In 1983 (much younger than I am today!), my boyfriend and I decided we would be backpackers.  We went to the outdoor store and bought external-framed backpacks, boots, tent and sleeping bags.  We were going to Northern Arizona University at the time and being so close to the Grand Canyon, it would be a real shame not to miss out on that opportunity.

A trip to the bottom of the Canyon was planned and we geared up with cans of soup, gallons of water (we didn’t have water filters then), small Coleman stove, vinyl air mattresses (the kind you use in your swimming pool) and our newly purchased gear.  Looking back, we made every rookie mistake.  My pack alone must have been about 60 pounds; my boyfriends even more. 

With heavy loads and brand-new boots, we started down.  Hiking poles were unheard of then, so all the burden was on our feet. Miserable and exhausted, we did make it to the bottom with shredded feet and no appetite at all.  We forced down the cans of soup and tried to rest.  If we were in that bad of shape going down into the canyon, we could only imagine what was going to happen trying to come out. 

We tried to lighten our load by pouring out water and eventually, my boyfriend carried my pack as well as his, while I hiked in my bloody socks.  We did survive, though it took me a good two weeks before I could walk down a set of steps forward. 

I wondered if hiking was really in the cards for me, but I did realize one very important thing:  I would never again take a can of anything to eat on a hiking trip again!