August 17th, 2018 - It's the big day. The final destination is within reach and the feeling is the same as many other times: a mixture of excitement and sadness.

Still feeling guilty for skipping yesterday's stage, I set off early. The first climb immediately makes me realize that skipping the previous stage was actually the right choice. The dirt road is a river of mud. Alongside it, the electric poles are bent towards the ground: there must have been a big storm! I do my best not to get my shoes too muddy, but it's a tough battle.

The track I had prepared was supposed to cut through the fields, but the muddy ground makes me give up the attempt. Among other things, by taking a slightly longer route and passing on an asphalt road, I have the opportunity to travel a section of the tratturo that I skipped yesterday. The decision is made without hesitation.

Even the road is not in great shape. In several places, the soil from the fields has slid onto it, partially obstructing it. A bulldozer is already at work to make it usable again.

Having entered the tratturo, I start to descend towards the Carapelle stream. The mud becomes increasingly present and attempts to avoid it, increasingly difficult, slow down the march.

When I reach the stream, I have to face a compulsory passage: impenetrable vegetation on both sides, a pool of muddy water in the center. I give up any hope of reducing damages and enter the pool with my shoes! Upon exiting, my feet are rafts of mud, but it doesn't matter much: right after, the Carapelle stream will allow for a quick rinse.

Immediately after the stream, the tratturo is interrupted by the Autostrada dei Due Mari, but a narrow underpass allows for continuation. Some cows grazing, who precede me in the tunnel, get stuck and start to moo desperately. Behind me, some calves moo too: I am caught in the middle of the mothers and their little ones and there is no way to proceed. The only solution is to turn back and let the families regroup.

Beyond the underpass, an unpleasant surprise awaits me. The rains have brought a tide of compact mud down to the plain, covering everything. Cows trudge forward, sinking their legs into the thick sludge. All the effort I put into cleaning my shoes has been wasted in an instant. I advance slowly, sensing as though I have suction cups on my feet, with a constant fear of my shoes slipping off. If I lose them in there, I doubt I'll be able to find them again.

Somehow I overcome the obstacle, and at the first stream, I try to remove some of the mud to continue. But it's all in vain. Landslides are everywhere along the path, so it's a continuous sinking into the mud. In some places, it's unclear where the tratturo trail goes, so I follow my GPS tracks with confidence. Yesterday must have been a real mess! Once I had accepted that I would be walking through the mud, my pace began to quicken again and by early afternoon I finally spot my destination: Candela!

As always in these situations, my thoughts go back to 11 days earlier, when I was about to leave Pescasseroli with a thousand doubts about the feasibility of the journey. It seems like a distant memory now, almost like it was another journey.: different landscapes, different dialects, but above all, different temperatures!

I try to imagine the joy of the shepherds reaching the end of the transhumance, and compare it to my melancholy over a beautiful experience coming to an end. Then I think about the fact that other journeys await me, and everything passes.

A final landslide prevents me from reaching what is considered the endpoint (or starting point depending on the perspective) of the tratturo, but it's only a matter of a few hundred meters: the destination can be considered reached.

At the hotel, the owner looks me up and down, astonished. In my room, the mirror explains why: I was so concerned about my shoes, but I am covered in mud from head to toe. Everything is irreparably dirty!