I hear giggling. It’s a muffled, hand-over-the-mouth kind of giggling, but it’s giggling nonetheless. The giggles are coming from a huddle halfway down the trail leading to the fish ladder on the river. The curious nature of the reporter in me must investigate the giggles so I sling my camera pack onto my back and hike to the huddle. I’m short so my small stature blends in nicely with the fifth graders who maintain their low laugh when I join them. Their heads are down and I see why. There’s a tangled ball of mating snakes in the middle of the dirt walkway.

I have horrible feet. Full-on hammer toes. High arches. I’m prone to ingrown toenails. When my feet are mistreated, everything suffers, especially my fishing.

I have several pairs of wading boots that I don for very specific wading situations. Heavy duty boots with spikes for big water and slime-covered rocks. I use lighter canvas boots that can be worn over neoprene booties for wet-wading, and I will occasionally drill spikes into them, too. I even have a pair of sandals that I’ll wear on warm days on small water where the rocks aren’t too big and staying cool is important.