As Sarah, Chase and Bryan sat slump-shouldered on the log, heavy heads bowing over the well-worn trail, we knew the trio of twelve-year-olds were struggling to carry their odd assortment of gee-gaws and gadgets and other unnecessaries they had packed into their respective frame backpacks. We had only hiked about two miles from the Iron Gate Campground at what we considered a leisurely pace, taking time to study deer tracks, mushrooms and to readjust pack straps. And to drink water, plenty of it.