Woodswoman Extraordinaire

I little while ago, back when I bought my snowshoes, I was lamenting that I did not have and could not currently afford nice insulated boots. I spent a bunch of time on the Internet and at EMS and a few other places looking at all the usual good brands I consider for outdoor gear. My searches were fruitless - they were, quite frankly, bloody expensive.

Then I went to Marshalls one afternoon. I stumbled upon the most absurd pair of boots that were so obnoxiously over the top that I stopped and gazed longingly at them. I love boots. Big, fluffy, silly boots. In fact, I love anything fluffy. These boots were were deliciously fluffy.

They had one pair left, they were in my size, and they cost less than half what all the other insulated boots I'd looked at cost. I tried them on. They fit perfectly. I read the box. I hadn't heard of the brand before - Lafuma - but they sounded like real outdoors gear, based on the description. They were waterproof and insulated and supposedly had specially engineered soles.

But really, I bought them simply because I loved them hopelessly.

Gaiters? Who the heck needs gaiters? Not me anymore!

The first couple of times I wore them I thought I understood why they were on clearance at Marshalls, as they kind of chewed up my ankles. But I've now officially broken them in and they're amazingly comfortable. The very best thing about them? They're SO WARM. My poor pathetic Raynaud's ridden toes stay completely warm and normally colored snuggled inside my ridiculous boots, even in sub-zero temperatures. Let's face it - my whole calves stay warm. The traction on them is outstanding, and they're comfortable enough for very long walks.

The next best thing about them, after their warmth? The hilarious up-and-down looks I get from people when I wear them in public. They seem to make an impression on people, for better or for worse. Women, in particular, will gaze at my feet for a minute, then steal furtive "who the heck is wearing those" glances up at my face. It sometimes takes all I've got not to burst out laughing.

Mind you, the down side to them is that they take about 10 minutes to lace up, especially with a cat or two hanging off those long laces as I whip them back and forth.

A few days ago my husband shouted to me that Simon had somehow gotten off his leash, and could I please help him run around outside to try to find the dog? I flew out of my chair by the fire and over to my boots. I started lacing. I continued lacing. I laced as fast as I possibly could. I kept lacing. By the time I got my boots on and made it out the back door, my husband was irritably walking up the back walkway with both dogs trotting next to him on their leashes. He asked, what on earth had taken me so long? All I could do was look eloquently down at my ridiculous boots.

Dorky Ode to an Old Pair of Boots

Laces gripped in creased old grommet rust

Crunchy with dirt from countless woodland romps

Gore-Tex and arches long objects of trust

Exuding a cloud-like memory dust

Missing aglet remembrance of kitten

Now grown up lazy supercilious cat

Bottoms with divots toes nestle in

Lugs on soles worn impossibly thin

Now resting forlornly in entryway

Odor prompting disbelieving glance

In their sad state they've no further gambols

But I haven't the heart to throw them away

On our first High Peak adventure up Seymour I suffered a serious emotional blow: my beloved old hiking boots bit the dust. Slightly less than 1/2 way through a rather long trip, the Gore-Tex in the left boot gave up the ghost, and gave it up spectacularly. Of course, I then proceeded to step down in the wrong spot and pour icy mountain stream water directly down the back of my ankle and into my right boot.

Squish. Squash. Squish. Squash.

I am hoping the boot gods will be merciful on me - thus far the replacements aren't measuring up. But can I really expect them to? After all, they do have big boots to fill... (ba dum bum, ching!)