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To reduce my carbon footprint, I generally buy second-hand clothing, furniture and cars. When I do purchase new, it has to last till I'm in my grave (hmm … maybe not underwear).
So, when I shopped for a new pair of Raichle hiking boots, real leather and real solid, for a trip to Europe in 1981, I was buying more than mere footwear, you understand: I was investing for a lifetime.
For the next three months I wore them constantly, hiking down the Samaria Gorge in Crete, strolling the cobblestone streets of Assisi, gaping in amazement at Tutankhamun's gold mask in Hamburg. Back in Canada, I wore them on every hiking trip for the next 32 years.
Older is better, I've always thought. My husband and I have owned various cars, from classy to plain, but none of them new. Classy: the 1983 white Parisienne, complete with skirted wheel wells, we bought in 1992. Its body shone and sparkled, and kept on shining and sparkling in spite of our sporadic maintenance. Plain: the did-its-job, price-was-right, can-seat-six 1985 Delta 88 Oldsmobile of dubious color we purchased 10 years later. I called it green, the kids called it puke brown, and we all agreed on ugly.
For my children – some more than others – this principled second-hand lifestyle has been a trial and a burden. How were they to explain to their friends that their parents chose to drive around in old jalopies? But I knew that if I let maturity work its magic, they would eventually understand, approve – and undoubtedly embrace – this way of living.
For years, our family cross-country skied in (of course!) second-hand equipment: resplendent in three-pin bindings; thinly insulated, cracked leather boots and knee-high wool socks. When friends started mentioning how much better the newer equipment was, I didn't think it important. I love skiing, not to race and break records, but to enjoy being in nature, revelling in the fresh air. So why would I need better performance?
Eventually, though, our old skis gave up the ghost and off to the annual Regina Ski Swap we went. When we hit the trails, we were arrayed in gear from an outdoor store's previous year's supply – but new and modern nonetheless. Wow! Fantastic ankle support! Great glide! I enjoyed being out in nature, revelling in the fresh air, even more.
Yet, when our family backpacked the Iceline trail in Yoho National Park the following summer, I was still shod in my trusty old Raichle boots (recall my lifetime investment?). On that trip, hints of heaviness and soreness crept in. But I didn't think I could ever find another pair of boots that would compare.
I was actually considering sending Raichle a picture of me trudging along in their ancient, discontinued product. Surely sheer longevity would merit some kind of award – or better yet, a feature placement in their advertising campaign.
Then my son, of the newer-is-better fraternity, startlingly suggested that it was time I replaced my old clunkers with newer, lighter hiking boots he was sure I’d love. I could only sputter: “Clunkers? But they still have tons of wear in them … my part for the environment … older is better … they sure don’t make boots like they used to … no real leather any more …”
He reminded me how much more enjoyment I got out of skiing with new gear. I could only reply that skiing equipment and hiking boots are different matters.
Then, last summer, my husband suggested a hiking trip to Mount Assiniboine in B.C. An annoying sore spot had developed on my left foot, and when I put my leather boot on a few weeks before the trip it was painful. Would the long hike aggravate the problem? Would we have to cut our trip short because of it?
I had glumly decided against going when my son’s comment came back to save me. Could new hiking boots solve my problem? Should I forget about the award Raichle would bestow on me, and of course, the feature placement in their advertising campaign?
I tried on the best pair money could buy, since I intended to march to my grave in them as well as go to Mount Assiniboine. No leather in these babies: A high-tech fabric covered the Gore-tex inner lining. Light, wide, no pinching anywhere and – just like a good parent – providing amazing support along with great freedom. That was in the store. How about at the end of a long day of hiking? I could only answer this by doing the trek.
In the end we did cut our adventure short. The scenery was spectacular, the campground impressive and the trails outstanding, but after two days and nights of late-August snow, freezing rain and sub-zero temperatures, we jammed out and grabbed a chopper back to the trailhead.
But my feet? My feet in those new boots? They were the best part of the trip. They stayed dry, comfortable and toasty warm. Never once did my left foot hurt. (Looks like I’ll be marching to my grave in comfort.)
Once home, I set my son straight. “They sure don’t make boots like they used to – they make ’em better.”
Sylvie Roy lives in Regina.