On Boots, New and Old

Seven and a half months doesn`t mean a heck of a lot. When it comes to hiking boots, I guess Doris Day`s Pajama Game mantra was right. I got my Vasque boots seven and a half years ago, in anticipation of my adventure in Yosemite with Mom. It was the summer I turned fifteen, The boots gave me blisters then, of course--they were new. But now?! What`s up with that? `Well, maybe if you took a few pounds out of your pack, or walked uphill a little less, I`d think about easing up.` Ok ok, I get it.

Normally, we came to an agreement about these kinds of thing--`If your`re going to scuff me up in front like that, I`m going to take a full two days to dry when you get me wet.` It didn`t make sense, really, but for us, it worked.

And oh the places we went. Like all Gross Family gear, we warmed up together at Will Rogers State Park--a dusty beginning, to be sure, but then it was on to Vogelsang and Merced Lake and Vernal Falls. We took it slow the first year--rest breaks by mountain streams, climbs up big hills with the promise of a thorough cleaning adterwards. I was proud of my boots. I took my cues from my boy scout brother--he had the same Vasques, 4 sizes bigger. If they were good enough for backpacking at Philmont scout camp, then they certainly would do for my adventures, real or imagined.

Sand in Death Valley, snow in Sequoia, mud in the Olympics--we got through it together. We had some disagreements, of course, like how to appropriately deal with slush on the trail--around it or through it? But even these discussions were nothing a big bottle of waterproofing chemicals couldn`t solve.

I had confidence in my boots. They knew me, my penchant for long rest stops, my swollen right ankle, my sloppy footwork. I didn`t think twice about taking them on this yearlong hiking adventure in the mountains. When some dinner companions at Aescher, the first hut I stayed in, looked under the table to check my shoe staus, my boots and I got the highest compliment--`Oh, you have serious shoes--you`ll make it.` That`s what we really wanted, to be taken seriously on these trails even if sometimes we felt like we didn`t deserve it.

We had almost a month of serious walking in the Alps of Switzerland before this seven and a half year -anniversary blister made me start thinking--I knew our relationship wasn`t for life, but was it time to start looking around? Was I ready to give up all we had together? All those memories? I stared to notice the little idiosyncracies I had laughed off before--the grass that got stuck under the rubber peeling off the front of the boots, the way even a little morning dew would give my smartwools a session in mopping up, the way I could feel the shape of the rocks under my soles. A few days later, just to be sure, I checked the bottom of the boots--sure enough, the biggest tread was less than a half inch deep, and many had worn away to nothing. It was time.

I hadn`t told my boots--heck I hadn`t even admitted it to myself--but I had been doing some comparison shopping while on the trail for a month. I already knew the best brands, the lacing system I wanted, how high the boot should come up on my ankle. With an hour to spare before catching a bus from Sion to Arolla in the Valais, I spotted a sports store across from the grocery.

I found a boot that met all my criteria--the back came up a full 3 inches higher on my ankle, they were gore-tex--no dew seeping through here--and I could lace them up to my heart`s content. But we were off to a rough start, the Lowas and I. Tying them tightly in the store, searching for the right fit, chaffed my hands until my pinkie bled. Besides, they were as stiff and as heavy as ski boots. And worst of all, they were navy blue--what kind of color is that for an outdoor shoe?

But these were it, my new--serious--Swiss hiking boots. The comforting light brown of my Vasques would be a thing of the past--yes I know they turned muddy when they sopped up water, but we had a history!

The first few hours out of the shop didn`t go so well either. I had to carry around these dead weights like I was on some volleyball training program. And there was no instant gratification when I got to Arolla. I had to sponge on a smelly liquid to insure the impermabilité of the Gore-tex surface. I left my smelly navy boots behind and made my day`s hike in the trusty old Vasques. Ahh the open mountain trail. No need to think about expensive equipment--just me and the `wilderness.`

But perhaps I was just a little too comfortable... At the Cabane des Aiguilles Rouges, when I got out my francs to pay for a mug of soup and a tée froid, I also got out my tape and scissors, layering the athletic tape on to protect my heels yet again from blisters. maybe the time had come, after all.

Back in the Val d`Herens, I took a pre-dinner walk in the Lowas--when I figured out how to lace them properly, they actually felt pretty good. My old Vasques, I reasoned, as comfy (and as flimsy) as old sneakers, will get to hang on for the ride a bit longer, until I`m sure my new partners and I understand eachother. Later, when I was back in my room, `organizing,` I found the tag I had cut off the new boots-- it said: Lowa trekkers, size 43, color charcoal gray-black. Suddenly, I felt much better. No, of course I wouldn`t have been silly enough to pick navy hiking shoes. Charcoal gray--that sounded sufficiently serious. Well, the Himalaya of India is the testing ground for us... I guess we`ll find out just how serious.

In the morning I headed down into the valley to catch a bus. I put on the new boots for the walk down. I forgot all about them until I started whistling the Doris Day song again--was I really ready for another seven and a half years of just getting to know my boots? I looked down at my Lowas, all innocent, with the sparkling charcoal gray leather grinning back up at me. `Well, what do you think?` `Let`s do it!`