It had come out of nowhere. I had put down a foot, and then the next thing I knew, I was staring up at Chelsea, one hand on the ground, the other against a tree, and my legs inelegantly in a split. All she could manage to get out was, "Guuuuuuuuuuuurl."
We were trekking back to the parking lot from the top of Storm King Mountain (more on that in a later post!). I'm usually very good and very careful about putting down my feet and making sure my feet stayed where I put them. On hikes, I rarely, if ever, fell, and my parents were convinced I was part mountain goat as I jumped from rock to rock on a trail meandering next to Kennebec River in Greenville, Maine.
The last time I could remember falling on a hike, I was about seven years old and it had just rained. I had wiped out on the muddy trail and the only thing stopping me from falling into the red-orange sludgy water of Yadkin River was a tree.
I thought, you know, maybe I was just getting tired. I had worked all day, met up with Chelsea, and was now hiking as the sun set. Being someone who's firmly in bed by 9:30, it was nearing 7:30 and I hadn't had dinner. Maybe I was just tired, hungry and getting careless.
Yeah, that's most likely why I fell.
As Chelsea and I laughed about it, I remembered.
Oh yeah. I fell in June too. At that time I thought it was just a dumb mistake, that I wasn't being careful. I was monitoring a release site near the Hudson River, and this site was very inaccessible. It was surrounded on two sides by very tall cliffs, and the Hudson on the third side. A very large downed tree blocked the majority of the fourth side, and the only way to safely get to the site was to climb down a large boulder. I had thought, yup, I'm part mountain goat, I got this. I had crept down the boulder slowly, inch by inch, before suddenly sliding and slamming face first into a tree.
I had nursed a black eye, bruised jaw, and a sore shoulder and ribs for several weeks after that. It was the first time I had to ice my face since probably 2009.
I thought, you know, maybe I had shifted my weight wrong. I had my hands full with monitoring equipment, so I didn't really have good control over my weight distribution. Yeah, that's probably it. I'm good with rocks. I free climb rock faces up to fifty feet, and can get around perfectly fine.
Then on Monday, as I was changing into my boots to trek out to two of my release sites, I glanced at the soles of my boots probably for the first time since I bought them.
Oh.
That makes sense.
The soles were absolutely shredded. There was no tread left to speak of.
My boots had been advertised as waterproof, In June and July, I struggled to keep my feet dry, as it felt like my feet were sloshing through a river every time I took a step.
Oh.
The waterproof lining had been destroyed.
The steel toe in my boot had been displaced, and I am well on my way to losing several toenails because of it.
Hiking boots typically have a life of about 500 miles. I had surpassed that by about 250. I originally bought these boots for a few days of camping and bird-watching in Pt. Pelee, Ontario. After that, I wore them daily for six weeks straight during my internship with the Conservator's Center. I wore them out on brief hikes and treks throughout graduate school, before wearing them constantly for my duties at my current internship.
In an average day, I can take up to five or six hikes through rocky terrain. New York is rocky - there's no way around it. Many of these hikes go for miles.
On weekends, I go for hikes up and down local mountains. Most of these hikes have mileage racking up in the double digits (my longest yet was 24 miles).
750 miles. I thought, not too bad. I only have monitoring for this month, September, and October, then I'm done. I can buy new boots in October.
Until today, anyway. Trekking back from a release site, I was headed downhill toward the parking lot. I was carrying a pack on my back that was full of monitoring equipment plus my water bottle and phone.
I put down my left foot, it slid out just as I put weight on it. I stumbled forward, both feet unable to make purchase on the dirt. At every second, I was wondering - is this how I'm going to go? Somersaulting down a glorified mountain, because I didn't replace my boots?
So now I have a large bruise on one leg, and I'm sitting here glaring at my boots.
The issue is - the cost of a good pair of hiking boots is in the triple digits. I don't want trail runners - even though they're lighter and cheaper, they wear out faster, aren't very waterproof, and don't provide ankle support, which I need.
I'm kind of bitter because I do need new gear, and I don't have the money right now for it. And I'm also kind of proud because this is the first pair of hiking boots that I've truly destroyed. I've generally outgrown my other boots, or they weren't very comfortable so I didn't wear them.
But until now, I have never worn boots and hiked to the point where the soles gave up on me.
We were trekking back to the parking lot from the top of Storm King Mountain (more on that in a later post!). I'm usually very good and very careful about putting down my feet and making sure my feet stayed where I put them. On hikes, I rarely, if ever, fell, and my parents were convinced I was part mountain goat as I jumped from rock to rock on a trail meandering next to Kennebec River in Greenville, Maine.
The last time I could remember falling on a hike, I was about seven years old and it had just rained. I had wiped out on the muddy trail and the only thing stopping me from falling into the red-orange sludgy water of Yadkin River was a tree.
I thought, you know, maybe I was just getting tired. I had worked all day, met up with Chelsea, and was now hiking as the sun set. Being someone who's firmly in bed by 9:30, it was nearing 7:30 and I hadn't had dinner. Maybe I was just tired, hungry and getting careless.
Yeah, that's most likely why I fell.
As Chelsea and I laughed about it, I remembered.
Oh yeah. I fell in June too. At that time I thought it was just a dumb mistake, that I wasn't being careful. I was monitoring a release site near the Hudson River, and this site was very inaccessible. It was surrounded on two sides by very tall cliffs, and the Hudson on the third side. A very large downed tree blocked the majority of the fourth side, and the only way to safely get to the site was to climb down a large boulder. I had thought, yup, I'm part mountain goat, I got this. I had crept down the boulder slowly, inch by inch, before suddenly sliding and slamming face first into a tree.
I had nursed a black eye, bruised jaw, and a sore shoulder and ribs for several weeks after that. It was the first time I had to ice my face since probably 2009.
I thought, you know, maybe I had shifted my weight wrong. I had my hands full with monitoring equipment, so I didn't really have good control over my weight distribution. Yeah, that's probably it. I'm good with rocks. I free climb rock faces up to fifty feet, and can get around perfectly fine.
Then on Monday, as I was changing into my boots to trek out to two of my release sites, I glanced at the soles of my boots probably for the first time since I bought them.
Oh.
That makes sense.
The soles were absolutely shredded. There was no tread left to speak of.
My boots had been advertised as waterproof, In June and July, I struggled to keep my feet dry, as it felt like my feet were sloshing through a river every time I took a step.
Oh.
The waterproof lining had been destroyed.
The steel toe in my boot had been displaced, and I am well on my way to losing several toenails because of it.
Hiking boots typically have a life of about 500 miles. I had surpassed that by about 250. I originally bought these boots for a few days of camping and bird-watching in Pt. Pelee, Ontario. After that, I wore them daily for six weeks straight during my internship with the Conservator's Center. I wore them out on brief hikes and treks throughout graduate school, before wearing them constantly for my duties at my current internship.
In an average day, I can take up to five or six hikes through rocky terrain. New York is rocky - there's no way around it. Many of these hikes go for miles.
On weekends, I go for hikes up and down local mountains. Most of these hikes have mileage racking up in the double digits (my longest yet was 24 miles).
750 miles. I thought, not too bad. I only have monitoring for this month, September, and October, then I'm done. I can buy new boots in October.
Until today, anyway. Trekking back from a release site, I was headed downhill toward the parking lot. I was carrying a pack on my back that was full of monitoring equipment plus my water bottle and phone.
I put down my left foot, it slid out just as I put weight on it. I stumbled forward, both feet unable to make purchase on the dirt. At every second, I was wondering - is this how I'm going to go? Somersaulting down a glorified mountain, because I didn't replace my boots?
So now I have a large bruise on one leg, and I'm sitting here glaring at my boots.
The issue is - the cost of a good pair of hiking boots is in the triple digits. I don't want trail runners - even though they're lighter and cheaper, they wear out faster, aren't very waterproof, and don't provide ankle support, which I need.
I'm kind of bitter because I do need new gear, and I don't have the money right now for it. And I'm also kind of proud because this is the first pair of hiking boots that I've truly destroyed. I've generally outgrown my other boots, or they weren't very comfortable so I didn't wear them.
But until now, I have never worn boots and hiked to the point where the soles gave up on me.
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