There are some aspects of hiking that have felt too, um, delicate, to discuss in a public forum, but a recent experience on a trail in north Georgia made me realize that my readers might have questions, and I have answers, and a story to tell.
Most of our family vacations when I was growing up were camping trips. We had a large canvas tent that slept all five of us. Note only did it hold our mats and sleeping bags, but also a portable toilet for nighttime emergencies when it was too dark to walk to the bath house. When we we out and about in the woods, my sisters and I were taught by our mother how to relieve ourselves. The technique is one I still use to this day:
First, find a tree that is sturdy but small enough to grasp with two hands. Ideally, this tree should be on a slope and in an area devoid of poison ivy. Drop your drawers to your ankles, face the tree and grab it. Then, stick out your rear end, preferable downhill, lean back, squat, and empty. If you have the foresight to pack toilet paper, you can wipe and place the used tissue in a ziplock baggie to dispose of later. (A large rock can serve the same purpose as a tree.)
I taught my daughters this tree holding technique, and the eldest daughter caught on easily. The younger daughter was about six years old, and on her first attempt, she did not lean back far enough and ended up directing the stream into her ankle-wrapped panties. My sister’s daughter filled her socks on her first try.
I had a deep meaningful discussion about these matters with a cousin a few years back. Evidently I wasn’t clear enough in my instructions because she later told me that she actually leaned her bare back against the chosen tree in a squat and scraped herself up pretty badly. She also said that her husband was quite mystified with her technique. “But this is how Renée does it,” was her reply. Um, no.
I was on a hike last week with my youngest daughter, in north Georgia, as I said, as part of my training for climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I chose a challenging trail with steep inclines which required lots of hydration because of all the exertional sweating.
The urge made an appearance, and as my daughter preformed the duty of lookout, I found a suitable tree on a suitable slope with no surrounding poisonous plants. I undid my shorts, dropped them and my underwear to my ankles, grabbed the tree, and leaned back. Only, the tree came with me, breaking off at ground level with a loud snap. I fell onto my back, still clutching the tree, and landed in leaf litter. The cracking sound and my “Oooof!” caused my daughter to whip her head around to see me lying on the ground with my pants around my knees, holding a tree. Once she could tell that I was unharmed, she began to howl with laughter, and fortunately, decided against taking a photograph. I sprang to my feet, throwing the tree to the side, and began to pick off the leaves and pine needles stuck to my buttocks. I left the tree, which was obviously dead, lying across the trail, and when we passed it on our return route, I gave it a salute.
I really must learn the treeless squat technique.