I recently recalled an experience from my distant past, and realized it was rife with cold-chain parallelism. I thought you might enjoy the humor.

Years ago, in my Sierra Club-Erehwon-poster-child days of college, I participated in a geology field study class over the course of a summer. It culminated with a group of about twenty planning a backpacking trip through the Grand Canyon. We were paired with essentially total strangers and were co-responsible for completion of the course. My partner admitted to me that he was not all that experienced with desert hiking - and that this was for him, just a cheap summer vacation.

We were to hike the length of the Kiabab Trail from the North Rim; and not to push it, we would traverse the 14.5 miles of switch-backs and 5,840 feet in vertical elevation to Phantom Ranch in two days, and back out again in another two. It was August and the climate on the rim (elev. 8,000 ft.) was beautiful; the daytime temperatures ranged between 45-75 degrees F.

I prepared for our four day study of the canyon. I had a day-pack stuffed with the essentials: a change of socks, shirt, and shorts which I could wash and wear on alternating days. I also had enough freeze dried food (to cook in their foil pouches) high-carb snacks, fruit and trail-mix for four-plus days. I included a backpacking stove, eating utensils, a space blanket and bivouac bag for sleeping, a first aid kit, sunscreen, and waterproof matches. On my belt I had a Swiss Army Knife, a compass, a whistle and four 1 quart canteens of water. In all, I  carried about 14 lbs of gear.

I grabbed my camera, a wide brimmed hat and in layered clothing, scrambled through the parking lot at dawn. I met my travel companion for the next four days at the trail head. He lumbered toward me hunched over from the weight of his over-stuffed aluminum frame backpack.

"Hey, Quasimodo, what's with the hump?" I cheerfully asked.

"What hump?" he said. I laughed. "Hi! It's Steve... and you're... Kevin?"

"That's right." Leaning forward, we shook hands.

He shrugged under the weight of his backpack. "I wasn't quite sure what to bring and what to leave behind. I am very risk-averse. I'd rather be safe than sorry!" He exclaimed. He wrestled his backpack to the ground and verbally ran through his inventory checklist. "I'm prepared for just about any contingency." and displayed each item as he extricated it from his pack. " I brought an extra pair of shoes, just in case... clothes... and more clothes... a sweater... water purifying kit, my snake-bite kit... a big old Mag light - shines to 1000 feet and extra batteries... just in case" he said turning the beacon on and off a few times - "and look! A mirror... you know? To use as a reflector to signal to rescuers if we get lost. What? It could happen!" He insisted.

I nodded in agreement. He continued. "Man, this camp stove and extra fuel canister takes up a lot of space."He flashed his geology text book "Can't forget this... and... notebooks, 2 pens. Mess kit... air mattress and a foot pump -  and I can't wait to use my new goose-down, mummy sleeping bag! It cost me $150.00 but it's good to 10 below zero! Oh yeah, I brought rain gear, a tent and rain fly, too. You know how miserable camping can be if you get wet." He said, smartly. "Where's your stuff?"

Munching on a handful of granola, I gestured in the direction of my day-pack on the nearby bench.

Confused, he replied, "That's it? That's all you're bringing?"

I assured him it was all I needed.

We gazed upon the spectacular dawn as the rising sun began to paint subtle changes that ran like watercolors down the walls of  Bright Angel Canyon. It is an awesome, powerful view and still my favorite place and favorite time of day at the Grand Canyon.

"Wow... damn big hole, isn't it?" He said solemnly. 

"That's one way to look at it."

"And it's way too early for this. I'd love to get some breakfast before we start?" He griped.

I offered him a handful of granola. He declined. "No time. We've got to get a head start on the heat." I said.

"Heat? I'm freezing! I can see my breath! Dude, if you need anything, let me know, I probably have got it in here." He said, patting his backpack.

"Right, thanks." I said. "Do you think you're really going to need all that stuff?"

"You never know, now do you?" He replied.

I wondered aloud, "What do you think that pack weighs?"

"I don't know... 40 pounds maybe. Don't worry." He struck a bodybuilding pose, "I can handle it."

I watched as he re-secured his gear. "What's with the big coil of rope?"

"Rattle Snakes, man! I got thirty feet... 3/4 inch... genuine hemp!" He began to demonstrate. "You put it on the ground at night in a circle, like this, around where you're sleeping. Snakes won't cross it... it's too rough on their belly." He coughed, coiling the now dusty rope. He saw that I was biting my lip. 'What? It could happen!" He barked.

"Kinda like a force-field!" I said tongue-in-cheek.

"Exactly! Besides, we can use it as a rescue rope, you know, if ... something happens." He added in a somber tone.

"That's great, Yule Gibbons, but don't you think it's a little short?" I looked over the edge of the canyon. "If we really get desperate, we can always toke on a length of it and use the rest for a noose." I retorted.

"You're a funny guy. We'll see who is prepared for the worst case scenario and who isn't." He grunted as he hoisted his backpack and teetered as he slung it onto his shoulders. He dismissed me with a wry smile when I told him they have a rent-a-Sherpa at the lodge.

"Are your canteens filled?" I asked as we stepped onto the trail.

"Yep! I just brought one 'cuz I didn't want to get weighted down with water. It's 8 pounds a gallon, you know. Besides it's not going to be hot today and I figure I can refill along the way." He explained.

I immediately stopped and turned toward him. "Hey, Meriwether Lewis, you do know where we're going, right?"

"Duh?" He exclaimed, pointing down the trail. "And who is Meriwether Lewis? Is that her?" pointing to another member of our group on the trail.

"Uh... I'm not sure but the guy she's with is named... Clark, I think." I said sartorially.

"Oh yeah, met him yesterday. Hi Clark!" He said as he waved. The man turned and faintly waved back, looking completely confused.

"You seem to be making a lot of assumptions." I said. "You got a map?" 

"I thought you had one." He said quizzically.

"I do. But what if we get separated?" I asked curiously.

"He thought for a moment. "Well... the trail only goes down or up, right? I mean, how tough can it be to figure that out? If you're walking downhill you're headed toward the river. If you're walking uphill you're headed toward the rim. Simple enough. You're either at the bottom on the one end or at the top at the other end. There really isn't much in between, is there?" Now chortling at my expense, he stepped by me.

"Well," I shouted, " if you had a map you would know there is no water to refill along the way. There's no water until we reach Roaring Springs Camp on Bright Angel Creek. It's a half a days walk, 4 miles down." I said emphatically.

He looked back at me. "A half a day to walk four miles?" He rolled his eyes and laughed. "I'll try to keep up."

I knew we needed to maintain a steady, brisk pace to get as deep into the canyon as we could before the sun hit the north wall and the temperature skyrocketed. We began walking down the trail, back through time - about 545 million years by day's end. I had every intention to reach The Great Unconformity by evening. (Sorry, I'm slipping back to those heady Paleozoic days when I was a Geomorphology major). We were no farther than a mile or so down the canyon when my traveling partner peered at my canteen bottles around my waist-belt and contritely asked,  "You got any extra water you can share?" 

Needless to say, the trip was a disaster - at least for my novice outdoor lab partner. He struggled silently in the 100 degree heat under the weight of his ridiculously unnecessary provisions and could only make it back as far as Cottonwood Camp on day three when he admitted he could walk no farther. He had two alternatives at this point: jettison most of his belongings along the trail (more common than you'd think) and try to walk out, or suffer the indignity of having to pay exorbitantly to be "dragged-out" by mule. He chose the latter.

A small crowd of hikers had gathered at the camp's water pump as a dust-weary cowboy descended from the canyon walls on a mule with another mule in tow. "Drag out! Drag out! Where's my drag out!" He shouted as his words echoed off the Redwall Limestone. They sauntered into camp. I could sense my fellow student's humiliation as he approached the grizzled mule-driver. He awkwardly yanked himself into the saddle of the disinterested mule and clung to the saddle horn in desperation - defeated - and with his head on his chest. The crowd stood and watched in silence as the cowboy mumbled and lashed the backpack onto the mule's rump. Within moments the four of them had disappeared up the trail.

The cost of the rescue was more than what my partner paid for his new sleeping bag. He was waiting for me and the rest of the group on the rim the following day. We had to spot him some cash in order to meet the $160 drag-out fee and before they would let him have his gear back.

* * *

An inadequate understanding of the environment you are about to enter can lead you to prepare for the worst-case scenario but still leave you woefully ill-prepared for reality. We all fall victim to it at one time or another to varying degrees. Unfortunately, for many pharmaceutical companies it takes the packaging equivalent of a "drag-out" to realize the far-reaching costs of this assumption.

With more than 20 years of cold-chain experience, I have yet to see, or have explained to me, exactly what is a worst-case scenario? That phrase, like the rubbing of two pieces of EPS together, runs shivers down my spine. As far as I'm concerned it should be stricken from the vocabulary of every self-respecting cold-chain packaging engineer - like "oops!" from the vocabulary of a surgeon, or "honestly" from the vocabulary of a Tarot card reader.

That said, spring training is in full swing and baseball is just around the corner. With opening day just a month away, I am beginning to prepare for my beloved Chicago Cubs to make it to the World Series in October.

What? It could happen!  But in reality... what are the odds?