Every Step I Take

I suppose it’s like a little romance, a long-term infatuation, my interest in mountain footwear, but it didn’t start well. I moved from the Midwest to the Pacific Northwest in 1972 and started hiking. I thought I’d better get the right footwear and soon settled on a pair of lug-soled hiking boots from REI. I tried them on at their big flagship store on Capitol Hill, actually their only store. It was my first piece of purpose-built outdoor gear, and I felt it a serious purchase, arguably the single most important piece of equipment in your outdoor gear portfolio, the foundation upon which each journey rests. I had expected great things, thinking that I could rely on my new European leather Raichle boots. I thought it would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship with joyous shared mountain adventures. Sadly, it was not to be.

The whole relationship between those boots and my feet went south in a hurry. Although they seemed to fit fine in the store, the unyielding leather uppers gave no quarter to the needs of my feet on the trail. They hurt. The pain of hiking in them, along with the attendant blisters, took all of the joy out of my hike. And the pain commanded most of my attention. After just one outing, I had come to loath them, those miserable little fuckers. Yes, it was that bad, and consequently, I threw them into the back of my closet and would never use them again. I eventually gave them away.

Just a couple of years ago, as Peter Hickner and I hiked the Kendall Katwalk Trail, we talked about gear. I happened to mention my experience with those horrid Raichle boots. Peter stopped me right there and told me his story. It was the same story. Yes, the same boots, the same miserable experience. He, as I, used them only once and then tossed them aside. We both laughed at the hilarity of it, and only because it was so long ago.

Galibier Super Guides. The name was just pure magic. Sensational! The Super Guide was inspired by and named for Gaston Rébuffat, the renowned French alpinist. Famous for being the first man to climb all six of the great north faces of the Alps, Gaston was also a member of the first expedition to summit Annapurna in 1950. He lyrically recounts his climbs of the six north faces in his 1956 book, Starlight and Storm. He was a serious and romantic man whose passion for the mountains came alive in his writing.

The Galibier Super Guide boots were the best boots of their time. Each pair assembled with the finest available materials, beginning with uppers made from a single piece of full-grain leather and sporting lugged Vibram rubber outsoles attached by two strong rows of stitching in a footwear construction named reverse welt or Norwegian Welting. Between the heavy leather of the midsoles and the rubber outsole lay a contoured metal shank that provided the necessary rigidity for climbing ice and snow with attached metal crampons. Another Frenchman, Richard Ponvert, manufactured the Galibier boots. All specifically designed for ascents in such places as the Alps, Dolomites, and Himalayas, as opposed to the hiking trails in the wilderness parks of the western United States.

Nonetheless, many Northwest hikers and would-be mountaineers bought the boots as they were the best available, and while a bit stiff on the approach, the uppers would eventually soften. You could tackle anything as you got higher, and the terrain got rougher and more technical. But the Super Guides were not for everyone. They had a very narrow fit, as the lasts they used emulated the actual feet of Gaston Rébuffat, so the story went (it was so obviously French, n'est-ce pas?).

So, you may ask, “What is a last?” The boot, or shoe, last is a solid foot-shaped form that's used to shape a boot, and the cavity within, when the boot is being constructed. While you may not have even considered it, it's actually one of the most important aspects of footwear construction, a critical part of footwear design that is vitally important for fit. Early lasts were made from hardwoods and contemporary lasts are usually carved from a hard synthetic material, and so are made to be used over and over without deformation. Bootmakers stitch the leather, or synthetic, upper together and then stretch it over the last to shape the boot. Then the sole is attached to the upper while the last form is still in place. After the last is removed from the boot, a foot-shaped cavity remains. And hopefully, your foot will fit well within that cavity.

That’s why it makes little sense to make a selection based on what brand or model someone else may like and recommend. Unless that is, your foot shape is very close to theirs. Every boot manufacturer has their proprietary last designs and not all will be a good fit for your feet. The best approach is to try on as many models of footwear as possible to zero in on your best fit. And then stay with that manufacturer and model range going forward, and hope they don’t change their last so it no longer works for you. If they change, you then start over.

While the range of customers that would achieve a good fit with their Super Guide was limited, Ponvert did make another boot that was practically the same. The significant difference was that while still somewhat narrow, the boot had a more generous last than the Super Guide. It could fit a broader range of feet. This model was named Peuterey, named after a famous peak on the Mont Blanc massif. I knew needed better equipment, that upon which on which I could rely. And so, my quest took a turn for the better after I bought my first Peutereys and EBs (the breakthrough sticky rubber rock shoe from France). My first pair of Peutereys came from the Boat Street Swallow’s Nest, and although they were formidably stiff, the uppers eventually relented and softened, and my feet liked them. They became my go-to boot for all things from trail hikes to technical ascents of rugged Cascade peaks, sometimes sporting my Salewa crampons. I used them so much that I eventually had to have them re-soled by Dave Page, the renowned Seattle cobbler who served the entire western mountaineering community.

Of course, my antenna were always on alert for the promise of the new. Yvon Chouinard’s company Great Pacific Ironworks introduced a new boot in the pages of its little 1976 catalog that sported a color cover photo of Machapuchare taken by Tom Frost. It was a stunning image, alpine porn, of a mountain in the Annapurna massif of Gandaki Pradesh of north-central Nepal. And it was unavailable, off the market, its highest peak having never been climbed and probably would not ever be.

The reason? No one could secure a permit from the government of Nepal to climb it. I imagine that many alpine climbing enthusiasts collectively sighed. Anyway, the Swiss boots were the most beautiful that I had ever seen (in the catalog photo).

The copy read: “We have acquired a limited supply of Carl Molitor’s EIS boot. The boot is handmade using only top-quality materials. The leather is Grade ‘A’ Russian heifer…”

It continued, extolling the features and attributes. It encouraged the customer to send a tracing of their foot with the order or stop by their retail shop for an exact fitting.

It finished by saying, "These Molitor boots are being distributed on a first-come, first-served basis."

I thought the catalog copy compelling. “Limited supply, top quality, Russian heifer, double-stitched by hand, U.S. rocker with a narrow heel to fit American feet, first-come, first-served.”

I was smitten and needed to step up to the plate.

“Stop by for a fitting.” It sounded so couture, didn’t it?

I couldn’t exactly stop in for a fitting since their retail shop was in Ventura, California (only 1,150 miles from Seattle). So, mail-order it was. I got lucky. The size I ordered fit perfectly, and they and I soon became fast friends, along with my German Chouinard Salewa rigid crampons. I found them the perfect tools for ice couloirs, and I used them with confidence on both the Black Ice Couloir on the Grand Teton and the Stuart Glacier Couloir back in the Cascades, as well as other ice climbing outings.

While they were, at the time, a superb combination, I look back and marvel at both the long approaches and multi-pitch technical climbs that I made in both my Galibier and Molitor boots. Because, for all their earthly virtues, they were damn heavy boots, both the Peuterey and Molitor boots weighed in at 6 pounds the pair.

Even Nike got into the act. And when they introduced their 1982 version of the classic hiking boot, with leather uppers, and lugged rubber sole, I was on board. I think they named the boot Magma, but I could be wrong. Nonetheless, I used them on several multi-day outings in the Cascades, including the fabled Enchantment Lakes basin. And while they were light and comfortable the only catch, and there’s always a catch, is that they weren’t waterproof. And not even Sno Seal could fix the exposed tongue construction, a virtual canal for water access. So, they were only fair-weather footwear.

My subsequent boots would be both lighter and waterproof without the need for Sno Seal. Tecnica’s Tecni-Dry boots promised both features. The lighter weight, a result of a thinner outsole bonded to the upper with modern adhesives. For some reason, I trusted them completely. And then, one day while hiking up the rocky trail toward the summit pyramid of McClellan Butte, I felt a loose flopping sensation. I looked down and saw that my lugged Vibram outsole was separating from my right boot. It was only a bit and I thought I could deal with it later, and continued. Soon the problem grew worse and finally, the entire outsole detached. I turned to descend, hobbling down on one good boot, carrying the detached sole, somewhat amused by the turn of events. I didn’t even get back to the trailhead before the remaining sole came off. No longer amusing, it was the death knell for my relationship with Tecnica mountain boots.

The Italian La Sportiva Pamirs seemed a good next choice. They fit well, were durable, and had a lace lock system that allowed variable adjustment for both the lower and upper parts of your foot. I loved hiking in them, but at four pounds, the leather boots were among the last of that era and I eventually moved on to the next technical iteration. My new La Sportiva Trango Cube GTX boots sported synthetic uppers, featured the lace lock system, and weighed in at only three pounds. I have heard that the US military has concluded that a pound on your feet is the equivalent of five pounds in your pack. So, the three pounds that I have saved (from my original leather mountain boots) by hiking and climbing in my newer, lighter boots are the equivalent of a whopping fifteen pounds in my pack!

I loved my Trango Cubes so much that I bought the Trango Ice Cubes that featured a built-in gaiter. While a fabulous boot for snow and ice, it had practically no rocker. That meant a less comfortable approach. And after five years, my Trango Cubes have worn to the point I asked myself if I should have Dave Page resole them. And then…the next generation caught my eye. La Sportiva had just introduced their Aequilibrium series of 3-season mountain boots. They seemed even lighter and the buzz was that they provided unparalleled comfort on the approaches as well as the technical sections. And they look pretty snazzy. Hmmm. And so…the quest continues.

Portions of this post are excerpts from “Peutereys and Piolets,” a story from my recently released mountain memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.