Winter Socks
I often get people emailing me over the winter about my thoughts on socks, generally after someone had their boots inflict heinous blisters on them during some Scottish death march or they have suffered really cold feet. Rather than write a long piece on socks, I thought I’d give twenty thoughts/points on socks that might be useful.
Have you ever noticed that almost all modern problems (in the UK/Europe at least), are attributed to Brexit, Covid or climate change, when really, they’re actually down to greed, incompetence, corruption or stupidity? Well, socks are often the same, the fall guy for another issue, like blisters, cold feet, trench foot, black toenails, or front points that rip out. This is generally wrong. Your socks are nothing but the interface between your boot and your foot, like the washer between the wood and the nut. When you have an issue and think your socks might fix it, you’ll invariably find it wasn’t the sock at all.
Since the sock is the interface, you need to put some thought into what it’s interfacing with first, so you begin with a solid foundation. In a war between a thick leather or plastic boot and soft, human-saturated skin, the skin is going to lose.
You need to carry out long-term foot admin to keep your feet ready for action. This means scraping off thick skin and callouses that will cause hard, rub points with a pumice stone and keeping the interior zone healthy. Even the smallest degree of fungal issues can turn into a trip-stopping injury within days of a big, wet, booty trip.
When it comes to the short term, toenails all need to be trimmed short before the day starts by cutting straight across them, leaving a few millimetres of nail sticking out (the bone of the toe should strike the end of the boot before the nail). Don’t trim them close to the corners, as this will lead to other problems. If you find you need to do radical nail cutting to avoid toenails cutting into the skin of certain toes, don’t. This is not a toenail problem; it’s a shoe/boot that is too short a problem. Incorrectly fitted boots or shoes, your toes should be able to wiggle (unless they’re rock shoes). The same is true of bashed toenails. In some cases, you might want to tape up your toes, and for this, use Leukotape tape, making sure it’s not tight at all but just sticks in place; I’d recommend everyone carries a small pair of scissors and Leukotape tape (wrap some around a pencil or old credit card) in their hill first aid/repair kit.
God bless Leukotape! Well, broken-in feet don’t need any further protection from the boot, but soft flat-lander feet might need some, perhaps if you’re looking at a big day on the hills (like Mitre Ridge) or multi-day effort (like climbing Mont Blanc). For this, it might be worth taping up your heels and perhaps your shins as well (if wearing 4 season boots). This should be done with a layer of Leukotape with no creases (cut 45-degree lines in the tape before sticking) and then gaffer tape (no creases!). This will create a thin, low-friction area that should reduce blisters but will also slightly reduce the grip of the boot over the foot, but you get used to it. If taping your shins, shave the skin first, ideally 24 hours before taping. Tape should be removed at the end of the day; best done in the bath or as soon as possible. If you’re climbing the Eiger, this would mean you’d remove it after half a dozen days on the wall, while if you’re in Denali, you’d probably replace it every day if you can until your feed adapted to the boots (often, on long trips, you tend to become more comfortable having your shoes a little more relaxed and have a fine-tuned sense of when blisters are forming).
If you’re going to employ taping, don’t learn to tape on a once-in-a-lifetime trip, but use it for your training first, be that training walks, walking on a treadmill, or just a normal day.
The biggy for feet is to look after them when they’re out of your boots, which means sleeping in dry socks, or no socks if no dry ones are available (put your mittens on your feet), and giving them a clean when you can (snow is good, as it’s somewhat abrasive). For long multi-week trips, clean with soap and water once a week, and use anti-fungal talc when you can (Mycota powder in a small 30ml Nalgene bottle).
Experience has made me very weary of man-made fabrics and their ability to harbour and grow foot-rotting yuck. So I’d avoid just sticking my feet in down boots night after night and instead try to always have a layer of wool next to my skin first, as it’s far more bacteria-resistant (the same goes for underwear). If you don’t get my point, wear your slippers without socks for a week and see how they smell.
Extremities Mountain Toasters, a fantastic mountain sock Now we get to socks. One thing I think people need to get over is the idea that socks are ‘warm’; for example, if I wear two pairs of socks, my feet will be warmer. This would be true if you didn’t have boots on, but really, it’s best to flip this narrative and say that the heat comes from your feet, not your socks, and everything must be done to allow that internal foot warmth to keep your feet warm.
The best way to stop your inner heat from working is to constrict your feet by wearing extra socks, which constricts circulation. In fact, it might seem counterintuitive (many good things are), but sometimes, taking off your socks can make your feet warmer, especially when your boots are tight and technical. This is why you can wear mukluks at minus 50 when they’re really just glorified shelled socks when extreme plastic boots will have your toes turning black. This is at the heart of the dilemma for cold weather technical boots, in that movement keeps your feet warm, but the movement is a killer when you’re front pointing up vertical ice. This means you’re always going to have to accept cold feet (unless you have heated footbeds) if you want to climb hard, but you also can’t climb hard if you can’t feel your feet or your feet fall off.
The number one way to achieve warmth from your socks is to make sure they don’t suck the heat out of your feet (generally, ‘warmth’ is really just ’dryness’, allowing the skin to keep what heart it has). The most common interpretation of this is “start the day with dry socks”, which on a big alpine climb generally means rotating two pairs of socks, one dry and drying out next to your skin, the other day and about to get wet as you climb). Such ‘dry’ socks will allow minimum, conductive heat loss when put on, but the speed of heat loss increases exponentially, meaning that most climbers leave the trailhead with warm, dry feet, and they top out of the climb with feet like ice, their socks saturated. Yes, when they return to the trailhead, their feet are hot, the heat being pumped out from walking greater than the ability of the wet socks to suck it out, but if they had to bivvy or stop for even ten minutes, their feet would freeze (this is how/why most frostbite injuries occur). A climber can overcome these issues by changing out of wet socks, such as at the start of the climbing (a good approach for long, steep approaches in freezing weather), or by using vapour barrier socks, which stop your socks from ever getting wet. Yes, your feet will be damp, but not your socks, and you might feel some slight discomfort (until you get used to it), but you won’t lose your feet.
If you want to minimise heat loss from damp/wet socks, then the material/thickness/wet loft of the sock plays a small part, but it’s best to remember that a wet sock, be it 100% merino or steel wool, is always a wet sock.
First, I think it’s best to try and get a grip on the difference between different types of socks before you trust your life to them. This is best done by wearing different socks on different feet and getting them wet (wear socks with Crocs and go out and get them moist). Try a 100% thick cotton sock and a 95% nylon rugby sock (like Atak socks), and then 80% wool, 20% Nylon, 60% wool, 30% acrylic, and 10% Nylon. Now compare one of these socks to one made from Coolmax, Tactel (1000 mile socks) and Polyester. When you step into a puddle, both socks will feel the same, wet and cold, but how long until the water contained in them returns to body temperature (they ‘feel’ dry), and how long until they really are dry? How abrasive are the fibres on your skin, wet and dry? Do some socks collapse and lose their structure (loft) and become baggy, while others keep their shape (if that shape is due to elastic or lycra, does that reduce dry time?)? Try and wear a 100% Merino wool sock and compare it to a chunky knitted sock, and see how they cope with wear. Sit and watch the TV and try to monitor how these odd socks feel.
You will find that man-made fabrics dry much faster (depending on weight) than organics (wool and cotton). They are also generally much faster drying and far more robust (see how long a 100% wool liner sock lasts). However, they stink (which means they’re a breeding ground for foot-rotting germs) and are not as warm as wool (a wool sock might not dry out for a whole multi-day climb, but it will stay warm and not stink).
The real duty of a sock is to act as a kind of ‘shim’ between the boot and the foot (again, the interface), and ideally, the socks you use when trying on your new boots should be your default socks. The tolerances between a healthy foot and a correctly fitted boot are slim, and if you suddenly switch to a much thicker or thinner sock, the fit will be out, and the loss of tolerance might cause problems.
This tolerance is also affected by the robustness of your socks. If they lose their shape and pack down or thin out rapidly, then your boots might go from good to sloppy within the day. I think this is one reason why a multi-sock system often works well, as two socks (thin and mid-weight) tend to retain a higher consistency of fit compared to one thick sock.
If you look at a good-quality military sock (one produced to army specs), it will generally be around 60% wool and 40% nylon. This creates a balance between wet warmth, stink, and robustness, meaning a sock that fits the foot and the boot should do so for the lifetime of the sock. It will dry overnight when placed next to the skin.
Wigwam Gobi Liners, Acrylic padding in socks is designed to cushion the feet, but I think this is really a retail selling point, as they give the impression of being soft and cosy, but when a 100kg load is put through the padding, it’s compressed like everything else. If padding is needed, then often what’s really required is for the sole not to be wet/cold/abraded by a rough fabric. If cushioning is really needed, then get Sorbothane insoles (just as weight lifters wear solid shoes to avoid dangerous instability, so should mountaineers), or use mesh insoles (Google: military Insoles Mesh), as these will reduce moisture build up on your soles. Rather than heavy padding, I’d rather get a sock that has adequate meat everywhere.
A two-sock system, with a thin inner sock (polypropylene, Coolmax or wool, depending on what you’re up to) and medium-weight sock (wool/nylon mix), helps to fine-tune fit but also adds another sliding layer between the socks that dampens the friction on the foot, which when taken over dozens of miles, can make a difference. However, socks are better than they once were, and so are boots, insoles, and lacing systems. A single medium that is quicker to dry can be just the ticket.
As with most things outdoors, socks are easy to overthink, and within a couple of days of being ‘in it’, you don’t really have to think about it, but if you fuck it up, it could end that climb or that trip of a lifetime, or at least turn it into an entirely different type of experience.
