Over the years, I've forgotten many things on a backpack trip. Tent stakes, necessitating emergency rocks and sticks. Mosquito repellent in the Everglades. Tent poles, forcing an improvised bivy sack. The fact that the tent I was bringing had a missing pole. A book, on a solo 5 day wilderness ranger hitch. Even a sleeping bag on a rainy, cold kayak trip that I shudder to remember. But I've never forgotten boots.
Until we pulled into the small parking lot. A horrible feeling began to well through my body. My boots! Where were my boots?
Back at the truck, an hour and a half away, of course!
This trip had been planned a long time. I was going with four wonderful women who, unbeknownst to me, were hiking in tent decorations, a huge box of wine, and gifts. It was a bachelorette backpack! I couldn't back out. And I didn't want to: it was sunny and beautiful, several thousand feet and many miles removed from the dreary, cold spring we are having "up top."
Okay! So I would hike in sandals! After all, people are doing the barefoot thing, I would be right in style.
Note to self: If you do decide to attempt this again, wear socks. On the way in, my toes slipped and slid and became mud-covered. I got a lovely rub mark too. And came uncomfortably close to many poison ivy plants with my little feet. We hiked 12 miles total, next to the river. Merrell, your sandals rock!