Hiking Trails Blogs

Back when I was first getting into hiking, I figured it couldn’t hurt to pay a little extra for Gore-Tex or eVent in my footwear. These so-called waterproof-breathable fabrics worked well enough under mild duty — quick strolls across dewy fields in the morning — that the most-of-the-time comfort felt like a good trade-off for those demanding times (drenching rains, for example) when they really didn’t keep my feet all that dry.

After a few years I concluded “waterproof” was just marketing hype. All my eVent and Gore-Tex footwear has sprung leaks (probably a result of the construction more than the fabric, which sheds water well; it’s the “breathable” bit that’s oversold). Well, now I own some waterproof boots, and I’m not exactly jumping for joy. Back story:

Last summer I bought a pair of Vasque boots that rubbed me the wrong way — painful as hell no matter how long I tried to break them in. I liked everything else about them, but they rubbed a nerve across my ankle bone, so I had to trade ‘em in (props to REI for curing shoe-buyer’s remorse). I settled on a pair of Merrell boots that had what I needed: stiff, lugged soles for nasty North Carolina trails and ample padding around my abused ankles.

If you’ve ever shopped for Merrells, you might’ve noticed they have Gore-Tex-lined models, and yet another category tagged “WP,” meaning waterproof (is Merrell saying its Gore-Tex models aren’t waterproof; hmm, I just figured it was because consumers demanded Gore-Tex). Anyway, my WP-tagged Merrells have performed as promised: They’re the most water-tight boots I have ever owned.

I can walk across open fields of wet grass without feeling any cold water seeping in; I can stand in creeks with no leaks. The only time any water has gotten in was when I misjudged a section of stream and stepped in over the edges of the boots.

I tried them out again this morning in a pond at the park across the road. No leaks, no seeps. But it was also 80º F in the shade with 95% humidity, so when I got home my socks were drenched anyway, from sweat.

Which just goes to show that gear which performs flawlessly in some conditions might not be worth a damn in others. Good boots aren’t cheap, and we’d love to be able to get by with one pair. But there’s rarely any single boot that gets the job done 365 days a year.

Here in the Southeast we get absurdly steamy summers. My Merrell WP’s are bone dry in the winter, but a tad too soggy in the summer. I wear them anyway because I’m too frugal to spring for a new pair.

So why did I even buy waterproof boots? I suspected they’d be sweltering come July and August, but they were the only models in stock that fit. I can always tell when a boot’s going to rub me all the way to blister city. If I’m lucky to find a rub-free pair, I usually buy them.

Even if they’re waterproof. I just don’t harbor any illusions that water-tightness had anything to do with why I bought them.

Keen Voyageur Mid, left, and Keen Voyageur

This one bedevils a lot of hikers: do I really need hiking boots that go over the heel?

You might, but probably not for the reasons you think.

Back when I was a Boy Scout in the 1970s, we had two choices: heavy-duty clodhoppers or whatever sneakers we had lying around. When I got back into hiking in 2004, I was gladdened to see boot companies had gotten smart and introduced “trail shoes,” which have the beefy soles of a boot but stop below the ankle, saving weight and adding comfort on long treks.

Trail shoes are a great innovation, but rookies might wonder: don’t hikers need ankle support?

They do, but here’s what I think: ankle “support” provided by high-top boots is largely an illusion. As I’ve noted here before, if your ankle zigs when your leg zags, that little swath of leather is not going to prevent a sprain or a break. My reasoning: if high-top footwear provided meaningful support, why do all those football and basketball players religiously tape their ankles?

Actually the best argument for high-top boots is that they protect the bony protrusion of your ankle — it does just stick out there on both sides and will seem magnetically attracted to sundry rocks and roots along the trail.

However: I’ve bought a few boots that rubbed me the wrong way on that very same ankle bone location, causing aggravating pain that would not go away (only consolation was REI’s wonderful return policies.)

Next best reason for over-the-heel boots: they keep out a lot more crud than low-risers. I used to feel like I had to wear gaiters to thwart the rocks, pebbles and burrs, but I figured out over time that wearing long pants and boots pretty much wipes out those annoyances.

Finally, I prefer over-the-heel for the same reasons I like to carry a day pack stuffed with survival supplies I never use: I just feel like I’m hiking when I’ve got my boots and my gear (and the extra weight is good exercise).

Montrail Badrock

When I’ve gone with low-rise shoes, I’ve had the best luck with trail runners — which are deliberately lightened for joggers but usually have beefed-up padding under the ankle bone that offers surprisingly good support on wacky terrain. That way you get the lightest weight in a shoe built for trail use.

In any case, shoe choice always boils down to fit: if your ankle bones don’t like being swaddled in leather, you can still get all the heft of a boot if, like Keen, above, the brand offers low- and high-rise versions of the same shoe. Just bear in mind you’ll be putting up with a lot more gunk creeping in.