Boot Stories- Judy Smith

Judy Smith is an intrepid Rambler who loves to hike, bike, and participate in competitive rowing in the Cowichan Valley on Vancouver Island, Canada. She is a lifelong educator, school principal, and mother of two grown kids.

If you put a group of hikers in a circle and look down at our feet, you will see a surprising amount about who we are.

Boots tell stories. Some are shiny and new, still waiting for their first muddy adventure. Some are scuffed and creased, their leather soft from miles of trail. Some look carefully chosen for ankle support, others for lightness, waterproofing, or grip. Every pair reflects a decision someone made about how they like to move through the world.

And if you listen closely enough, every pair comes with a story.

For me, the story is simple: I have worn the same hiking boots for years. I am currently on my fifth pair of exactly the same brand and style. Every time I need new boots, I dutifully go to the store and try on a whole parade of alternatives: Lighter ones. Sturdier ones. Different brands, different promises. But the moment I slide my feet into those boots, my feet give a small sigh and say, Oh. We’re home.

I’ve learned not to ignore that.

My feet are sensitive and particular. The wrong footwear can turn a beautiful hike into a long lesson in discomfort. But these boots? I can wear them all day without thinking about my feet at all—which, in hiking, is the highest compliment you can give a boot.

They’ve carried me up rocky trails, along forest paths, and most recently, all the way to Costa Rica. In fact, I always wear my hiking boots on the plane when I’m heading out on a hiking adventure. They take up far too much space in a suitcase, and there’s something reassuring about having my boots on when the journey begins. The gentle compression during a long flight isn’t a bad bonus either.

When I bought my most recent pair, though, there was a small surprise waiting for me. For years, my boots had come in a dependable blue-grey colour. This time, that colour was gone. Instead, there was a camel-coloured pair with pink trim and white soles.

Pink trim is not usually my thing.

But the fit was perfect, as always. So home they came with me. And somewhere along the trail, I started to love them. They’re a little different from everyone else’s boots, and now when I see that flash of pink and camel at the end of my legs, I know exactly whose boots those are.

Of course, not everyone hikes in the same kind of footwear.

This past weekend, one of our hikers arrived in rubber boots. Proper rubber boots. I have to admit, I couldn’t imagine hiking in them myself. But they turned out to be the perfect choice for the conditions. While the rest of us were carefully navigating muddy sections and water traps, she simply stepped right into the middle of them and helped everyone else across. Sometimes the “wrong” boots are exactly the right boots.

And then there was the time I forgot mine entirely.

We had driven about an hour to reach the trailhead. There was no turning back. I resigned myself to sitting in the car while everyone else went off to enjoy the hike. It was disappointing, but really, what else could I do?

Then one of the women said, “I have an extra pair of running shoes in my car.”

She brought them out and handed them to me. I had to smile to myself. I’m almost six feet tall, and she’s barely five feet. I couldn’t imagine how her spare shoes could possibly fit me.

But they did.

They were barefoot shoes—very little padding, but lots of room in the toe box. Somehow, they fit perfectly. It reminded me of “The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants”! I did the whole hike in them. My heels felt every rock and root along the way, and by the end, they were definitely reminding me that I wasn’t in my trusty boots. But I was out there. I wasn’t sitting in the car. I got the hike.

And that, too, became a story about shoes.

If you look around the next time you gather before a hike, take a moment to notice the circle of boots, shoes, and the occasional rubber pair. Each one represents someone’s solution to the same problem: how to carry ourselves comfortably over miles of trail.

Some of us will always be loyal to one perfect pair. Others will experiment endlessly. Sometimes we borrow shoes. Sometimes we wear something unexpected and discover it works.

But every pair eventually gathers its own stories—muddy ones, adventurous ones, and the occasional “I can’t believe these actually fit” kind of story.

And that’s part of the fun of Rambling together.

READ MORE > Her Story, Rambler Cafe Blog