pegasus Bridge marks the crossing of the canal and is a noted D-Day monument. This swing bridge and its neighbour over the Orne river (Horsa Bridge) were major strategic targets for the invasion and were taken by paratroopers during the night prior to the landings. The building closest to Pegasus bridge bears a proud plaque announcing that it was “The first building liberated in France in 1944”. After Pegasus Bridge we forsook the canal to join another theme for the first week—the River Orne. This broad, mud-banked river was to be followed for several days inland growing smaller with each passing day. Indeed, the principal objective of the first week is to reach the watershed between rivers draining to the Channel and those heading for the Loire & the Atlantic. The Orne was to prove a loyal friend. Between Caen and the coast, however, the river was not at its best, a muddy industrial brown with the odd dubious whiff. Despite the indifferent river our spirits were high as the morning had cleared to a delightful, blustery, sunny day although there was always the promise of showers to come. The path heads determinedly south along the Orne for a further 6_ kilometres before emerging through a pleasant stretch of woodland, poised high above the river, in the northern suburbs of Caen. We had been apprehensive about passing through a city of 110,000 people on the walk but the path artfully weaves its ways back to the canal and into the heart of the town without giving too urban a feel. The last 4 kilometres to Caen leads through a jogger-filled park alongside the canal opposite the wharves of the industrial port. We had promised ourselves the traditional long, food-filled, French lunch-break and Caen supplied the perfect Plateau de Fruits de Mer. Our luck with the weather was improving as the only other rain of the day bounced off the pavements for the duration of a lazy meal then cleared as we emerged, sated, to wander south out of Caen. As with the approach to Caen, the route out of the conurbation is skilfully chosen alongside the town racecourse. Riders and trotting carts prowled restlessly by, training for the Sunday races, to provide visual entertainment. A short stretch followed through a former village, now a suburb, then the path sharply descended a river-cliff to rejoin the banks of the Orne, by now much cleaner than before Caen. Under a blue, cumulus-bedecked, sky we ambled south past riverside auberges looking delightful with gardens of swooping willows. Late swallows and martins hawked over the river as we headed off to the west around the first of the Orne’s many meanders. The river lies at the eastern edge of a vast plain and the path soon headed away from the river to keep in touch with the higher ground to the east. In the late afternoon sunshine we climbed back up to the plateau and wandered along field tracks, reminiscent of our East Anglian home, before descending to Saint André sur Orne, where the river rejoins. We left the path to climb uphill to May sur Orne, a kilometre or so away, where the Ammonite Hotel fulfilled the essentials at the end of the day. back to top Day Two - May-sur-Orne to Thury-Harcourt, 24 kilometres. Sunday dawned late, dull and grey to herald 4 days of typical October weather; still, misty and dank. The church-clock struck 8.00 a.m. and a typical French breakfast of croissant, bread and preserves accompanied by large cereal bowls of strong coffee ushered us into the second day. After returning to the path, seemingly much quicker than whilst tired the previous evening, we rejoined the fisherman’s path along the banks of the Orne. As on the previous morning there were few people about this early but this being France we were to see many hunters, Sunday apparently being the day reserved for “la chasse”. After a gentle introductory 5 kilometres we were suddenly thrown into total confusion as the route, as described by our route guide (topo-guide), was marked with the characteristic crossed red-and-white bars of an incorrect direction. A quick check of the map revealed that the way-marked route could lead to a major revision to the whole day’s itinerary. We decided to follow the indicated route (a wise decision, as we later discovered that the GR 36 had been re-routed in more recent editions of the guide). The path took a side valley back to the main road at Laize-la-Ville and in true GR tradition we had followed a 6 kilometre route to gain 2 kilometres as the crow would fly. From here we followed field paths and cart tracks south and then west through yet more large stubble-filled fields to the village of Clinchamps-sur-Orne, which was in full swing with Sunday fêtes. As we took a rest, perched on twin limestone boulders either side of a manorial gateway, our reverie was broken by a yelling horde of scouts, on mountain bikes wearing tassels bearing team colours, in the under-15 bike race, who emerged from the manor grounds and headed through the village in close order. The GR continues to the south through lanes and tracks for a couple of kilometres then skirts the hamlet of Mutrécy; sadly no grand lunch facilities today just sarnies in a small, blackberry laden copse, a pleasant dessert at least. The path then descends steeply to rejoin, once more, the Orne river, now beginning to etch a steep sided gorge; which would be a feature of the walk for the next 3 days. After a short stretch of riverside path, the Orne took off west on another of its meanders whilst the path took a bee-line south into the first state forest on the route. The dull, dank weather was beginning to turn a bit more solid as a fine drizzle settled over the pines, making the name of the forest particularly appropriate - the Grimbosq. Many British walkers would feel an empathy with the Grimbosq, a typical old-style forestry plantation, silent ranks of pine with little bird noise but for the sharp “chink” of the Chaffinch and the thin “tseeep” of the Goldcrests. For an hour the pines kept the worst of the steady drizzle off but at the end of the forest we were back into open grazing pastures following the red-and-white blazes back down to the banks of the Orne. Sadly the waterproofs had to be donned, detracting from the best section of path for the day - a pleasant descent, a wander along beside a disused railway line then a fearsome climb up a rocky rib to a stunning viewpoint over the next, tree-covered, meander of the river. The autumn colours would have been a spectacular sight were the sun to shine. As we were still on the un-documented re-routing we were also blissfully unaware that the trail had a sting in its tail. Less than three kilometres from Thury-Harcourt, as the proverbial crow flies, we were suddenly turned back north and plunged down a steep and slippery zigzag path back to the Orne but with either a 150 metre ridge or a long walk around a meander between us and the town. We plodded on heads down through the rain to be rewarded with a path, unmarked on the map, easing its way back over the ridge and down to the outskirts of the market town, where the three-star luxury of the Grande Hotel de la Poste awaited. Thury-Harcourt is the gateway to the spectacular gorges of La Suisse-Normande, where the Orne has carved its original meandering course deep into the landscape as the land had risen in the distant geological past. Whilst wandering around the still dripping streets looking for dinner, we were struck by the D-Day memorial, which showed that the town, barely 40 linear kilometres from the beaches, was not liberated for a full month after the landings - a simple two day walk! back to top Day Three - Thury-Harcourt to Pont d’Ouilly, 29 kilometres. Monday dawned dry but cloudy with the promise of better to come, so, after a fine and filling breakfast, we headed through the morning streets to the start of an excellent drove-way heading south-west onto the ridges. The GR waymarks were joined by those of a black cross on a white marker indicating the pilgrimage route to Saint-Joseph’s chapel. From the heights there was a splendid view of the trench of the Orne’s valley filled with wraiths of early morning mist as a watery sun tried manfully to burn through. The climb to the chapel, perched dramatically on the top of a narrow ridge was a gruelling pull for so early in the day, little did we know! After leaving the chapel we skirted the head of a valley, through the village of Saint-Martin-de-Sallen, to the southern ridge, where we attained 200 metres above sea-level for the first time on the walk. A fine ridge walk, through fungi-ridden forest rich with chestnut trees (yet more free food) led to a pleasant grassy descent back to the banks of the Orne. From here a series of cunning paths and tracks kept to the break of slope between the meadows, leading down to the willow-lined river, and the steep slopes of the valley side covered in thick woodland. As you head south the valley opens to the east into a broad amphitheatre holding the mediaeval market town of Clècy, dominated to the north by a 200 metre cliff curving in a wide arc around the edges of the town. It was towards this cliff that the GR now headed turning determinedly across the main road and through pleasant pastures to the hamlet of Cantepie at the foot of the cliff. It was at Cantepie that we experienced our only significant dog attack, a great fear from reading the literature on French walking! Here a boxer leapt athletically from its garden and closed on us snarling and showing the whites of its eyes. Only determined brandishing of our trusty walking pole kept the beast at bay. The combined impact of the dog and the closed brasserie produced an adrenaline rush which launched us up the climb of the cliff to the viewpoint of Pain de Sucre (Sugar Loaf). Here we took a picnic lunch admiring the view, the broad sweep of the Orne enclosing the market town of Clècy with the Normandy plateau beyond; the former Roman road now the Route Nationale heading off like a ruler into the distance. After a scramble over gorse covered limestone crags a broad path follows a superb descending ledge in the limestone cliff, a natural feature which, over a kilometre, descends again to the foot of the cliff at Le Vey, a hamlet on the eastern edge of Clècy. It was here that a realisation hit us, the distances in the topo-guide, on which we had based our day to Pont d’Ouilly had been calculated taking a short cut through Clècy, chopping off almost 4 kilometres. We were in for a long afternoon! Once more the route turned uphill following a splendid rocky rib eastwards high above the gorge of the Orne. For almost 2 kilometres this ridge, which falls away very steeply on both sides, is surmounted by a fine, winding path which picks its way through limestone outcrops decorated with gorse and broom. At its end we descended through pleasant downland pastures to the hamlet of Bô where we crossed the Orne, once more to its western side. By now we were feeling the effects of the hefty climbs and were further disheartened when a review of the next hour’s walk revealed a substantial climb to over 200 metres only to lose all the height again immediately. Somewhat daunted we re-shouldered our somehow heavier packs and “heads down” trudged uphill out of the village. Our spirits rose as we gained the spot height seemingly before we expected it and rose still further as a very pleasant woodland path led us back down easily to the Orne. For a further hour we followed a agreeable path alongside a much diminished river, now barely 20 metres wide, startling both herons and buzzards as we went. The path ended at a sluice, accounting for the diminished flow. Then, yet another sting in the tail followed as a dismal tarmac lane led us up and over the ridge separating one bend of the Orne from its next, sweeping meander, containing Pont d’Ouilly. The final 2 kilometres downhill on a straight metalled lane were purgatory for the feet at the end of the long day but the small hotel in the market square soon righted the situation by providing a welcome and comfortable night. back to top Day Four - Pont D’Ouilly to Sainte-Croix-sur-Orne, 26 kilometres. We crossed the Orne once again over Pont D’Ouilly’s ancient seven-arched bridge before heading off again towards the south-east. Within a couple of kilometres we had passed a landmark for the trip as we left the département of Calvados to enter that of Orne. The first hour was a steady uphill journey along dry-stone walled tracks through dilapidated small-holdings, trees shedding leaves and a heavy dew on our heads. From the village of Ménil-Hubert we descended as we had so many times before back to the banks of the Orne to follow its riverside paths for a kilometre through water-meadows populated with placid Charolais cattle. The next hour provided the first temptation to short-cut the route, a temptation which would be very strong, were one headed in one journey for the Mediterranean. The path climbs between the hairpins of the main road to a point high above the confluence of the Orne and a major tributary the Rouvre. From here the GR takes a sinuous course of over 3 kilometres to reach the village of Rouvrou, down below, a mere 500 metres away to the right down the main road. We steeled ourselves, determined to stick with the path and were rewarded with a very pleasant walk along the high ridge separating the two streams, a bracken covered descent to the banks of the Rouvre and a grassy ambling lane back along the banks of the river to the mediaeval, wooden pack bridge at Rouvrou. Rouvrou was a very picturesque village with the majority of the buildings solidly built from the grey-stone schist. It rose in tiers above the steeply sloping banks of the Rouvre in a delightful tumble. We were able to appreciate the setting much better a few minutes later, having puffed up to an equal height on the far bank. The GR now headed across the slopes to the ancient church of Saint-Philbert, an isolated spire huddling amongst a copse of yew, before heading determinedly away from the river valleys onto an upland plateau criss-crossed with dry-stone walls. The area was now reminiscent of the high Pennines as the rock type had changed from limestones to harder metamorphic rocks. The objective for the next hour was the climb to the local high-point, the Roche d’Oëtre. The guide-book had promised a café and shop at this local viewpoint and climbing cliff. However, on a dank and misty October morning all was closed and shuttered. It was easy to imagine this isolated spot as a den of forgers and highwaymen; as portrayed by the guide-book, a 17th Century “Hole-in-the-Wall” gang. An hour’s stroll through dry-stone walled fields, across the misty slopes of a broad ridge brought us to La Fôret Auvray. We had planned to picnic at or near this hamlet but were very pleasantly surprised to find a restaurant on the main cross-roads. We entered the steamy dining-room and were soon tucking into plates of cooked meats with rough country bread followed by a tasty rabbit casserole. Most of the customer were obviously farmers from the surrounding area who were clearly amused by the presence of foreigners. Replete, we set off on the final section of the day, a mere two hours stated the topo-guide! The route, once more, proved to be much farther and was also quite demanding as it plummeted again to the banks of the Orne. Twice more during the afternoon the trail climbed out of the valley before returning once again to the river. As the “two hours” finished we were still well short of our accommodation. To add to the misery the trail launched off onto yet another deviation from the documented line. We trooped down a drippy gully, rock walls looming to our right, to emerge a third time by the Orne. Here we startled a group of young girls being given abseil training on the rock-wall by two supervisors—who appeared just as nonplussed as we were to find them so far from a road. The trail led, on a level, through a rocky ankle-turning section of former river bed; the stream being much reduced by a large dam. After passing the dam the path climbed up to a pine-clad promontory offering fine views but to our chagrin dropped once more to the water’s edge before finally emerging at the road over a kilometre north of Sainte-Croix-sur-Orne, our destination. It was a dispirited pair who trailed up the road to our lodging. This night was to be our first taste of a French walking phenomenon the gîte d'étape. Armed with a picture of the building we found the detached bungalow 200 metres off the road on the hill, but found it unoccupied. A search of the nearby farms turned up only a friendly, tail-wagging dog. In desperation I tried the door to find the building totally unlocked but clearly provisioned for us. Dubiously we took the opportunity provided of dragging packs inside before waiting for signs of life. After an hour of waiting, desperation took over and we decided to make ourselves comfortable and took showers. Way after dark the owner, one of the abseil supervisors(!), arrived to see if we needed anything before bidding us good night. At eight next morning a young girl arrived on a puttering moped and prepared breakfast - an unusual but comfortable night. back to top Day Five - Sainte-Croix-sur-Orne to Écouché, 30 kilometres. Our fifth day would have been much shorter had one the crow-like ability to fly, however, the trail took a sadistic pleasure in adding many more kilometres as it followed the intricate meanders of the Orne. At one point 5 kilometres of walking adds 400 metres of south-easterly progress! A long-range forecast had promised a wet day followed by clearer, warmer weather and they certainly got it right. We started, however, on a morning like those preceding; dull, overcast and dank. We made good progress through the intricate lanes and walled tracks to the first and only provisioning point for the day the market town of Putanges-Pont-Écrepin. As the path only briefly touched the edge of town, bags were left with Janice whilst I stalked off to get supplies. The town centre was very attractive with a fine cobbled square and market. Replenished we headed back uphill onto one of the least memorable stretches of the path. Text and map alignment proved to be in disagreement and we also lost the friendly paint splodges. In desperation and concerned we were straying too far to the south we found a walled lane heading east and took it, intending to cut through to the main road and re-locate the path on the far side. To our surprise in 100 metres we returned to the waymarks and dropped down through a small wood to the road. The next 5 kilometres, however, proved to be all back-country tarmac road. We nursed our tender feet at the end by the 13th century church at Méniljean. A side valley of the Orne led us back to its familiar banks where we started the meandering mid-section of the day by crossing to the north bank. The path was broad and grassy, initially fifty metres above the stream before descending to become a fisherman’s path alongside. As we took a tea-break, staring across at the narrow neck of land separating the two meanders, the rain started; it was to become very miserable for the next four hours! We retreated into our water-proofs and internal contemplation as we followed the river through all four compass directions to eventually re-cross the Orne onto the southern bank at the hamlet of La Courbe; sadly lacking refreshments for a late lunch. Another 3 kilometre section of road-walking along the neck of the meander led into dark and soaking state pine forest as we started on the reverse meander back to the north. Desperate to leave the road for softer ground we chose to ignore a crossed out marker indicating a further re-routing and headed into the pines on the old now-abandoned route. We repented our decision when we regained the riverbank; the path was strewn with fallen trees and undergrowth. A frantic sweaty struggle ensued as we battled through to clear ground. Here we met two foresters clearly bemused to see two wet bedraggled and scratched English emerge from the long abandoned path. In our struggle we had missed the turn on the old route leading up the 45º slope and had to battle yet more brambles as we regained the ridge to emerge relieved and considerably wiser on the broad beech-lined track at the top. To our great relief the ending of our misery coincided with the clearance of the rain-front so we were able to enjoy the magnificent location of the fort of Mesnil-Glaisé. This 12th century fort is strategically located on a rocky crest dominating the Orne and marks the south-eastern entrance to La Suisse-Normande. From here, the walking would become much less strenuous as we had to cross a broad arable plain, a patchwork in the afternoon sunshine, before reaching the next high ground and the watershed. A slimy rocky descent brought us once more to the Orne and an elegant footbridge across to the north bank The final section of the day took us back to field paths and patches of working forest before a last tiring 3 kilometre stretch of yet more tarmac brought us wearily into Écouché. Écouché proved to be, very much, a workaday sort of place and we had the faded elegance of the Lion d’Or Hotel and its excellent restaurant (the Crème Brulées were ravishing) totally to ourselves. back to top Day Six - Écouché to Montmerrei, 21 kilometres. The stretch of path south of Écouché is a planning nightmare; there is no accommodation on or close to the path for 56 kilometres. However, there are three spots five, eight and three kilometres off the path, which are the only possibilities. We decided to settle on those closest which would result in only one very long day. Our sixth day was to be a relatively easy day over flatish ground linking La Suisse-Normande and the Parque Nationale Normandy-Maine. As the gîte d'étape at Montmerrei was 5 kilometres off route we would manage a mere 16 kilometres along the GR. The clearance of the rain had blown away the claggy weather of the first half of the week and we woke to a splendid autumnal day. After a long lie-in (courtesy of late rising proprietress) we set off through the fields on a back country lane. It was a great sadness to leave behind the river Orne, our almost constant companion since the Channel and head off determinedly south-east. The morning sun soon had coats shed and brightened up the hamlets of Loucé and Tanques, which we passed through during the first couple of hours. We hurried out of Tanques pursued by an over-friendly Saint-Bernard dog which tried to adopt us. Again the route included an over-abundance of tarmac work but as it was a much shorter day we were able to relax and take plenty of “foot-breaks”. The day proved to be a great contrast to the enclosed nature of the route through the deep-cut valleys of La Suisse-Normande, crossing a broad tree-free plain. After around 10 kilometres the ground starts to rumple again as you approach the massif of the watershed. The first traces were felt soon after crossing the busy main road to Argentan as the route skirted a large walled manorial enclosure before heading up a sandy track onto La Bruyère de la Coudraie. This low hill is clad in deciduous forest, the colours of the chestnut and beech trees were magnificent in the sunshine. We lunched on the heath breathing the coconut scent of flowering gorse while reclining on a soft bed of bracken. As you descend the southern edge of the heath there are vast views across the valley to the brooding ridge of the Parque Nationale Normandy-Maine. Instead of descending and crossing the intervening valley the G.R takes a route to the east keeping to the high ground before crossing the low ground at a narrower point. Where the path turns sharply south to begin its crossing of the valley we kept straight ahead following a photo-copied route sent by the gîte proprietor. After a tedious road walk of around two kilometres, he had indicated a path crossing the intervening high ground on a direct route to the farm. This route proved to be a splendid exercise passing through forest and heath before picking up the boundary ditch of the park. The trail emerged onto the eastern edge of the park from where the plains to the east were laid out below us in the afternoon sun. From this vantage point the gîte d'étape was only a few hundred metres away down the hill. To our surprise our accommodation proved to be a converted manorial gate-house. The thick limestone walls enclosing a large communal dining room with an enormous open fire while the loft and cellar had been converted into dormitories. Once again we were alone in the place but the owner supplied a substantial pile of logs and a blaze made the evening very comfortable. The silence was ethereal and the night-time view across the plain was evocative as the scores of farms were converted to lights mirroring the clear night-sky. We fell asleep to the haunting cries of a nearby Tawny Owl. back to top Day Seven - Montmerrei to Saint-Nicolas-des-Bois, 35 kilometres. We had been viewing this day with some trepidation throughout the earliest stages of the walk. Fortunately the weather turned very warm and pleasant; it would have been another story given rain. The day dawned misty and mellow, the plains were lost in a blanket of fog as we headed off soon after day-break. The retracing of the route back to the GR proved to be extremely pleasant, the sun dimly peering through the mist promised better to come whilst every spider’s web was etched with dew. Barely an hour passed and we had re-joined the route for its crossing of the last low ground before the P.N Normandy-Maine. Down in the vale the fog was thicker so navigation became a nervous search by compass and paint mark until we climbed out of the fog once more onto the north-facing escarpment of the park. This steep pull up was followed by a very pleasant scarp-edge path which, in clearer conditions, would have magnificent views to the north. The trail meandered along the northern edge until the deep valley taking the main road forced a steep descent. The GR emerged at the small hamlet of Goult, an ideal spot for accommodation (potential gîte owners take note!), the houses are dominated by a plug of high ground said to contain Caesar’s Camp, in reality a Neolithic settlement. From Goult we were to spend the rest of the day crossing the park through largely commercial forestry. After a brief sojourn along the road, the route took a bee-line up a broad, grassy ride straight to the ridge-line; a breath-taking 150 metre climb. From here more forest roads, gritted but not too firm led determinedly due south for a dead straight 4 kilometres. After crossing the main N808 road, however, the trail became a weird experience as the path, obviously predating the forestry system, cut at bizarre angles across the plots. A thin, rank, grass-covered track crossed all ages of timber from new deep plough to fully mature pines, oblivious to the geometric patterns of the coupe system—an ankle twisting experience. We were somewhat relieved to emerge onto another broad ride, this time heading due east, the path describes, from here, a huge square loop keeping to high ground. A sign pointing away towards a restaurant was tempting but the 2 km there followed by 2 km back would have added an intolerable burden to the day, so lunch was once more a picnic affair. Once more the trail’s geography struck as odd, the marked route appearing to cut systematically east, however, a closer glance at the map revealed 3 successive steep chine-like valleys carved into the slope. Each proved a tiring exercise, down, across a swampy bottom, then a steep, gravelly pull back to achieve a linear distance of only a few metres. The trail emerged briefly from the pines at a disused glassworks, the soils now being very sandy, before heading - at last - up to the watershed. Here, at a height of 413 metres, a small ceremony was enacted as water was symbolically tipped either side of the line and waved off to the respective Channel & Atlantic. The afternoon became a bit of a trudge as we crossed the gently sloping plateau to the south. Forestry clearance did not help as we temporarily lost the path due to felling of the trees carrying the paint marks! Eventually we emerged onto yet another broad, open ride which seemed to stretch interminably into the distance. With little in the way of landmarks the distance seemed to pass very slowly, however, we eventually turned off to climb to the second highest spot of the day the Croix Madame. At this white cross the land suddenly falls away to the south and a splendid view opens out across the plains leading towards the river Sarthe, heading away towards the Loire. Also down on the low ground was Saint-Nicolas-des-Bois, where our accommodation lay. It was a weary but triumphant pair that wended their way down the scarp and through the lanes to the gîte. Once more we were made very welcome as the only residents in a modern house used to dealing with large parties (we had to negotiate for a two-person pan as most of the pots were designed for ten times that number). A generous host even donated a litre of pleasant Normandy cider to our functional little feast. back to top Day Eight - Saint-Nicolas-des-Bois to Saint-Denis-sur-Sarthon, 14 kilometres. Armed with a few directions from the proprietor we were able to find a wholly road-free route back to the Croix Madame on the following day. We saw little of the fine views, however, as a thick, dripping fog covered the whole plateau. We made our way steadily through the last traces of the Normandy-Maine Park on a mixture of forest rides and more pleasant winding paths which cut through the plantations; eyes peeled for the next paint marker. We emerged sadly onto back lanes at the end of the forest and headed resolutely towards La Roche Mabile, the only settlement of the morning. For the first time in a couple of days it was very refreshing to have open vistas without the close accompaniment of dark, foreboding pines. We headed west along minor roads above a small pasture bedecked valley until La Roche Mabile. Here, the path became a trifle eccentric, seeking out the back alleys and gardens of the village before emerging by the church. As it was late morning, by now, a patisserie and village bar were very welcome each provided pleasant sustenance in their own way. Whilst the pastries curbed our growling stomachs, the “demi pression” formed a premature but satisfying toast to the completion of the first stage of the walk. All that remained was a couple of kilometres’ amble along back lanes before we emerged onto the N12 at Saint-Denis-sur-Sarthon. We had chosen this spot to finish as it seemed a likely place to have public transport to nearby Alençon and the rail network. Our good fortune was running high as one of a thrice daily bus service proved to be due within only 15 minutes of our arrival! With 205 kilometres of walking done we had made satisfactory progress despite the limitations of the accommodation supply. It was fun to open the national map of the footpath network and see the distance covered. A long way to go but a good start made. Days Nine to Sixteen - Saint-Denis sur Sarthon to Mayet on the GR 36, 194 kilometers or 121 miles Days Seventeen to Tenty-four - Mayet to Montbazon on the GRs 36, 3 and 46; 223 kilometers or 140 miles Days Twenty-five to Thirty-one - Montbazon to la Châtre, on the GR 46, 167 kilometers or 105 miles e-mail your questions and comments to walk@franceonfoot.com back to top SITE CONTENTS * LINKS * ARCHIVE * UPDATES MAIN PAGE * HOME |
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The best, the most exquisite automobile is the walking stick; and one of the finest things in life is going a journey with it.
 – Robert Cortes Holiday, The Walking Stick Papers |