Dear Mr. Limmer and staff
I have just returned from a week of hiking in the Smokey Mountains with a vastly different experience and much greater success than my previous Spring Break foray onto the Appalachian Trail, and I owe it all to my Limmer custom boots.
Two years ago, while still on the waiting list for custom boots, I intended to go from Harper's Ferry to Boiling Springs in a week's time, hiking in my Limmer Lightweights, (in which I had done all the 4000 footers in New Hampshire with reasonably good success). Unfortunately, I had to prematurely terminate my trek to Boiling Springs after four days, as I was crippled by 16 blisters and two broken toenails.
This past week after breaking in my custom boots over the past year, I waltzed my way from Hot Springs to Fontana through the entire length of the Smokey's with nary a blister. You can imagine the improvement to my attitude.
Next up will be a week on the Continental Divide Trail sometime this summer and then hopefully three weeks on the John Muir Trail next summer-cushioned every step of the way in my custom Limmers.
Thank you for building me a pair of boots that will accommodate my stubby high volume 4E feet. It was worth the wait.
On my way to New Hampshire the Canadian immigration officer asked me where I was going.
"Why are you going to Montreal?"
"Actually I'm just going through Montreal to get the New Hampshire. I'll go around Montreal if I can figure how to do that."
"And why are you going to New Hampshire?"
"To get some hiking boots."
Incredulous he asked "You're going all the way to New Hampshire to get some hiking boots?"
So I told him the whole story. Limmer boots were used by the members of the first successful U.S. assault on Everest. I had some made in 1967, but they don't fit anymore. They still had the drawings of my feet on file from 1967, but they needed new measurements, since my feet had changed, so was really going to New Hampshire to get me feet measured for some boots...
A subtle smile came across his face. "Have a nice trip," he said, without asking to see identification. Now, its' not very often I see an immigration officer smile, so I asked, "Have I made your day?
"Yes," he said, "I like stories like that."
On my return the U.S. immigration officer asked for the purpose of my trip. "I went to New Hampshire to get my feet measured for some hiking boots." A faint smile, nearly undetectable, crinkled around his eyes. "Have a nice evening," he said. Didn't ask for identification.
These guys must talk to each other.
I enjoyed visiting and look forward to my boots and visiting again with Tammy.
On our many excursions to the White Mountains my husband and I had the opportunity to stop by the shop and eventually purchased our very own Limmers. On the bulletin board were displayed pictures of the lofty heights, which Limmers attained.
I have also enclosed a picture. My husband died Feb. 9th of this year. He requested that his Limmers be buried with him. I wanted to share this with you because not only can Limmers carry the hiker to far-off exotic summits, but also the opportunities and memories they provide can sustain and carry a person through the trails and tribulations of everyday existence. Even when my husband was in the later stages of brain cancer, The memories those years of hiking in his Limmers brought great joy and comfort.
I hope you interpret this letter not as a morbid example of the finiteness of life but as an example of the journey of life for my husband's Limmers became the foundation for a life well lived.
Dear Peter Limmer and Son's,
I bought these boots around 1977 they still have a lot of life left in the but the insides have broken down. I'm hoping I can get these fixed before next summer.
I remember I had to wait a year for these boots and thought $70.00 Wow that's a lot of money. "I better get at least five years out of these" I said. Now I brag to my friends that I'm wearing 26-year-old boots. They look at me funny and say "really" (they don't believe me) "who makes them?" They say. "Peter Limmer of Intervale New Hampshire" I tell them, "I did a lot of hiking in the White Mountains when I was younger, hiked most of the Appalachian Trail." Now the vacant stare Huh! (They don't believe me).
Please let me know if you can repair these treasures and send me an estimated cost.
Dear Peter and friends,
What a great experience my friend and I had last week at your shop. Kind Courteous service from people that love their work.
To the Limmer Family, Masters of Boot making
More loyal than a Chesapeake Bay retriever
More committed than a Champion dog sled team
More indefatigable than a Squad of Navy Seals...
Was hard to part with these babies, but I know they are in the most capable hands...
Brooks Range Alaska
East Village, NYC
Thankful for the work you do
Tom T. II
Sorry about their condition (Needs- new sloes, new heel linings)
Just a note to say how pleased I am with your (my) custom made hiking boots from your shop. The fit is perfect and they have put up well with everything I've put them through (and the trails have dished out) so far.
Your recommended break-in term of 80+/- hours I found to be a little light - it actually took about double that time for the boots and my feet and my socks/livers to begin to perform as individual, homogeneous units. But when that time finally evolved, the result was like nothing I've ever used on the trails in any form of equipment - the best. Moleskin is a thing of the past, even in the roughest country with a large, heavy pack for days at a time.
They now have only 300+/- miles on them, but they've been from Pennsylvania to Maine, and many places in between.
I enclosed a photo of my boots for your wall or fame taken at the old log dam at Duck Hole in the Cold River Country of the High Peaks Wilderness in the Adirondacks of New York. I have just concluded a 40-mile backpack of the area to visit the spirit of Noah John Rondeau, the Last Adirondack Hermin (1883-1967). He left the wilderness forever in 1950, but his spirit remains - some folks say he's up there, still.
Thanks you very much for building the last pair of boots I'll ever buy.