Still, that didn’t stop us from wishing the trio a good climb and proceeding to beeline confidently to the first pitch of our objective. After Eli whipped off yet another micro crimper, Evrard came over and asked what we were doing. “L’elephant,” he said, mentioning our intended route, “is 20 meters this way.”
I threw Eli one of our ever-dwindling supply of bail biners, and we regrouped.
Le Dos de L’elephant, once we found it, was a superb granite climb reminiscent of the best of Tuolumne Meadows. Serious friction combines with occasional dishes and cracks, with bolts just far enough apart to keep you on your toes. A 12-pitch climb to the top of the formation, with numerous 5.10 pitches and only one at 5.11, the route was a welcome window of pleasure during a week mostly spent thrutching.
The last pitch I did at the Col de Bavella was the aforementioned “5.9.” It’s still on my tick list. I couldn’t figure out how to move past the corroded bolt. Eli got us one mangy bolt higher before he, too, bailed — describing the handmade hardware as more frightening yet.
We packed up the rack I’d been so convinced would be our European salvation, readying for the long journey home, and I thought back to how haughtily I’d treated Petit’s initial warning. “Those Europeans probably think anything with gear is exciting,” I’d thought, brushing off his well-meaning but cautionary words. Alas … I’d come to Corsica to kick ass and got my ass kicked instead. Though not easy on my ego, it was exactly the trip I’d come for. After all, if adventure becomes easy, we’ll have to call it something else.

Senior contributing editor Majka Burhardt lives in Boulder, Colorado, where she guides, climbs, and writes, often under the watchful eye of her standard poodle, Osito.