Goodbye to an old friend

At some time or other all of us have felt fondness for inanimate objects. Perhaps they have empowered us or given us pleasure. Perhaps we rely on their loyalty and they never let us down. Perhaps we have good memories associated with them. Thus: a writer's pen, a musician's guitar, the favourite teacup which helps you start your day, or that old shirt you cannot get yourself to throw away.

Shoes - the walking kind, not the fashion-statement kind – fall into this category for me because I spend much time outdoors. They protect my feet from the elements, support my ankles, prevent blisters and steady my balance on uneven terrain. After many hours spent with them negotiating difficult ground, they become part of my outdoor experience. Somewhere along the way I become attached to them.

So it is with this pair of boots that I wore for seven years.  I bought it in Florida on sale for around $100. The brand is Timberland; it is (or rather, once was) covered with Gore-Tex, a waterproofing chemical. Its size 11 perfectly fits my slightly wide feet. The top is leather, the bottom is rubber, and the inside is lined with nylon. From the first day it fit comfortably and invited me to go on adventures.

Indeed, we had many adventures together.

Perhaps the greatest was tracking wild mountain gorillas in the mountains of Bwindi Impenetrable Forest in Uganda. Through a long and brutal climb on slippery slopes without tracks, these boots stayed rock solid on my feet. They kept my feet dry on the wet ground and kept me from slipping, leading me to the gorilla family for an unforgettable experience.

At home, too, these boots served me well. Numerous times in the Haors of Sylhet, they let me concentrate on birds and forget my aching feet and muscles. They dealt with the sticky mud of Sundarban while I was honey-hunting without getting me stuck in the mud.

Not all experiences were good. These boots did not protect my feet well from leeches. In monsoon, I once opened them after a jungle trek to find my white socks red, the leech long gone after gorging itself on blood from my feet and leaving behind a puncture laced with anti-coagulants that bled and bled.

Sadly, during all this adventuring, the stitches holding the boots together gradually disintegrated. A cobbler repaired them. After a few more months of intense use he had to repair them again.

Then came my trip to Iceland where these boots took their worst beating.  I spent several days climbing cliffs and hills of volcanic rock broken into sharp-edged gravel. The tough rubber bottom started to fray. Back in Dhaka, the cobbler worked on that, too. But the repair did not last and chunks of the sole kept breaking away.

Whenever I wear them now I am uneasy they will come apart at an awkward moment.

Thus the time has come to say goodbye to an old friend. And find a new pair of boots.

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