These boots are a pair of Rossiter Scrubs. I adopted them in 1991. They were my goto serious bushwalking boots of the time. They were not worn for any other reason, other than serious walking. Folklore suggested that I was required to own a pair of full leather, thick soled, ankle supporting boots. In the shop, I remember them feeling great; No load on my back, no muscle fatigue, fresh socks. I felt invincible with this sort of armament on my feet. And so, it was with my early twenties body I took to some Victorian mountain in pursuit of some rich experience. At the end of the first day, the honeymoon was over. I sat there at the head of my tent looking at these harbingers of pain. I could not reconcile the fact that I invested so much money in a product whose only dividend was the delivery of said pain.
But I persisted. I tried all sorts of blister treatments and amidst varied success I accepted a modicum of discomfort for the natural wonders I bore witness too. I was expedition walking only a few times a year due to other commitments so I could not financially justify not wearing them. My day walks with these boots could be described as amicable. The type of friend you might see a few times a year, check in with their family welfare, revell in their company for a few hours then say goodbye.
In 2007, after a particularly violent blister episode, I took action and booked a podiatrist appointment. If I was to further my walking in the future I would need some more amenable companions for my feet. The Rossis were proudly presented to my podiatrist when she asked “What boots are you wearing on these bushwalking trips ?” (I had shown her photos). The podiatrist brought me into the contemporary walking boot era, which I had always dismissed due to that folklore thing. I was fitted for orthotics and shelled out the bucks for a pair of lightweight salomon ankle support boots. This indeed changed everything.
Looking at these boots now, I remember some of the walks we partnered on. Overland track, Alpine Track, numerous Prom trips north and south, Wellington River Wonnangatta district, the Otways and Yarra Ranges, Victorian High Country. On all expeditions with load, I had to balance the joy of the wilderness immersion with the knowledge that I was going to suffer painful blisters by the second day.
I will contend that such hardship enables a joy not known to others. Sometimes in private moments at camp, I found myself bellowing like a calf as I removed the boots and introduced my clammy wrinkled white feet to the earth. If the sun was shining and I was able to nap, I could forgive my boots. After a weekend out in inclement weather, the Rossis would be banished to the shed whilst I was tempted to the bath. But in a few days time, I would extend the hand of kindness and, with a stiff brush, clean the Rossis and dress them with a melted beeswax coating on hair dryer warmed leather.
Whilst these boots are no longer in my walking kit, I cannot bear to dispose of them. Due to their full leather design, they are in pretty good nick, and for the odd local wander they feel good (probably because of the orthotics and the change of gait.) They now reside at a remote outstation and if I am taking a short walk I will pull them on, tighten the laces and take the vintage scrubs to the scrub. The feeling of leather binding close to the feet with a pair of explorer socks, is a lightning rod for fond memories and because I can’t remember the pain, I will always show clemency for these boots, living out their days on death row.
The Order Of Walkers 