Saying farewell to my first hiking boots

My Columbia hiking boots have withstood the tests of time, mud, snow, rain and many more.

I can't remember the exact year, but sometime around middle school, my parents gifted me my first pair of hiking boots, which were made by Columbia. I do recall two things about them:

1) They were size 14, which seemed huge at the time, but I've always had huge, Sasquatchesque feet.
2) I don't know why my parents bought me hiking boots in the first place.

Contradictory to this blog, I seldom went hiking when I was younger. I sometimes walked the Shades of Death Trail with my parents at Hickory Run State Park in northeastern Pennsylvania, but that was the most trekking I engaged in at the time.

I figured I would use these hiking boots to keep my feet dry when it rained because they were waterproof. Other than that, I expected them to last until the end of high school, and then they would be buried at the bottom of a trash heap in a dump somewhere.

I'm guessing I was about 14 years old at the time.

I'm 26 now, and I just decided to retire my first hiking boots no more than a month ago.

I have yet to get rid of them, and to be honest, I don't know if I can -- they've become part of my soul (or sole, if you appreciate crappy puns).

I can't comprehend how I've managed to own the same pair of boots for more than a decade. I need to buy new sneakers every year because the old ones wear out to the point that they are painful for my feet. Yet I stare at my Columbia boots and ask, "How the hell did you last for 12 years?"

Part of the reason might be because I was less active the first few years I owned them. I wore the boots for walking in tougher conditions like rain, mud, snow and ice. Other than that, they didn't receive much exposure to trails or mountain climbing.

Around the time I was in college, however, one trip started my passion for the outdoors.

One of my first experiences with hiking was at Mount Nittany near State College. I was out of shape and in no condition to walk up the high slope to the top, but I made the trek and was rewarded with one of my first panoramic views from the top of a mountain. Mount Nittany is an ant hill in comparison to Everest or St. Helens, but from the one overlook, Penn State's Beaver Stadium -- the second largest stadium in the country -- looked more like a decoration under a Christmas tree.

I spent three hours walking the trails of Mount Nittany that day, visiting about a half dozen overlooks in a giant loop that provided views from every side of the mountain. Along the way, rocks, water, mud and tree branches on the footpaths made an otherwise simple walk a bit frustrating, but I was wearing my Columbia hiking boots and put them to their true first test. They excelled with flying colors.

The Mike Lynch Overlook on Mount Nittany provides a stellar view of Penn State's Bryce Jordan Center (left with the white roof) and Beaver Stadium (right).

I had completed smaller hikes before Mount Nittany, but this trip made me want to see more of nature. Since then, I've dedicated some of the little free time I have to explore Pennsylvania, and my hiking boots have been my most important asset.

I can't remember every single place I've used my Columbia boots, but I searched through the hard drive where I keep all the photos I take, and a few locations stood out.

This summer, I wore them as I walked with a group of friends on a portion of the Abandoned Pennsylvania Turnpike, a 13-mile stretch of the state's superhighway that was discarded after a more traffic-friendly option was paved nearby. My waterproof boots kept my feet dry as we strolled through one of the damp tunnels of the old roadway.

A few years ago, I rode my bike on the 6 to 10 Trail that follows the path of the former Allegheny Portage Railroad, which was part of the Pennsylvania Main Line Canal -- a waterway that acted as one of the first routes connecting Philadelphia and Pittsburgh in the 1830s. The railroad used flatbed cars to carry the canal's boats over the mountain from Hollidaysburg to Johnstown.

Today, only a portion of the trail is open to bikes; trail-goers must hike the rest of it. Because of this, I wore my hiking boots while on my bike to prepare for the walk up the stony hillside to the Allegheny Portage Railroad National Historic Site. The boots helped keep my grip on parts of the trail where it was close to the ridge.

This is Incline 6 of the former railroad, which leads to the Allegheny Portage Railroad National Historic Site. The white building at the top is Engine House 6, which used a pulley system to bring the rail cars uphill.

My hiking boots came in handy the time I decided to hike some of the trails at Blue Knob State Park in Bedford County with my co-workers Russ and Ryan. Even though we went near the start of springtime, the upper portions of the park still had snow on the ground. We trekked through dirt, mud and snow the entire time, and if it weren't for my hiking boots, I would've tripped and busted something. We reached the top of Blue Knob, which is the second-highest point in Pennsylvania with an elevation of 3,146 feet above sea level. We could see rolling hills for miles.

During a late-winter day when I was off work and had nothing else to do, I traveled to Franklin County to see the monument dedicated to the only United States president from Pennsylvania: James Buchanan. The pyramid-shaped memorial sits in a desolate patch of forest surrounded by mountains in Buchanan's Birthplace State Park. The park features just a few benches, pavilions, a creek, restrooms and one paved road in and out. Ice and frozen, stiff snow covered the land surrounding the monument, so I'm glad I wore my boots for the trip.

All hail Pennsylvania's one and only pharaoh!

One of the state parks that I visit often is Canoe Creek State Park, which is only about 15 minutes away from my apartment. Canoe Creek is a wonderful place to go when I get bored of walking around town and want to make a quick trip to the woods. I've hiked in the park during every season and know the trails better than the streets of Hollidaysburg. I've put a decent amount of mileage on my hiking boots in this park.

My favorite trails in Canoe Creek State Park pass by the old Blair Limestone Co. kilns.

Although it's not a strenuous hike, the trail leading up to the Council Cup Scenic Overlook near Wapwallopen remains one of my favorites from my childhood and teen years. The overlook is a short drive from my birthplace in Mountain Top. Hikers get a glimpse of the Susquehanna River Valley and the Susquehanna Steam Electric Station, known to most as the "Berwick power plant." I admit my memory is a bit foggy about whether or not I've worn my hiking boots while hiking here, but I can't imagine I used anything else. In fact, the overlook is likely one of the first places where I put the boots to their intended purpose.

Hiking boots provide the extra traction necessary to not fall and break anything. One place where they're useful is Ricketts Glen State Park, where trails take you to the locations of numerous and mesmerizing waterfalls. Because the area is almost guaranteed to be damp any time of year, it poses a safety risk to the people walking around. My boots kept me safe as I navigated the muddy, slick and narrow paths to take pictures of the waterfalls during autumn in 2015. They also kept me from sliding off mossy and wet rocks when I walked around parts of the creek bed to get better shots.

I've taken many steps while wearing my hiking boots -- including the Thousand Steps in Huntingdon County. The stone staircase makes up a portion of the Standing Stone Trail, an 84-mile long Pennsylvania footpath. I hoped to hike the entire trail with my Columbia hiking boots, but that is a goal I'll have to achieve with a different pair.

Because hiking boots tend to be tougher than normal shoes, I've used them for other tasks besides walking in the woods. During the blizzard of January 2015, they helped me wade through more than a foot of snow as I sought to uncover my car from the thick blanket of frozen precipitation covering it.

My Columbia boots also assisted me with a good cause when I helped the Little Juniata River Association clear portions of the waterway of garbage and debris earlier this year.

I've talked about many memories I've had with my hiking boots, and I'm sure there are hundreds more that I haven't mentioned, but one sticks out in my mind more than the rest.

In September 2015, I got a text from my brother while I was at work. Cody doesn't message me often, so his text came as a surprise. It was one I hoped to never receive.

He said our mother had been hospitalized that morning with a severe ailment. I had no idea at the time of that text that she would be stuck in medial facilities for almost three months with an issue that put more emotional stress on our family than anything it had experienced before.

It took a few weeks until I got to visit my mom for the first time since she had been admitted. When I saw here, she looked near death and in no way resembled the same person I'd known for 25 years. I did my best to hold back tears and grief, but it was the most devastating moment I've experienced to this day.

I had that week off work because our family had planned to take a vacation then, but it never happened. Instead, I stayed at my parents' house by myself most of the week while Dad and Cody worked during the days. Whenever I return to Mountain Top, I'm accustomed to having Mom around to talk to, but she wasn't there and wouldn't be for a while. Being in that house without her almost felt wrong, like I had walked into a stranger's home by accident and said, "I think I'm supposed to be here."

At one point during the week, Dad wanted to do something together to ease the psychological turmoil taking its toll on us. He suggested a place I never thought to go -- the Delaware Water Gap, which is home to a portion of the famed Appalachian Trail.

Dad and I are both fans of Bill Bryson, the author who wrote "A Walk in the Woods" which detailed his hike on the legendary footpath. In the past, we had talked about hiking a portion of it together, but conflicting schedules never gave us the opportunity. I think, with Mom being in the hospital, it made us realize that there will come a time when we will no longer be able to accomplish something like this together.

Dad and I made the hour-and-a-half drive to the Delaware Water Gap, where we found a place to park near the trail. We started on a section for about 10 minutes before we realized it wasn't part of the Appalachian Trail. We laughed off our rookie mistake and proceeded to find the actual footpath.

We found a road that led to an actual trailhead and began our hike. Along the way, we traversed a creek, walked through groves of trees with golden- and flame-colored leaves and reached scenic overlooks of the Delaware River and the hillsides that hug it. We hiked a minuscule portion of the nearly 2,200-mile trail and made our way back to the car. Our entire hike was no longer than about three hours, but it would be the cheeriest moment of an otherwise dismal week.

I'm not sure if Dad felt the same way, but that small hike was one of the closest moments I've had with him. Much like hiking, the journey of life is much easier when you have someone with you to provide support when you need it most.

Time passed, and Mom's health came back around. The hospital released her about a week before Christmas. It's one of those stories that you think only happens in a "Hallmark" movie.

To bring this back full circle, that trip with my dad was the first time I hiked any portion of the Appalachian Trail. It was also the last major accomplishment for my hiking boots.

The Columbia boots had a fantastic run. I don't own any other piece of apparel that's lasted nearly as long, especially shoes. I wear out my walking shoes so quick that they need to be replaced every 10-12 months.

These boots have been a part of almost every major outdoor adventure I've taken, but to my misfortune, they're starting to reflect their age.

The insides of the boots have deteriorated.

The loops that hold the shoe laces in place have started to break one by one, making it extra difficult to lace the boots properly.

The bottoms of the boots are worn to the point where they no longer provide traction. They also have holes in them, which allow water and mud to enter the boots, making my feet damp. Small pebbles and twigs get caught in the boots, as well. The lack of support hurts my feet when I'm walking over large stones.

The boots can no longer serve their purpose: keeping my feet comfortable and safe no matter what conditions I face. I've known this fact for about two years but could not find a suitable pair to replace them. I kept telling myself I could get a few more weeks out of them. I did, and I'm forever grateful for the service these boots have provided me.

Not too long ago, I purchased my replacement pair made by Merrell. I wanted more than anything to get another pair of Columbia boots because the ones I owned served me so well, but the company's selection of hiking boots has diminished, and finding a size-15 boot is a challenge to begin with. Merrell has a formidable selection of boots in comparison.

It took me 12 years, but I now own my second pair of hiking boots.

The new boots are comfortable and sturdy, but it almost feels odd wearing them because of the attachment I have with my Columbia boots. It's like I'm cheating on my spouse of nearly a decade; the irony is I've had a longer relationship with my Columbia boots than my current and former girlfriends combined.

I've worn the Merrell boots on a few trips so far, and they seem to be holding up. I'm hoping they will be a suitable replacement for my old pair, but (terrible pun warning) they have big shoes to fill.

I still have the Columbia boots sitting in my closet. I haven't decided how to dispose of them yet. I know the time will come when they will take up much-needed space, and they will need to go. The question is how do I do it?

It would seem sacrilegious to throw them in a trash can where they will rot in a dump. That's not how you treat something that has so much value to you. I've thought about having some sort of ceremony where I burn them like you would an old flag, but I'm not sure I want the neighbors to think I've gone mental because I lit my shoes on fire in the backyard.

For now, I will hold onto them until I can find the proper way to put them to rest. They deserve a proper burial for the years of memories they've given me in return.