Today, I’m going to give you my thoughts on the Ausugante Alpaca Socks. If you like SmartWool socks, you’ll like these, likely more!

You guys already know that I’m pretty much obsessed with long-distance microadventures. They require A LOT, and I mean, A LOT, of footwork. Trekking up a 14er, skateboarding between two cities in 12 hours – you know, things of that nature – should never be done with neglected feet!

I took the socks on two adventures: 1.) A mile long approach to a rock climbing destination  2.) Longboarding across the town of Boulder

These are the selling points of the Ausugante Alpaca Socks:

• Naturally antimicrobial
• Odor free
• Retain their shape (hate when socks get all stretched out!)
• Do not shrink
• Wick moisture away from feet (essential!)
• Natural compression
• Natural thermal transfer due to hollow core of the fiber

And here’s my take on those selling points:

• Odor free: CHECK. After skateboarding on a hot, sunny day for a few hours I’d typically expect some odor. Nada.
• Retain their shape: CHECK. I wore these around throughout my daily routine in addition to the two adventures I took them on. I washed them, and dryed them. They haven’t stretched at all.
• Wick Moisture: CHECK. This is huge for me. If I lived in a humid place, it’d be an even bigger deal. I didn’t feel my feet getting sweaty at all.
• Natural Compression: CHECK. They felt great. Period.
• All the others are either built-in like being naturally antimicrobial.

Should you get these super comfortable socks?

My answer is YES. They will make a huge difference in your comfort level. Their price point is completely reasonable at $20 for a pair that will last long after you’d like to give a sock credit for. They also make alpaca socks specific to cycling, running, winter, and of course, hiking.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received Ausangate Alpaca Socks for free from Ausangate sports as coordinated by Deep Creek Public Relations. 

M. Bordaux, the author of the blog Thru Hiker 2013, wrote just days before he was to take his first step of all 2,000 miles of the Appalachian Trail over the course of 6 months, ”That’s when my brain decided to let it sink in that I was actually doing this. And as I’m being honest here, for that moment as the plane took off my thoughts were not “wahoo this is it I’m finally doing it I’m on my way.” No! My thought at that moment when it sunk in that I had just left all my loved ones and my most loved one my amazing wife for six months was ‘Oh Fuck, what the hell have I got myself into’!”

“WHAT THE HELL HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?”

This self-imposed question should be asked as much as possible in our lives. It means that we’re taking a risk and we’ve opened up the opportunity to truly screw up, fall flat on our faces, and simply stated, to fail.

Every adventure should have this moment. Surely, on a 6 month adventure, there will be moments of high and low. Moments in which there is no other place he’d rather be, and moments when he wishes more than anything to be anywhere but there. And as I ponder the experience that awaits him over the next 6 months, I can’t help but think about some of my own “What the hell have I gotten myself into” moments and what they’ve taught me.

30 Mile, 12 Hour Skate Trek from Boulder to Denver, CO

• At 3PM, I called my mom and said to her, “This sucks. My feet are killing me. The skyline of Denver looks like a dot. It’s hot as hell. There is no way I’m going to get there before sunset.” At that point, I thought I was pretty freaking stupid for deciding I’d skateboard between Boulder and Denver. I wanted to give up.
• At 8PM, I skated into my destination in the center of downtown Denver. 8 PM on October 12th was one of the happiest, most rewarding, most freeing moments of my life. I had done it. I had gotten myself through what I’d gotten myself into. Sure, my body was tired, but my mind was more awake and aware than I can describe. I felt so present in that moment – I go back to it all the time.

50 Mile, 48 Walk Along the Atlantic Ocean

• At 7AM, I began my walk as the sun was rising and the first beach goers were setting out their lounge chairs. By the time 9AM had rolled around, I’d unloaded my pack, and I was already a bit bored. By the time 1PM rolled around, the Florida sun was burning me to a crisp and there was no escaping it. I thought to myself, “So this is what it must be like to cross the Sahara by foot. Everything looks the same, the sun surrounding you with no escape, and your destination seems infinite from where you stare into the horizon.” I had a day and a half left of this. What the hell had I gotten myself into, I thought?
• At 6PM the next day, I arrived back at the very spot I started at. My shoulders were bruised from my heavy pack, my feet in pain to the point where I thought I’d seriously injured myself, and my skin 5 shades darker. My friend met me on the beach and handed me a beer and asked me how it went. I smiled and said I’ve never loved and hated the beach so much. I can’t wait to do it again.

Why do we do these things?

Why do we put ourselves through these challenges?

BECAUSE:

There is nothing more rewarding than standing on the top of a 14er’s summit after waking up at 4AM to hike up to the top, just so you can see the life-changing view that reminds us just how small we are, just how beautiful and vast this planet we live on is, and just how capable of overcoming a challenge we can be.

There is nothing more rewarding than surfing your first overhead break that time and time again before sent you crashing back into the shore as the other surfers watched you tumble. Now, you and the ocean understand each other – and there’s no other feeling like it.

There is nothing more rewarding than crossing the finish line at the marathon you trained 2 months for; running every single day, ditching hangout sessions with friends so you can keep up with your training schedule, and literally feeling like you’re killing your body in the process.

So my advice for you today – get yourself out on an adventure that you’re scared you won’t be able to get yourself out of. Hike from sunrise to sunset without stopping, kayak the circumference of an island, skateboard between two cities! Think about M. Bordaux and the 6 month journey he’s committed himself too. It’s a grand adventure that he’s on, and that’s exactly how life should be lived.

FOR THE COMMENTS: What has been one of your most memorable “What the hell have I gotten myself into” moments? 

(I read and reply to every content here on OMM. Hearing your stories is the most rewarding part of sharing my own!)

Image Credit: Seed

Editor’s Introduction: Mark my words, the author of this piece, Sidni Giordano, will be making waves in the travel writing and outdoor industry world. I’m lucky enough to know this inspiring girl, for her zest for life, and ability to be open to utterly screwing up and taking leaps of faith, sets her apart from most people roaming this earth. The first of many articles by Sidni here on OMM, I couldn’t think of a better one to introduce this wandering woman to you guys. For those of you with wanderlust that feels like a simultaneous blessing and curse, I think you’ll find by reading this, you aren’t alone.  - Lauren

“Why do you always need to leave? You need to grow up and start doing something with your life,” said my irritated grandmother over the phone after I announced my latest plan to trek across Central America this winter.

The desire to drop everything I’m doing to venture into the unknown torments me like a perpetually dull ache in my side. I stave off this urge on a daily basis, some days more so than others.

Living abroad does that to you. It stirs your soul in such a way that you just know life will never be the same again. Once the wanderlust hits, there is no looking back. The impulse to flee at any given moment will eat away at you until you’re on a plane, watching everything familiar disappear through a tiny window as you ascend into the clouds.

The first time I stepped foot outside the country was at the ripe age of 21. I left everything I’d ever known to study abroad in Ireland. Weeks after my arrival, I fell madly in love with an Australian man, dropped out of school and backpacked across Western Europe.

I spent half a year getting lost in back alleys, hitchhiking through towns I couldn’t pronounce, having intimate conversations with complete strangers, wandering until my feet were raw with blisters, fucking in dirty hostels and experiencing impossibly perfect moments that left me in awe. I had never felt more alive.

I’ve been restless ever since. In the past year, I’ve traveled through the Middle East, rode my bike 4,400 miles across the U.S. and left my friends and family in Maryland to chase my dreams in Colorado.

I struggled hard when I first landed in Boulder. Traveling somewhere is one thing, planting roots is another. After six months of uncertainty, I finally have a great job, awesome friends, an apartment downtown, world class climbing routes in my backyard and all the outdoorsmen I could ever want to date. Despite all the happiness Boulder has brought me, ditching it all for a life of travel is the dark thought that lurks around the back of my mind. The temptation is always there.

Some days I wake up to the first couple chords of The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” playing in the back of my brain. I’ll spend 20 minutes browsing flights on Kayak.com, you know, just for fun. My heart skips a beat after stumbling across a great deal on a one-way ticket to Thailand. This overwhelming sense of urgency turns me into an irrational gypsy. My inner monologue starts screaming: YOU’RE YOUNG, HEALTHY AND FREE OF ANY ATTACHMENTS! What are you waiting for? There is a great, big world out there and you’d be lucky to experience even the tiniest fraction of it before you die! Quit your job! Throw some clothes in a backpack! Just light all of your shit on fire and go get weird in Thailand!

Other days I’ll watch the sun setting over the Flatirons and stare at the pink sky until I feel like I have sufficiently saturated its beauty into my bones. I think about how grateful I am to be living here and all the opportunities it has afforded me. Stick around for another year or two. Start paying back your student loans. You literally work for one of your heroes; why leave and lose all of the progress you’ve made?

The thing is that I don’t know exactly what it is I’m chasing after. As Jack Kerouac brilliantly put it, “I was surprised, as always, by how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.”

Maybe that’s why I’m never satisfied with staying in one place, because traveling has taught me that there are an infinite number of life paths to choose from, each one offering a different realm of possibilities.

All I know is that I need to spend every waking second feeling alive – whether I’m hanging off a sandstone wall minutes away from my apartment or feeling incredibly inadequate because I’m lost in a place where I recognize nothing and don’t speak the language. I live for the moments when reality hits me with such intensity that I feel like I’m about to topple over and all I can think is, woah, this is life.

I live for those precious moments when hours of patience and determination result in breathtaking photographs. 

Immature Bald Eagle, Alaska

Patagonia

Wildebeest, South Africa

Leopard, South Africa

 Delicate Arch, Utah

Patagonia

Wildebeest, South Africa

As a photographer, I am very picky when it comes to my subjects. Whenever friends or family ask me to shoot a wedding, portrait, or some special event, it scares the living daylights out of me. I have this notion that photographing people carries with it tremendous baggage. Not once has a monkey complained that it was having a bad hair day, nor has a lion ever given me specific instructions to only photograph its left side because it is ‘more photogenic’ than its right. I’ve never been told to ‘scram’ when I aim the camera at an unsuspecting chipmunk, nor have I been shunned because none of the llama shots turned out the way the llama was expecting. Yes, I’ve been spit on, stepped on, snapped at, charged, rammed, pecked, and even pooped on, but I find all these animal antics much easier to deal with than that one unhappy client who didn’t get that picture perfect wedding shot.

 House Sparrow, Washington D.C.

Ring-tailed Lemurs, Nature Preserve, South Africa

I love the element of the unknown when shooting wildlife. I live for those precious moments when hours of patience and determination result in breathtaking photographs. Humans are predictable, controllable, and, well… let’s face it, not nearly as cute as baby penguins. Animals, on the other hand, are wild, spontaneous, and impulsive – their actions a result of intuition and instinct. In the wild the most ordinary of moments can, in a split second, become the award-winning instant a photographer dreams of. Long days spent tracking wildebeest through the hot desert lead to that one magical evening when the dust they rouse glows orange in the setting sun. Hours spent waiting for a sleeping leopard to wake pay off when it peeks up and snarls at a nearby gazelle. A morning spent admiring a penguin colony becomes a life changing experience when three baby chicks gather the courage to leave the safety of their peers and approach within a few inches of this mysterious spectator.

Gentoo penguins, Antarctica

Adelie penguin, Antarctica

If there’s one thing I’ve taken away as a photographer, it’s that the magic of the natural world is all around us.

The reward, however, comes to those who are patient.

Fur Seal, South Georgia

Annaupurna, Nepal

-Mitch

-Mitch

The destination: Spain. A freak opportunity had landed me in a climbing hostel for two weeks, and word on the street was the biking could be pretty good too. This brings us to my hour.

The three hours leading up to my hour involved pedaling through two wrong turns, consuming one Nutella sandwich, seeing a castle and a slogging my way up a Category 2 (read: steep) climb. I was scrutinizing the clouds congregating over the next pass when a couple of Germans, a father and son, came riding up behind me. (We can start the timer now).

They were pedaling beautiful vintage bikes, and the miles melted as we struck up a genial German-English conversation. We hit all the usual bases: Where are you from? Is it colder there? What do you think of Lance? This road is very steep. Would you like to adopt our dachshund?

Hold up… what?

Oh Ja. He is very intelligent. Very nice. Like… how you say… die wurst?

I didn’t want to adopt a dachshund- getting it through customs would be a nightmare- but it just so happened that the owner of my hostel really liked dogs. There were currently six happy canines bouncing around the place- all to my knowledge adopted or rescued. Maybe seven could be her lucky number? I communicated something like this to the Germans, and they seemed to get very excited. I was touched by how badly they wanted to find a home for the little guy.

By now we’d crested the top of the pass, and the clouds were just starting to leak. The father of the two, who I learned was named Joe (for Joaquin) suggested that we ride back to the last town, nearly fifteen kilometers downhill, before it really started to storm. He was worried about my lack of appropriate clothes, even after I showed him my jacket, and he insisted that if I went on I would be dangerously far from any help should something go wrong.

I was reluctant to backtrack. I prefer loops to out-n-backs, and I was more than halfway through the ride I’d planned. But rather than arrogantly pushing into the storm with my own agenda and ambition, I made an uncharacteristic decision to be a little less agro and simply take this German strangers advice. With a shrug I zipped up my jacket and turned around- that’s when the sky opened up.

The roads were terrible. Currents ran down the now-glossy pavement, and I could taste yesterday’s shampoo as rain poured from my helmet into my mouth. Strangely enough, none of this struck me as particularly troublesome; it was cold, but not too cold. The road was steep, but not too slippery. Olive orchards flew by, misty limestone cliffs looked on, and for nearly half an hour I allowed myself to be totally consumed with the joy of moving fast through a storm. I think the Joe and his son did too, or if they didn’t  at least we could all look out for each other.

Drenched and more than a little exhilarated, we finally rolled into a cafe for some hot drinks. We were just exchanging contact information for the future of their wayward wiener-dog when I noticed a couple from the hostel at a table nearby. To clarify: I was thirty kilometers from home base and two of maybe ten people I knew in the entire country happened to be having coffee at the same cafe. True, we’d all been driven indoors by the same storm, but I chose to take it as fate- if I’d pushed on I’d still be out there, shivering my way down the pass alone. Instead, I had new friends and a ride home. (Stop the clock.)

Two years ago I vowed I would never again pack a bike box, because cycling, to me, had become an unforgivable luxury. Why did I think I could make a life of essentially just playing outside when there’s so much serious work to be done in the world? How can anybody? Clearly the responsible thing, the mature thing to do, is to suck it up, put play second, and get down to business in life.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s the real business in life- but first you’ve got to bring the bike.

 

Photo Attributes
Feature Image by Meg Haywood Sullivan

-Mitch

A BIG THANKS to our Sponsor GetYourPhotosOnCanvas.com. They’re owned and operated in the Atlantic coastal town of St. Augustine Beach, FL where Outdoor Minded Mag was first born a year ago. As a gift to all of our entrants they are hooking all of them up with 10% off any purchase they make over the next year. Thanks to everyone for submitting your photo, and happy winning!

1). Adrianne Eager,

Yosemite, California

My brother on the cables, climbing up Half Dome last summer.

2). Brodey Carpenter,

Wyoming

Ten Sleep, Wyoming, August 2012. Anti Gravity Climbing Gear, with Zach Vose.

3). Don Gilman,

Mt. Hood, Oregon

The upper slopes of Mt. Hood on January 20th, 2013.

4). Larry Davis,

France

An 80 footer in the south of France.

5). Max Kudisch,

Ollantaytambo, Peru

As my friend and I explored some ruins just outside Ollantaytambo, Peru, we scrambled halfway up a mountain only to find an entrance into it. Ancient steps carved down into the darkness.

6). Janet Brent,

Philippines

This is Mt. Pulag, Philippines, in Northern Luzon (island) – it’s dubbed “the playground of the gods.”

7). Max Seigal,

South Georgia

A fun shot from my recent adventure to South Georgia ~ Enjoy!

8). Brandon Figliolino,

Washington

Whatcom Falls, Washington

9). Saylor Allf,

New York

Found this natural ledge in Southampton NY. Photo credit Lindsey Moloznik, editing Saylor Allf.

10). Daniel Sailer,

Bryce Canyon, Utah

Bryce Canyon, a thumbs up, and a GOLEM riddle? Yes, please.

Voiceless it cries,
Wingless flutters,
Toothless bites,
Mouthless mutters.

11). Alan Perlman,

Nepal

Nepal’s Kathmandu Valley

12). Eileen Ting,

New Zealand

The scale of things….around Aaoraki/Mt Cook, NZ. Yes, that’s me there.

13). Alex Duncan,

Apu Asuangate, Peru

14). Megan Hettwer,

Colombia

Gautape! In a dress! Don’t recommend the outfit choice. DO recommend the ‘lil trek up to the top of that crazy rock. Only a gorgeous 2 hour bus ride from Medellin- you can’t skip it.

15). Sarah Longes

16). Karim Shah Nizari,

Pakistan

Brauldu Glacier, Pakistan.

17). Kelly Thornton

18). Michael Restivo,

Nepal

Looking out over Dingboche Nepal on the Everest Base Camp Trek with the Himalayas in the distance.

19). Chase Krumholz,

Colorado

Last light over Ophir Pass, Colorado.

20). Carlos Álvarez-Aranyos,

Mongolia

Eagle handling in Mongolia.

21). Cheri Becker

Artist – Trevor Pearson
Concept – Alex and Julia Horner
Music – Steve Horner hornermusic.com

-Mitch