Crocs have always played a special role in my adventures. As a child, I wore them when I soaked in the mud of the Florida swamps, the perforated shape allowing the sludge to run through. I personalized them with Jibbitz to express my obsession of the month, whether it be Pokémon or pugs. As a swim coach, they became my on-deck accessory able to withstand hours of being out in the sun, navigating keeping up with dozens of children at a time. They’ve lived with me through all facets of my life—my footwear companions through many new chapters—so it was a no-brainer that I take them to camp with me.
I came to rediscover my adoration for Crocs and their versatility in my early twenties. I was on my way to Tennessee to go to Bonnaroo with friends from college, and the one outfit we all coordinated for the event was our matching Crocs. Alas, our Crocs never touched the music festival grounds (the whole thing was canceled due to weather), but we adapted and headed out for the Smoky Mountains, where I learned the true durability of the shoe.
We explored our campsite and found an overgrown trail. With the zealous desire to explore after our plans were canceled, we decided to put our Crocs in sport mode (moving the strap back to secure our ankles), follow this trail, and see where it ended. The Crocs ended up off-roading with us on a three-mile hike that included scaling the ridgeline of a mountain, rappelling a twelve-foot rope, and eventually making it to a cascading waterfall hugged by giant red shelf ful of fungi. Even as our plans went awry, our Crocs stayed secure.
A few years later, these slip-ons once again proved why they are the ultimate camping shoe. I took my pair backpacking with me to Dana Lake, outside of Yosemite National Park, and ended up wearing them just as much as my hiking boots. As soon as I settled into camp, my boots came off and the Crocs slipped on—for good. Once I took my boots off, I never picked them up again, opting to wear my campground footwear down the 2,000-foot descent.
Today, Crocs are still making me rethink their limits, even after I mistakenly doubted them. I opted to pack my thrifted Airwalk sandals for last week’s backpacking trip to Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, and halfway through the trip, I deeply missed my rainbow rubber Crocs. After an alpine dip, my substitute shoes stayed too wet for too long, and I had to suffer wearing my hiking boots around camp at night with aching blisters. If I would have brought my Crocs I would have been able to dry them off easily and rock them all night long. This miscalculation was further magnified by my fellow camp neighbors, who all packed-in Crocs for the weekend.
As an adventurer in my twenties, I can’t splurge on the most expensive and legit, but Crocs offer an easy price point and a great starter pack for anyone just getting into the outdoors. Their trademark holes make them easy to dry and hook onto any backpack, and they are one of the lightest pieces of gear I carry on my trips. Sure dirt can really sneak in that toe box, but when the shoe floats, it’s also pretty darn easy to wash.
Crocs have shared some of my favorite memories in the outdoors with me. They’ve adapted when my plans go wrong for the right reasons. Sure, I could probably look cooler in a shoe specifically made for hiking, but for now, Crocs have my heart—and my feet.
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