She planted herself in the dust.

“Get up, Honey.”

White shorts now Grand Canyon buff.

“You gotta keep going.”

The youngster plucked tiny stones from the trail, tossed them weakly toward her mother’s tennies.

“It can’t be much further.” The most overworked cliche heard while climbing switchbacks along Bright Angel Trail. “We’ll have ice cream at the top.”

The girl moaned, “I’m gonna throw-up … again.”

Unperturbed, in her most conciliatory voice, the mother replied, “That’s all right, Hon. It might make you feel better. Then we can go.”

Dragging another, even younger girl, the woman kept walking. So did we.

As we began our six-day backpack trip, we wondered if the entire trail would be strewn with kids. Perhaps June—apparently family vacation month—wasn’t the best time to do our rim-to-rim-to rim hike. They were everywhere this morning, already heading up, probably not getting beyond Mile-and-a-Half Rest House. These ill-prepared sightseers wanted only a taste of this National Park and the right to buy a “I HIKED THE CANYON” t-shirt.

We came upon one “cool” kid, about eight years old, making her way around mule droppings. Her blank stare and limp posture indicated boredom. “Daddy always makes us do this stuff.” But she kept going, with the assistance of a small, battery operated fan breezing her face.

Whatever works, huh?

We saw another sorry looking child fighting the trail, shuffling and huffing, ready to give up, arms dangling, limp at her sides—very dramatic.

Just beyond we met Dad, heavily loaded. He was stooping to collect one more brightly colored day-pack. Glancing up, he shrugged, “Kids figure Dad’ll carry their load.” From his expression there would be several sweet young things who wouldn’t be getting ice cream. “I hate whiny kids,” he complained. “Especially on these trails.”

We nodded agreement.

As we made our way farther and farther and farther from the ice cream, candy, and plastic tomahawks of Grand Canyon Village, the kids thinned out. The peace and grandeur we’d come to expect, the rejuvenating spirit of the Grand Canyon, revealed itself.

Once we were deep within The Canyon there were even fewer kids. There were the Scouts from California splashing in Bright Angel Creek, and a handful with parents at Phantom Ranch or one of the inner-canyon campgrounds, but most of those kids were close to or in their early teens—experienced and confident. They know their capabilities and are generally mature enough to suffer the trials of the trail quietly.

There are, occasionally, the very young. On our fourth day, descending from the North rim, we met a young couple with a months old baby. The mother, appearing exhausted, transported her happy infant in a special pack. And Pop, hefting a large rig with equipment for three, seemed lost in his toil. We counted our blessings, glad we’d missed the delight of camping next to a squalling babe.

It made us wonder, though. Within The Canyon there is a strict rule. If you pack it in, you must pack it out. What about diapers? How had this adventurous young couple handled that dilemma? Cloth diapers would have to be cleaned, somehow, or carried out soiled. Disposable diapers would have to be secured in someway, and added to Pop’s load. There’s no laundry service in the Inner Gorge.

On our last day, as we made our trek from Phantom Ranch toward the tourists and bustle of the Village, we stopped at Indian Gardens for a rest. While we sat in the cool of the morning shade we observed several young Scouts heading down to Devil’s Corkscrew and the river. The usual lot, their packs sitting high on their shoulders, they headed off in quest of adventure. But there was one fellow that struck us as particularly poignant.

This little guy, perhaps ten or twelve years old, had fastened a small cloth Teddy Bear to the top of his pack. The bear sat in an upright position, facing backwards. It was as if he meant the bear to watch the scenery and share his experience.

What kind of courage does it take for a kid his age to even bring his bear along, let alone expose it to public view? He didn’t appear the type to seek attention. He looked sincere, sensitive—clearly too young to be making a defiant statement. “Yes, I have my Teddy Bear with me. So what? What’s it to you?”

As he disappeared through the trees his Teddy watched us watching him.

There was one final kid who caught our attention. Another of the Scouts—small, skinny legged, barely able to carry his huge pack—moved out with the others. What made him so special was his wonderful wide-open face. He seemed in awe of everything, staring wide-eyed as he went, as if overwhelmed. The weight of his pack forgotten, his thin legs stumbling down the trail, he was lost in The Canyon’s magnificence.

And so we pondered our own experience and contemplated what this must mean to these children—these kids of The Canyon. Does it enhance their understanding of our world? Does the immensity and size humble them? Will this make them better caretakers of our planet? Does hiking across, or even just a forced march into The Canyon, improve their self-confidence and self-esteem? Or do they forget it all when they taste ice cream at the top?