I hate bad shoes.  My brother Mike was almost killed by bad shoes.  His after school job selling women's shoes sometimes required him to force size 4 high heels onto size 12 hooves.  One simple detonation could fling shrapnel and clouds of compressed foot gas all over the mall.     

I hate bad socks more than bad shoes.  I was almost killed by bad socks.  I remember a particularly grueling 12 mile ruck march in the Ozarks--complete with howling winds and snow--when I ran out of moleskin at mile seven.  A huge blister, the size of an ostrich egg, formed on the outside of my heel as my government socks disintegrated into olive drab dust particles.

I survived that march by applying duct tape, but later that night, an Army doc got hold of me.  (The US Army is the best example of Single Payer socialized medicine for those of you yearning for that inevitable day.)  The doc removed the blister with scissors and cauterized the injury with cayenne pepper, hot lava and hydrochloric acid.  He gave me a steel brush soaked in betadine and instructed me to scrub the wound twice a day.  I only fell for that gag once.

Months later, at Fort Bragg, I went deeper into the rituals of foot protection.  I learned all sorts of pre-ruck prep, beginning with liberal amounts of foot powder followed by donning a thin liner made of either silk or polypro.  We then applied vaseline to the outside of the liner before pulling on a thicker wool boot sock.

We carried extra moleskin, more socks, vaseline, powder, tape and changed socks at every opportunity.  We also prayed, muttered incantations and offered blood sacrifices--usually from previous blisters--but the real emphasis was on sock prep.  

The secret to surviving the military's most rigorous selection courses is not in how many pushups, flutter kicks or 6 minute miles you can run; it's more about not becoming physically ineffective due to poor preparation.  In my day, it was poorly prepared feet that got you recycled.  (Now it's likely to be poorly worded tweets.)

Mike was in the 1/75th Ranger Battalion and his foot prep rituals were so complex, so effective, that he can still walk 18 holes in the rain wearing old leather Foot-Joys.  I, however, continue to lose the blister battle, even though I backpack and hike several miles a day with Momma.  But a major breakthrough has occurred.

It wasn't a change of shoes, for I have long since banished the quite temporary "breathable" waterproof membrane-lined boots.  I discovered a great sock that truly works, even without a liner.  I haven't had to use moleskin in months, even for 7 mile hikes.

My new socks don't have that dead animal smell or the slimy feel of the synthetic "sport" socks.  They feel so good that I dumpstered what was once my most reliable sock, the Smart Sheep.  I haven't even had to sequester my boots in the trunk.  (Passengers in my car have stopped making gagging noises and now Hogan hangs his head out the window because he wants to.)

It happened when I stumbled across a forum where several Ranger NCOs recommended "Darn Tough" socks.  I immediately bought some boot socks for testing and went 8 miles blister free with no liner, no powder, no vaseline and no blood sacrifice.  I was amazed. I was also amazed by their lifetime guarantee and the fact they are American Made.  These socks are worth a GCS test.

Note:  I have not been paid by Darn Tough for this review, I'm just trying to help out my brethren.