Learning to cross over the good and bad mud.  (Provided photo — Diane Chase)

When my daughter began hiking, my husband and I had limited goals. We wanted her to enjoy herself. I ensured her shoes were comfortable and her pack was light. She picked out her clothes and carried her juice box and snack while we had all the gear. It was peaceful going for most of the time. The one wrinkle in the process was that she didn’t like to get her shoes dirty. It was okay if she couldn’t see the dirt, which was apparent from the state of the remainder of her clothes.

The rest of her could look like she’d rolled in a bog, but if her shoes showed any sign of dirt — she insisted on being carried. We thought the quirky behavior odd but manageable. I never took into consideration that a puddle to an adult is an ocean to a child. It’s all in the perspective.

Ocean or puddle is something she needed to figure out how to cross. Fear of muddy shoes in the Adirondacks isn’t conducive to hiking. Muddy Adirondack trails are stealthy ponds of quicksand notorious for sucking boots right off a hiker’s foot. It leaves the exhausted bootless hiker questioning whether there is energy to retrieve the boot from the pit of despair or let it join its brethren in a hiker’s boot cemetery. Such a decision leaves the hiker no option but to be deputized into the barefoot hiker club. Being mired in Adirondack sludge for a child is akin to wearing cement shoes.

To conquer my daughter’s fear, we began calling all mud either good or bad. Yes, there are stipulations, and we ironed out the details between Adirondack Loj and Avalanche Lake. Good mud gets your shoes dirty. It can be stomped through and make noise. Good mud isn’t deep. It doesn’t try to stop the journey. Bad mud is greedy, pulling the shoes off a person. Of course, to avoid bad mud, one must always climb on good rocks. It became a game of tag where stones were safe, and the puddles came under constant scrutiny.

We still refer to mud conditions this way while on the trail. We gauge its depth and soupy texture. We go around the bad mud and stomp through the good. Eventually, my daughter didn’t care what type of mud surrounded her as long as she was hiking. I’ll always be partial to good mud. Happy trails!