Fleet Feet
I can remember my first hike quite clearly. As I stepped off the gangway onto the dock, the
explosive green and blue bursts of this unconquered wilderness called me deeper into her woods. The
gentle emerald passion waited for me like a lover; expectant but patient. To meet my first love, all I would
need to do is walk softly down the trail. My chance for true spiritual freedom lay before me, unbounded and
virginal.
And then I put my pack on.
After staggering into the first camping area later that evening, I collapsed into a sweaty lump upon
the hard earth. Funny, I thought to myself between sporadic fits of consciousness, I didn’t know that
backpacking and sadomasochism were so closely related. Between the aching shoulders, throbbing feet,
and disjointed vertebra, the somatic sensations of the first day were enough to occupy all but the darkest
corners of my mind. As I would soon learn, the grueling punishment inflicted by nature is all part of the
backpacking experience…
Or is it? During the last decade, certain free thinkers in the backpacking community have carefully
studied the traditional methods. Pioneers like as Ray Jardine and Marlyn Doan have helped to found a
new branch of the field known as ultra lightweight backpacking. Their evolving philosophies toward this
sport underpin one central point: people carry too much stuff into the wild. By simply thinking through the
necessity and relevance of one’s backpacking gear, a person can dramatically lighten his load, thereby
increasing his enjoyment of his trip. Perhaps the most beneficial, and also the most controversial, idea to
emerge from the ultra-lightweight ethos is that traditional hiking books should be abandoned in favor of
running shoes.
When we think about it, backpacking is essentially walking great distances. Intuitively, our
footwear warrants close analysis. In the days of yore, a woods walker felt naked unless a sturdy pair of
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leather boots snugly encased her feet. After all, these boots provided many functions, from stiff ankle
support to a firm sole. As lightweight backpacking guru Ray Jardine points out, “[w]e can’t reduce the mass
on our legs, but we can certainly select the lightest footwear possible. The lighter it is, the less energy we
expend while taking each and every step forward” (Pacific 93). A leather boot weighs many pounds more
than a running shoe composed of synthetic material, period (Jardine, Beyond 158; so also Doan 163). By
choosing to wear a shoe over a boot, the walker sheds pounds from his baseline gear weight (Jardine,
Beyond 158). While at this may not seem like much, the extra pounds tacked on by a heavy pair of boots
may be one of the more noticeable annoyances at the end of a long day hiking up a steep grade (Jardine,
Pacific 93).
Many people vehemently argue, that, despite their bulkiness and weight, boots provide much
needed support to the ankle region. After all, many wilderness areas contain steep, uneven terrain that
could readily snap an ankle in the event of a fall (Jardine, Beyond 155). According to Mr. Jardine, the
human feet contain 126 ligaments, which interconnect with the 26 bones (Pacific 93). The point? Like
most attributes of the human anatomy, the foot contains tissues that respond to conditioning and training.
Just as an ice hockey player learns skating by conditioning various muscle groups, so does a walker
develop the tendons and muscles of the feet. It seems somewhat silly to suggest that man, an animal
descended from a plains-roaming primate, has somehow lost his capacity to develop and fortify weight
bearing structures on his feet over eons of evolutionary time. Perhaps a more accurate description
regarding this phenomenon is that man has lost his capacity to trust in his evolutionary endowments.
The advocacy of abandoning boots in favor of running shoes engenders some understandable
concern as to its practicality. Like any decent arguer, I have plenty of personal experience to bolster my
credibility regarding this topic. IN 2003, my girlfriend Jumbuck and I began a month of backpacking in
various parts of Australia and New Zealand, the former being our home country for the better part of a year.
Although I had been backpacking for many years prior to our journey, Jumbuck decidedly earned the
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distinction of being a “newbie;” this was to be her first trip into a true wilderness area. Against my better
judgment, I advised her to wear her leather-hiking boots. I reasoned that this would be a safe bet, since I
was unfamiliar with the mountainous topography of Tasmania and New Zealand. Roughly two weeks into
the trip, Jumbuck’s ankles had swollen greatly and she had developed a cyst upon a tendon, a malady that
would later require a physician to drain it. She eventually packed her boots away and wore her sandals for
the rest of the trip, even during an emergency alpine descent caused by an impending storm. My feet,
swaddled up nicely in a running shoe, weathered the hundreds of miles with nary a blister. So much for
erring on the side of caution.
Jumbuck’s plight reinforces several key points regarding the use of hiking boots in the wilderness.
As mentioned above, they a are heavy. This weight places additional stress on the feet, a foot that is
habituated to carrying the burden of a light shoe. It should be noted that Jumbuck walked roughly ten miles
a day through the rolling terrain of Sydney without any problems; it was her switch from a shoe to a boot
that impacted her feet. More importantly, though, is the issue of trail composition. Although we technically
hiked in a wilderness area, we hiked on a trail. A trail, for the most part, constitutes an engineered track
designed for increased efficiency relative to the are through which it passes. According to Marilyn Doan, a
light- hiker extraordinaire, “[t]he average backpacker spends the majority of his or her walking hours on
trails” (60). Simply stated, a trail makes for easy walking. The well-informed backpacker notes the
abundance (or lack thereof) of trail networks in his area, and selects his footwear accordingly.
There are valid rebuttals to any good argument, and the shoe vs. boot squabble is not above this.
“Special conditions may call for special boots,” as traditionalist backpacker Colin Fletcher reminds us (68).
Travel through heavy snow pack, for example, warrants the use of a heavy-gauge boot (Doan 163). A
constantly shifting footing, icy surfaces, and hidden holes or obstacles can wreak excruciating havoc on
even the strongest ankles. There may also be instances where, for whatever reason, a person must carry
an excessively heavy pack, “excessively heavy” being anything over 35 pounds (Fletcher 61). The lateral
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support offered by the boots makes for a blessed relief, as a large burden on one’s back amplifies the
stresses and movements placed upon the feet [it also goes without saying that the alternative solution to
this problem is to lighten up the pack itself and the gear within in it] (Fletcher 53). Finally, boots usually
have a longer working life than a lightweight running shoe (Fletcher 57().
As a final reason for advocating the use of a running shoe, I propose that the shoe delivers a
superior advantage to the environment on which it is used. As most hikers can testify, the impact wrought
on a trail by large stock animals like horses and cattle is tremendous; many parts have had to close
damage to trails made impassible by these beasts and their equally beastly riders (Jardine, Pacific 324).
Much of this problem is caused by the sharp angles and clumsy footing of these animals (Doan 25). If we
apply this reasoning to a human, a large, awkward primate that can weigh in excess of three hundred
pounds, we see that their feet pose an equally destructive threat to the trail. The boots exacerbate this trail
damage due to their heavy-duty construction, usually consisting of a deep tread and a steel-shank sole.
According to a University of Maryland study, the deep lug treading of hiking boots contributes to the
excessive destruction of a hiking trail (as qtd. Doan 25). In the even that a hiker must travel cross-country
(off-trail), the impact to the environment is only magnified.
Boots can also facilitate trail destruction in a less obvious way as well: a person that knows his feet
are armored against much of the rough environment pays less attention to where his feet land than a
person whose feet are exposed and vulnerable. In the words of Ray Jardine, the boot “…reduces one’s
tactual awareness of the terrain underfoot” (Beyond 155). If you need to test the validity of this statement,
try walking through an abandoned urban parking lot on a hot day, first with bare-feet and then with boots.
In which condition do you pay attention to your footing? A shoe encourages us to pay more attention to
where we place our feet, thereby lowering our chances that will clumsily tread upon the edge of the trail or
through a small stream (Jardine, Beyond 155).
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Backpacking need not be a harrowing ordeal endured in constant agony and fatigue. Rather, by
simply analyzing what we bring into the woods with us, we can eliminate superfluous or excessive items. If
we limit ourselves to only the functional and relevant items, we can greatly increase our wilderness comfort.
The first step of our journey to lighten our load begins with our feet.
Works Cited
Doan, Marlyn. Hiking Light. Seattle: The Mountaineers, 1982.
Fletcher, Colin. The Complete Walker III. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1984.
Jardine, Ray. Beyond Backpacking: Ray Jardine’ Guide to Lightweight Hiking. Arizona City:
AdventureLore Press, 2002.
Jardine, Ray. The Pacific Crest Trail Hiker’s Handbook. La Pine: AdventureLore Press, 1992.
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