Footwear

18 Aug

A short while ago, I spent the weekend at San Diego Comic-Con, the massive nerdgasm celebrating comics, television, and films geared toward those of the geek persuasion. (This was my sixth.) It is mecca to nerds, and while I walked the floor, stood in line (if nerds have one superpower, it’s the ability to stand in line), and walked some more; I had one thought, “I should have worn my hiking boots.”

Last year, I didn’t make it to comic-con, because of The Muir Project. And because of The Muir Project, I have the most comfortable -to this day- shoes ever. I’m not about to name brands (unless they want to sponsor us), but they just fit, they cradle my foot like a gentle lover. No matter how much I abuse them. And sure, after 12 hours hiking, my feet want nothing to do with them… but in the morning, they’re there again, with a loving embrace.

But they’re not made for every use. I wouldn’t play tennis in them. And I’m not crossing a stream in them either. For that, you pack sandals. The rest of The Muir Project was packing Tevas & Chacos but I was packing these:

They’ve been dubbed my “Jesus Sandals.” What started as a heckle turned into a term of admiration, though, when I walked over water.

On day one, a short day that found our camp set up shortly after lunch, Durand and I decided we should find a swimming hole in the Illilouette Creek. About a ¼ mile downstream we found a promising spot on the opposite shore. Short of hiking back to our first crossing point (at our camp) the only way across was a log that had fallen across a rocky gorge, about 14ft above a churning boulder filled channel.

Durand went first, in his Chacos, and halfway across he went to his hands and knees, and crawled the rest of the way. Then it was my turn and I was expecting I’d reach a point where I’d need to do the same. I reached that halfway point, and beyond, noting the look on Durand’s face. He picked up his jaw and told me how impressed he was. But I had more than enough traction, and the flexible soles wrapped around the log, giving me a good feel for the contour. I walked the entire plank with nary a wobble.

I can’t tell you how many times he told people on the trail about my sandals, and my miracle crossing. It got pretty embarrassing. To the point that I didn’t tell any of my companions a little secret- the flexible soles that contoured to the log, also contoured to every sharp rock at the bottom of the other streams we crossed. Making for some less than comfortable (if very secure) stream crossings.

Every shoe has it’s drawbacks, and benefits. Chose wisely. (And let’s keep that secret between us.)