Hiking in Crocs. Really.

Dave over at Compass Points wrote a eloquent account of a recent backpacking trip we took through Northeastern parts of Shenandoah National Park in VA.  I’d like to expand upon one passage in particular, as I think my readers might find it interesting:

We discovered a sandbar on the opposite shore, and when our shoes sunk there, we knew we had made it. On dry trail, we returned our boots to our feet – except Chris, who would continue this strenuous hike in, of all things, Crocs.

Yes, you read that right — I walked the next 10 miles in Crocs.  Eagles Crocs (go Birds!).  Here’s my review after trudging up the side of the ancient, stony Appalachian mountains, then steeply descending — headlamp-assisted — to our perch at Bird’s Nest Shelter: The Crocs…well…they ROCKED.

As any hiking buddy of mine within complaining distance knows, I have temperamental feet.  When they’re not cramping, they’re cracking, when they’re not cracking, they’re rubbing.  Seriously, my feet are jerks, often forcing me to give up hikes or cancel them before they’ve even begun.

We all know Crocs are great camp shoes because of their soft sole, relative durability, light weight, and carbon nanotube supermolecular (or something) rubber material that keeps microbes and their associated smells at bay.  Crocs aren’t thought of as a hiking shoe for several good reasons, not the least of which is the total lack of ankle support, or the fact they they’re only held to the foot by a tenuous rubber strap above the heel, which will probably give you a blister if you give it enough time.

HOWEVER, I needed footwear immediately.  My gorgeous Patagonia Drifters, which normally fit like warm apple pie, were now frozen blocks, and I was not going to hike 10 more miles to the shelter in frozen blocks, dry moisture-wicking wool socks be damned.  So I slipped on some socks, then the Crocs, got laughed at and chided the rest of the day, but I made it.  The Crocs made it.  My feet felt better at the end of the day than at any other time in my backpacking life.

Perhaps it was because the Crocs are so flexible that they allowed my foot to stretch fully while walking over boulders and roots, like if I were barefoot, and thusly prevented any sort of cramping issues.  Or perhaps what I should have done at that first river crossing was to take my boots and socks off, worn the Crocs through the river, then put my warm-apple-pie Patagonias back on and saved the Crocs for camp.

So, to recap, we’ve learned two lessons:

1. I’m an idiot whose river-crossing footwear decision-making abilities are lacking

2. Crocs excel as a hiking shoe in a pinch