You can’t stop progress, and that’s as true for hiking as for everything else. Athletes today are pushing further, breaking records and setting FKTs on long-distance trails every year; fabrics are getting lighter and stronger; mapping, tracking, and monitoring are increasingly digital and device-based; and footwear is getting lighter, sprightlier, and more expendable.
But as we move forward, something is getting left behind that was once a core piece of this sport’s soul. It was every hiker’s best friend, well-loved and well-used, a part of the uniform no one ever forgot, the ticket to freedom that carried you out your front door: the hiking boot.
Boots have fallen out of fashion in recent years. More and more hikers today prefer low-cut, lightweight trail shoes or runners. Some surveys suggest that on the Appalachian Trail, as many as 90 percent of hikers are wearing trail runners, while just 10 percent are wearing boots. And there’s good reason for that. Boots are heavy; they’re stiff and less nimble; they’re typically more expensive; they don’t breathe as well, and they always take longer to lace up. Why shouldn’t hikers prefer a lighter, typically cheaper, more comfortable alternative?
Because (and I already feel sappy typing this) boots tell a story. They last for years instead of seasons. The scratches, stains, dog-eared tongues, weathered soles, and dirty laces of a seasoned pair of boots don’t just give them character, but make them a character. I greet my hiking boots when I open the door of my tent in the morning like an old friend. I curse at them from time to time when they unlace or trip me up. Occasionally, I’ll thank them after we’ve traveled many miles over rugged terrain.
My boots are my buddies. And I fear that’s a relationship many modern hikers might never get to experience. So, here are the (mostly sentimental) reasons why I love boots and I’ll never be swayed to start wearing shoes or runners instead.
Boots are like books.
A good pair of hiking boots tells its owner’s story. You can translate what’s inscribed on them and recite the associated tales from memory. They bear the story of your trails and adventures on their soles (and mids, and uppers).
For example, when I proposed to my now-wife, we were on top of a mountain, and I did not have a ring. But the moment was upon me, and I had to seize it. My solution? I cut a length from one of my hiking boots’ extended laces and literally tied a knot around her finger. Of course, I replaced that lace eventually. But the cut one was long enough that I could still tie my boot and hike safely down the mountain. Now, every time I look at that pair of boots and see the unmatched laces, I think of that very special moment. When people ask about them, I get to tell the story.
On another occasion, in the German Alps, I’d just hiked to a refuge with my parents, and we were enjoying spectacular views, great conversation, incredible weather, and a basket of bread with olive oil. A drop of the oil spilled on my leather hiking boots and stained them forever. Whenever I notice that little discolored blotch, that fond memory flashes across my mind.
Eventually I’ll replace the boots that tell these stories—nothing, especially hiking footwear, lasts forever. However, those boots are in their fourth year of hard use. When the soles finally do give out, the brand, Zamberlan, offers resoling services. That could extend their lives another three or four years.
Which brings me to the next reason I love boots.
Boots live longer.
Part of the reason boots can tell a story is that they last longer than a typical pair of lightweight trail shoes or runners. Backpacker has interviewed athletes who burned through as many as 14 pairs of shoes in a single thru-hike. These days, trail runners are almost becoming disposable. Like those good old No.2 pencils you used in high school, they wear down quickly and go straight in the trash when they burn out.
People do the same with boots; it just tends to take longer. And, as mentioned, some brands will offer services like resoling to extend the life of the boots and mitigate waste. Very few, if any, footwear brands offer that kind of service for hiking or running shoes.
Environmentally, that isn’t great. Yes, some shoes are made with recycled materials or even made so they can be recycled at the end of their useful life. But if you’re burning through numerous pairs of shoes in a year (or even a summer), that’s a lot of waste whether it’s Global Recycled Standard (GRS) certified or not.
Finally, there’s the microplastics issue. Some studies have suggested that soft-soled running shoes are “significant contributors” to microplastics contaminating remote bodies of water, like lakes, creeks, and streams. That hasn’t been scientifically observed with harder-soled shoes and boots.
Boots slow you down.
This will seem like a negative to many people, but I think there’s something to be said for boots slowing you down in nature. No one is running long distances in full- or mid-height hiking boots. They’re too heavy, don’t breathe well enough, and aren’t very agile. When I’m wearing my boots, I’m moving slower. That forces me to look around, take in the views, focus on the sounds and smells around me, and generally be more present.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to move fast or crush miles. It’s just not how I want to hike every time I hit the trail. Wearing boots forces me to go slow and pay attention to the place I’m exploring.
Boots offer peace of mind.
My final point comes down to functionality. I love my boots because they protect the crap out of my feet. I can stomp through scree fields, splash through puddles, accidentally kick rocks or roots, and I don’t have to worry about hurting my foot. Leather boots are especially good in this regard.
I also tend to be prone to rolling my ankles. If I’m not paying full attention to the trail, I will sometimes stumble, and my ankle gives out at a weird angle. In low-cut shoes, I know I’d easily sprain or maybe even break something in one of those moments. The extra protection boots offer gives me peace of mind that my feet and ankles are safe.
Boots are part of hiking’s soul.
If you swear by trail shoes or runners, I’m not going to convince you to switch to boots, nor am I trying to. There are a lot of good reasons to use trail runners. I’d never blame or fault anyone for liking them more.
To me, though, the hiking boot is as important to the soul of hiking as a cowboy boot is to life on the ranch, or as a pair of Xtratuf boots are to an Alaskan fisherman. It’s not just a tool of the trade. It’s an embodiment of the lifestyle, a piece of the wearer’s identity, and a trademark of sorts that lets the world know who you are and, more importantly, where you’ve been.
The post Hiking is Losing a Piece of Its Soul as Boots Become a Thing of The Past appeared first on Backpacker.