Sticks are an invaluable tool

I scoffed.

I admit it: When I first received my “sticks” as a gift a few years back, I thought they were kind of goofy.

But these days, I rely on them.

The “sticks” I’m talking about are lightweight, metal walking sticks that telescope down to a manageable size and adjust up to fit almost any height. 

They look — in many ways — like the kind of ski poles that cross country skiers use. And they function much the same way. You just don’t need any snow.

I can’t remember the first time I used them on a hike, but I do remember that I was self-conscious about it. I’d used a hiking stick before, but often it was just something I found along the trail. And it was usually tossed back into the woods when the hike was over.

About 20 years ago, I also had a hickory hiking stick made by an old guy with a draw knife at the Jay County Fair. But I lent that to somebody and it never returned.

These sticks were different. They seemed high-tech for one thing, with their lightweight metal alloy and measurements marked in centimeters. And they seemed a little fancy, if that’s the right word. They’d come from L.L. Bean.

But they worked.

And they made me work as well.

Hiking with a pair of sticks forces you to swing your arms like those dedicated walkers we see all over the place who are busy getting their heart rates going and burning off calories.

Simply using the sticks meant I was getting more of an aerobic workout, even on a brief visit to Bell-Croft Nature Preserve on county road 300 South west of Indiana 67 or a jaunt through the Loblolly.

I was impressed, and so was my wife. She’d bought them for me in the first place and soon ordered a set of her own.

Still, I’d remained skeptical.

We’d find ourselves over in Wells County at ACRES Along the Wabash, and I’d inevitably ask, “Do you want to use your sticks?” She always said yes, so I tended to follow suit.

And there was another factor.

I felt safer with a stick in each hand.

No, I wasn’t going to use them to fend off rabid skunks or flaming groundhogs. But they greatly improved this old guy’s balance.

Two feet, two sticks, that adds up to four points to keep your stability. And when you lift your foot to take a step, you still can have three points of reference in a tricky situation.

I was reminded of that a couple weeks back when we did some early autumn hiking in Turkey Run State Park.

It is, for most Hoosiers, their favorite state park. And the trails — those remarkable ravines and hollows cut in sandstone by Sugar Creek and its tributaries — are one of the reasons why.

Those trails are also — for someone who will be turning 69 next month — occasionally a challenge.

Working our way through Rocky Hollow, where the trail is little more than a streambed, the rocks are slippery, and a misstep could result in a serious injury, I thought my sticks were the best things ever invented.

Making our way up out of the hollow was a test. But it was a test we could pass because we had the proper equipment.

We did about 5 miles that day, and we did about 5 more miles the next day at Shades State Park.

I’d be lying if I said we could have done it without our sticks.