Let’s go on a little journey, shall we.  Imagine yourself a nursing mother of, say, one to three children. Imagine that you are constantly and consistently covered with children or summoned by their needs.  Imagine that you have a history of long backpack trips, remote destinations, and challenging routes.  Imagine that your once honed body has accumulated some cellulite and bulges in the recent year (s).  Welcome to my life and that of my good friend Kristine.

Somehow, we got “clearance” from the fathers of our collective four children ages 1 to 6, to leave home for two nights and hike into the Grand Canyon.  We were so desperate for the time hiking, the time together, and the time away from our families (if family members are reading this - of course we love them dearly, we just needed a break).  Now both of us like to work our bodies and to take risks.  We packed somewhat haphazardly (more on that soon), and kept our bags relatively light.  Kristine claims that she carries so much baby/kid oriented stuff around each and everyday that she would prefer to hike empty handed simply for the change.

We planned to hike to the river, spend a night, hike along the river, spend another night, and then hike all the way back.  I think that was the itinerary.  I was to procure three items that would be shared and were considered critical (as opposed to our shared pots and tent which were less critical).  I was to bring a breast pump in order for us to “pump and dump” and therefore continue lactating for our breastfed one-year-olds.  I was also to bring a coffee press mug for Kristine.  Since she would be pumping and dumping, she could indulge in coffee on this trip -- something she was looking forward to nearly as much as the hike itself.  Finally, I was to bring one of the two dinners.  Now remember, packing was somewhat haphazard.

When I arrived at her house pre-dawn for our three hour drive up to the canyon, she was practically running down the driveway in excitement to GET OUT.  I let her know that I was unable to find the coffee press mug I had promised – strike one!  Though her confidence in me was certainly shaken, we decided to gamble on finding one on the rim (in a store, that is).  It turns out that they don’t sell such a mug on the rim and we had to suffice with a cheesy tourist mug and a child’s sock for her coffee brewing.  Nevertheless, after a few more stumbling blocks, we were on our way.  As we began our hike in, eight miles in length and one mile in elevation change, I realized that I hadn’t put rice into the bag of dinner I had prepared.  Strike two.  We decided we still had enough collective food (thanks to Kristine’s haphazard packing), though confidence was shaken again.  Be warned: think twice before trusting a breastfeeding, sleep-deprived mother to handle the important details.  Good thing I had not forgotten the breast pump given that our babies’ livelihood somewhat depended on it.

About a mile down the canyon, we encountered two men about our age, who claimed to have turned back after realizing they had bitten off more than they could chew – this trail was, in one old dusty book on my shelf, ranked as the most rigorous decent on the south rim when compared to the eight or so most popular trails.  One of the men looked ‘worked’ though they both passed us without asking for assistance – typical men.  We were close enough to the top, Kristine and I did not insist on helping.  Besides it was our time to be selfishly absorbed in our own trip.  Another man passed us a mile farther.  He reported his disappointment at having passed a stash of abandoned gear on the trail below; undoubtedly left behind by the first two men who had tried to lighten their load for the ascent.  This second man did not bother to remove the items from the canyon however.

Another two miles or so farther, we came upon the stash.  A lot of shiny new metal, expensive freeze dried meals, and all the accoutrements for COFFEE!  Knowing that the ravens would ravage the perishables, and that abandoned gear was an eyesore for visitors and an annoyance for park employees, we decided to take as much as we could.  Of course the new meals, the coffee pot, and the brand new flask of peach Schnopps could possibly help our situation as well.  Strikes one and two reversed.

Though we would have loved to keep our heart rates up and our legs pushing on, it was time to think of our babies and do some pumping (the rock hard breasts were another indicator).  I pulled out the breast pump and handed it to Kristine.  No suction.  Pump harder.  No milk.  Uh oh.  A vacuum seal was missing and the sucker part was not getting any “purchase.”  Yep, strike three.  The food mistake was minor, the coffee blunder was somewhat remedied, but this one… eeek.  We likely would not find an abandoned breast pump along this trail.  So far we were the only ones around who even had breasts.

Both of us would consider ourselves very independent, self sufficient and resourceful.  Hey necessity is the mother of invention right?  I tried stuffing the tin foil from a chocolate bar in the holes where the vacuum should have occurred.  No luck.  Then I pulled a piece of dried fruit from my trail mix thinking that the peach, if hydrated, would swell into the hole sealing it well.  Slight success.  But certainly not enough to drain the four breasts which were hours into this journey and therefore hours from the last nursing.  We would have to hand express.

The following hours and days were spent mashing our breasts every few hours to try to relieve the pain, maintain lactation, and reduce the size of our gargantuan chests so backpack straps could be fastened.  Had anyone wanted to track us, they need only set a hound on the trail of milk. Luckily, we had the canyon to ourselves and no one else had to witness our plight.  Even more lucky, we were two lactating women in the canyon together, not one, and could encourage and console each other.

Once fed, caffeinated, physically exerted, and present in the presence of the awe-inspiring canyon, we were able to enjoy our trip (actually we were enjoying our trip the minute we left our neighborhood; I just had to let the drama build).  We kicked off our shoes, dawned sarongs, and relished in not having kids asking us for anything.  Though our breasts were sore from the mashing, we began to feel like our previous selves – at home in the canyon, sleeping outdoors, becoming part of our natural surroundings.  It was our little secret that we carried a few extra burdens as mothers.  From the outside we looked like a couple of able bodied women out for a backpack.

While lounging on the river, we spoke of previous experiences where handsome young boatmen arrived on our beaches offering treats like cold beer or to carry away our trash.  Dreaming of such an experience, we turned our heads up stream.  Low and behold, just then there was a boatman rowing in our direction – the only human we had seen on the river in two days.  Now November navigators of the Colorado River in the inner gorge are inherently capable, adventurous and prepared folk given the air and water temperatures.  But would this nice man have what we needed?....A breast pump?  Would we have the gumption to ask?