We finally made a definite traverse through the col to the other side of the ridge. But what this meant was only that we were half way along it. The path was a little less up and down this side, and instead caught one's attention by being a ledge only two centimeters wide in places. The almost vertical cliff rose above us in to the mist. It disappeared below us into more mist. Actually in places there was no path at all, but one tried not to step there. There was always a two centimeter bit close enough at hand that you could choose instead. It occurred to more than one of us that perhaps the mist was a blessing in disguise: at least we could not tell just how much a slip would cost.
It was well past lunch time. Claudia and I decided that if we stopped, we would freeze up, and if we did not freeze, then her knees would. Alf and Martha found a place where the path widened into a boulevard nearly a meter wide, and hurriedly made us a couple of peanut-butter and jam door-stop sandwiches. Wonderful. Claudia took some anti-inflammatories, and some pain killers. We then pressed on, leaving the support crew to brew up cup-a-soups. Being in front boosted us, as did being "definitely" more than half way (after spending several hours hoping we were). We were all together as we crossed the ridge for the last time. Five minutes later, miracle of miracles, the sun came out and exposed a staggering view of the mountains below us, and Punta Ghialla (2085 m) beside us. We could see all the way to Calvi and the coast. The pain killers were kicking-in and Claudia was setting a better pace than she had done all day. In the space of five minutes, the whole complexion on the day had changed.
It was incredible to see how much everyone's morale picked up, and how quickly. We could see right to the bottom of the narrow valley we had to descend. Five hundred meters west of the bottom was the refuge. No problem. It took two hours though. Although we descended quickly enough, the valley floor was rocky and steep, likewise the two streams that gushed and roared past us, and the path had to pick its way very carefully across each of these obstacles in turn. Alf and Martha built up a good lead, especially as the pain-killers wore off, and the down-hill section, Claudia's unfavorite, slowed her right down again. But the day took its toll on the front-runners too. They were very tired, and unbeknownst to us, did not increase their lead, despite the crawl that Claudia and I had slowed to. The weather regretted its momentary weakness, and with staggering rapidity closed in again, mostly by blowing cloud up past us and piling it up on the peaks. By the time we reached the bottom, a solid black ceiling hung over the pass we had come through in the sunshine, not an hour before.
Although we could see the refuge, it took an eternity to reach. But reach it we did, after a mere nine continuous hours of walking. I let Claudia step through the door first and then crashed inside. It was wall-to-wall people. Every bunk had a sleeping bag on it. The perfect end to a perfect day. We must have looked the picture of doom, despondency, and despair though, because the gardien appeared, and like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, he generated bunk space from whence there was none.
Alfie and Claudia, in a joint maneuver which might have worked equally well on the football field, generated space for us to sit at one of the benches. Even those who had been forced to move were surprised at the speed and efficiency of the blocking and any-language-you-like return of abuse. A tired and seatless Claudia is a woman scorned indeed.
