One recent Sunday at one of my volunteer hikes, twelve of us were assembling prior to entering the trail, and I overheard two of them recounting a 10.5-mile hike they had done the previous day at Point Reyes National Seashore. I knew I had some serious hikers with me, since we were about to embark on an 11.5-miler at Portola Redwoods State Park. And yet one of them, in pulling her boots on, winced a little, and asked point-blank if anyone had any moleskin.

I said I did and proceeded to set down my pack (I carry a large-capacity Camelbak) and pull out my bright-red Backpacker’s First Aid Kit, its 12″ x 3″ x 4″ dimensions causing an audible buzz among the group.

“Geez, that thing’s huge!” remarked one hiker. “How do you fit your lunch in your pack?” inquired another. A third calmly said: “I know who I’m getting hurt with from now on.”

I smiled and, having deftly rolled out the contents of the kit to grab the moleskin and a pair of scissors, I cut out a piece of moleskin and handed it to the hapless hiker. She was ready for me by this time, having removed her socks to display a dime-sized blister on her heel. I instructed her briefly about applying the patch of moleskin, and we were soon ready for the trail.

As I shouldered my pack, I asked her to consider wearing two pairs of socks when hiking – one of them an inner pair made of wicking fabric – and mentioned how the incidence of blisters can be vastly reduced by doing so. I was speaking from experience, having worn wicking socks inside my boots for nearly 20 years. I’ve carried moleskin in my pack even longer, but I’ve found in recent years that I distribute it much more often to others than I’ve used it myself; I’ve only had 3 hot spots (pre-blisters) in all that time.

Made of polypropylene or nylon, wicking socks function as an inner lining to reduce foot friction under a pair of outer hiking socks, which are typically made of wool or a wool/nylon blend. Wicking socks are less abrasive than wool, too, but their main purpose is to move moisture away from your feet. Cotton socks can’t do the same job. In fact, if you hike distances longer than 4 or 5 miles at a time, never wear cotton socks, since cotton absorbs moisture and can practically guarantee that blisters will form.

When it comes to blister prevention, I consider the most important rule to be a pretty easy one, and that is: STOP! The second you feel the slightest hint of a hot spot on your heel or other part of your foot, don’t keep walking, and don’t wait until it becomes a painfully large blister to do something about it – even if your friends don’t want to stop and are egging you on.

If something is chafing in your shoe, stop and remove your shoe, and find the pebble, seed, dirt clod, or wrinkle in your sock. And, if you know you’ve got a vulnerable trouble spot (or a blister already formed, like my fellow hiker), put a piece of moleskin on it before you begin hiking. You don’t have to carry a serious humongosity like my Backpacker’s First Aid Kit, but you should consider always packing a Swiss Army knife that includes a pair of scissors and a patch or two of Dr. Scholl’s. If you’re a serious hiker (or want to be), you might also bring two pairs of socks – an inner pair and an outer pair – along with you to your nearest outfitter so that you fit well into that new pair of hiking boots.

~winehiker

Birds sing when they’re happy. Sometimes, however, they’re happy at 3:00 a.m. When the nights are warm and I’ve left the windows open, I often find their music a soothing lullaby. Or, a Saturday Night Live routine.

Early this morning, after being awakened by an avian songster, I thought I detected a reincarnated John Belushi by way of Ron Popeil, all filtered through a groggy noggin. It was an ungodly hour, but I found my stomach rumbling, and the following poem taking shape:

Mockingbird, I hear you tellin’
But I ain’t buyin’ what you’re sellin’
Why can’t you just let me sleep?
Cheeborger cheeborger cheeborger cheap!

I’m just glad that car alarms in my neighborhood don’t get happy at 3:00 a.m.

~winehiker

Diesel engines belched to the heavens. Tires swished along the four-lane. I ventured onto the crossing, safely navigating to the opposite sidewalk.

A mild descent to the corner gave way to a multi-use paved path paralleling a local road. I turned uphill and, as I walked, the natural earth barrier between the path and the road grew in height and breadth to graciously diminish the assault of road noise.

I then heard the crows, wheeling overhead and cackling at each other like bitter old men under a gentle warm sun. Squirrels chattered and scurried in the tall grass lining the trail, seemingly happy to be on the clock, going about their routine. Beyond the tall grass and the oak trees, the hills were aglow, having fully traded away their vivid Spring green for a pelt of velvet gold. I crossed Deer Creek, my eyes upon those magnetic hills. I let the sun ooze into me and just let my feet carry my body forward, as if with portentous anticipation that these carefree moments should also turn my thoughts to gold.

I began to reflect on the nature of the hillside alongside my trail, its growth of short grasses – in contrast to the greater bulk of surrounding tall grasses – signifying a unique drainage pattern. Indeed, a moderately large patch of mugwort was flowering merrily just ahead on the opposite side of the trail. It suggested that water was collecting there, close to the surface, providing a home for the thirsty mugwort. Something in the soil beneath the surface – a large rock field, perhaps – seemed to be diverting the hillside’s water flow slightly upstream to where it could meet the tiny creek.

I emerged from an overhanging oak to witness a male phoebe darting overhead, a vivid image of flycatching prowess. I stopped to watch the tufted tuxedoed bird patrol his small patch of sky. With sharp eyes spying insects on the wing, he flitted about at quick and regular intervals to return within seconds to his fencepost headquarters.

I returned too, along the asphalt trail, musing in and out of shadow and sun, the road traffic and the pressures of the morning consumed by the warm sun and breeze.

And that’s how I spent 20 minutes at lunch today.

~winehiker