Customer Reviews SOREL Caribou™

I grew up on a ranch in Montana so reliable snow gear was a constant necessity from October to April. When I turned 13 my mom bought me a pair of Caribou's in a bizarre coming-of-age family tradition...I was freed from cheap plastic snowboots that let snow pack around your ankles or crack after a month of sledding on the weekends. I remember her making a big deal out of it and I wasn't all that excited as a teenager to get these clunky boots (Ever a planner, she bought a size 10 - I even now only wear size 8.5 - so I could always wear thick socks and grow into them) but I don't know that I've ever loved or used a pair of footwear as much as those Caribous. They got me through the cold winters of junior high, high school, and then became my go-to commute boots in college. That brings us to present day. My trusty first pair (just as reliable as 20 years ago) lives on at my parents' house for my use when I visit in the winter months but I recently got a second pair to have with me (now in Seattle) that I plan on having for the rest of my life. I am pleased to report that they are the correct size (ordered an 8 as indicated by Sorel's sizing chart - fits with just enough room for some cozy socks) and this time in the black, to switch things up a bit. I use them every weekend for pre and post cross-country ski adventures and plan on using them for winter treks next season. These are not the sleekest profile boot, but that's not why I get or love them - they are the warmest, comfiest, and highest quality, functional boot I've ever had the pleasure of wearing.

I love SOREL Caribou boots. Plural because three pairs of boots have taken me through three decades. I've replaced multiple boot inserts with the furry tops that slip into the main leather boot, but the boots carry on. My first pair kept my feet toasty through a Colorado high country winter near Vail. My brother told me I needed SOREL boots because they would keep my feet warm and dry. And because that's what the locals wore in that mountain town in below-zero temps. At 40 below, I breathed through a wool scarf to filter the cold as I walked to work a short quarter-mile downhill, glad my feet were warm (ya cannot start a truck in that cold--oil is too thick). The second pair got me through snows in Nevada in the shadow of the Carson and Sierra Nevada mountains near Lake Tahoe. I slogged through the small stables behind my cousin's Reno home and threw hay to her horses. Adventures followed in snow and mud and muck and desert washes. By the third pair, I'd moved back to Utah along the Wasatch range, and my feet were warm while standing on a sheet of packed snow and ice all day loading beginners on a ski lift for one winter. And through city storms and country miles in Southern Utah and then three winters in a tiny town called Santaquin where I freelance edited online for ad agencies and scattered birdseed for wild birds after packing down snow underneath the feeders. And now it's time for the fourth pair. Wonder what I will do in this new decade, in my new boots with their clean new inserts, with new dreams. One thing I know. My feet will be warm and dry.