Departure 06h17 · Arrival 17h44. 22.0 km, +1,102 m, -1,591 m, 8h36 moving and 11h27 in total. Bavella works its magic, but the extra haul out to Paliri, my knee and the storm make this stage as gruelling as it is memorable.
The night at Croci could have been rough: the dogs, the noises, the wild boar. In the end, the exhaustion of the previous days won out. Waking up, you know one last very big day still stands between you and Conca.
We set off in superb light. The valley slowly emerges from the night, the colours are warm, and the ridgelines take on that golden hue that makes you want to look up. Far away, you can still make out some of the northern summits. Strange — they feel as if they belong to another life. On the GR20, a single week can feel like it lasted a month.
« That's the GR20 too: moments that could have been miserable but turn into powerful memories, simply because they're shared. »
The climb up to Monte Incudine builds gradually. Reaching the top is something quite intense: the view opens up, Bavella appears as the next great milestone, and you sense that the end of the traverse is genuinely starting to take shape.
During the break, little lizards come and circle around us. Bigger, more colourful and less skittish than usual, they lend the moment an almost unreal touch. They're small details, but on the GR20 a scene like this lodges in your memory just as much as some of the panoramas.
The progression towards Bavella is magnificent. The Needles draw the eye, the relief grows more jagged. Tired as we are, we sense there's something special about this day.
The Bavella pass, on the other hand, jars with the mood of the previous days. After so many hours in more remote areas, suddenly running into this many people feels almost odd. The place is still superb, but the atmosphere is less wild, more touristy — and that contrast comes as a surprise after the immersion of the GR20.
We naively thought Bavella would more or less mark the end of the day. Wrong. On the spot you realise there's no GR20 campsite here: you have to push on to Paliri. Another five kilometres or so, and more climbing. On a map, it looks like nothing. In your legs, at that precise moment, it's enormous.
That final stretch feels endless. The fatigue, the pain in my knee, the days piling up and a kind of weariness make every kilometre longer. We move slowly, sometimes barely speaking. There's no room for debate: the GR20 carries on, so we carry on.
When the Paliri refuge finally appears among the pines, the relief is immense. A stunning setting, something peaceful, almost perfect for a last night before Conca. But that serenity doesn't last: an extremely violent storm is forecast.
Very quickly, the weather turns. The wind picks up, the rain arrives, gusts of around 120 km/h set the tents shaking. The moment is honestly impressive. We even think we'll have to write off dinner. But thanks to the resourcefulness of several hikers helping one another out, we eventually manage to get the water boiling for the pasta. The wind gradually settles. This simple meal takes on enormous value.
That's the GR20 too: moments that could have been miserable but turn into powerful memories, simply because they're shared. A pot coming to the boil, tents holding firm through the storm, that feeling of having won one more small battle. Paliri will stay with me as a blend of beauty, fatigue, weather-driven fear and solidarity.