Word of caution to the reader, this story may contain offensive, vulgar, crude and disgusting imagery... depending on the vividness of your imagination.
Everyone does it, it is a critical component to living, you eat and you shit. This story is about the latter.
You're welcome to stop reading.
Camping amongst the forest can be such bliss, wind sailing through the pines, the smell of soil beneath your feet and the sense of true solitude. After a morning slow drip coffee warmed over a gas stove resting on rocks, one can feel the need to consider the next 15 minutes of your time carefully. The bowel is rumbling and it best not be ignored.
Not as primitive as the bear, we have at our disposal a small hand held shovel and a half used roll of toilet paper. We wander away from camp for privacy and peace. With no rush to move camp soon we have time to explore the ideal resting place to make our squat. 'Why?' do you ask, while I know most like to flick through their phone while on the porcelain, or turn a magazine, what better feeling to take your time overlooking a vast forest and imposing mountain in the distance. So I choose a nice elevated hill, surrounded by pines with the ground soft enough to dig.
Now I know we've all been there, only slightly needing to go to the toilet, but just enough to start the walk towards. As we near the toilet, or possibly stand in line to wait, that slight need starts to turn. The bowel knows its time is soon and commences pre-start checks. This leaves you in a slight state of worry as the closer you get, the more you need to go. What I describe here had not begun with me just yet, not until I began digging. I was relaxed, at peace, ready to go at my own pace, but as soon as that small spade hit dirt, the switches were flicked. The deeper I dug, the faster it came on. Wanting a nice deep hole was always my method, at previous events I would flick a little dirt on top as time passed to prevent the smell from wafting. I began to worry that my hole would not be deep enough.
I'm certain it was either Socrates or Shakespeare that said, 'Thine hole chooseth thy man.'
It had to happen sooner than planned, a little underprepared and slightly rushed, I turned quickly and lowered the shorts to the exact length. Not too low, not too high and began my business.
'So be it,' I thought. If this is the way it is to be, I am going to enjoy my solitude. So I squatted, I looked about, I took in the scenery, i was pleased. Until.
Until, I felt a niggle on my feet. A niggle became a pinch. I look down to my Havaiana thongs and barefeet, 'Holy Shit!' I decry, I'm sitting in a f*cking ants nest! It would appear, that whilst I dug, with the ground so soft, I had dug into an underground labrinth of a million strong ants nest. This was not going according to plan.
Only halfway through the job, I tried to raise myself up ever so slightly and commence jiggling one foot at a time. The ants were having nothing of the sort, they were angry and determined to nibble this inconsiderate destroyer until he moved on. As the pinches dug deeper and worked higher, panic set in. The job would have to come to an abrupt halt, deep muscle clenches crunched down on the bowel and forced it to wait. Three quick wipes is all that sufficed as I lept into the air and began my crazy ants dance. Shorts still halfway down my legs, I kicked and swiped and swatted in a frenzy. Eventually moving further away from the ants nest and being able to control the stinging pinces.
At last, with the ants no longer hassling me, I turned to my hole and surprisingly, felt no more desire to re-ignite the bowel movement. Instead, I carefully covered the hole from a distance and made my way down to the nearby stream. There I was able to wash myself more convincingly and despondently walk back to camp.
It was not what I had planned, I suppose the same could be said for the ants. For something that we all do, I hope others have better experiences than this one.
Everyone does it, it is a critical component to living, you eat and you shit. This story is about the latter.
You're welcome to stop reading.
Camping amongst the forest can be such bliss, wind sailing through the pines, the smell of soil beneath your feet and the sense of true solitude. After a morning slow drip coffee warmed over a gas stove resting on rocks, one can feel the need to consider the next 15 minutes of your time carefully. The bowel is rumbling and it best not be ignored.
Not as primitive as the bear, we have at our disposal a small hand held shovel and a half used roll of toilet paper. We wander away from camp for privacy and peace. With no rush to move camp soon we have time to explore the ideal resting place to make our squat. 'Why?' do you ask, while I know most like to flick through their phone while on the porcelain, or turn a magazine, what better feeling to take your time overlooking a vast forest and imposing mountain in the distance. So I choose a nice elevated hill, surrounded by pines with the ground soft enough to dig.
Now I know we've all been there, only slightly needing to go to the toilet, but just enough to start the walk towards. As we near the toilet, or possibly stand in line to wait, that slight need starts to turn. The bowel knows its time is soon and commences pre-start checks. This leaves you in a slight state of worry as the closer you get, the more you need to go. What I describe here had not begun with me just yet, not until I began digging. I was relaxed, at peace, ready to go at my own pace, but as soon as that small spade hit dirt, the switches were flicked. The deeper I dug, the faster it came on. Wanting a nice deep hole was always my method, at previous events I would flick a little dirt on top as time passed to prevent the smell from wafting. I began to worry that my hole would not be deep enough.
I'm certain it was either Socrates or Shakespeare that said, 'Thine hole chooseth thy man.'
It had to happen sooner than planned, a little underprepared and slightly rushed, I turned quickly and lowered the shorts to the exact length. Not too low, not too high and began my business.
'So be it,' I thought. If this is the way it is to be, I am going to enjoy my solitude. So I squatted, I looked about, I took in the scenery, i was pleased. Until.
Until, I felt a niggle on my feet. A niggle became a pinch. I look down to my Havaiana thongs and barefeet, 'Holy Shit!' I decry, I'm sitting in a f*cking ants nest! It would appear, that whilst I dug, with the ground so soft, I had dug into an underground labrinth of a million strong ants nest. This was not going according to plan.
Only halfway through the job, I tried to raise myself up ever so slightly and commence jiggling one foot at a time. The ants were having nothing of the sort, they were angry and determined to nibble this inconsiderate destroyer until he moved on. As the pinches dug deeper and worked higher, panic set in. The job would have to come to an abrupt halt, deep muscle clenches crunched down on the bowel and forced it to wait. Three quick wipes is all that sufficed as I lept into the air and began my crazy ants dance. Shorts still halfway down my legs, I kicked and swiped and swatted in a frenzy. Eventually moving further away from the ants nest and being able to control the stinging pinces.
At last, with the ants no longer hassling me, I turned to my hole and surprisingly, felt no more desire to re-ignite the bowel movement. Instead, I carefully covered the hole from a distance and made my way down to the nearby stream. There I was able to wash myself more convincingly and despondently walk back to camp.
It was not what I had planned, I suppose the same could be said for the ants. For something that we all do, I hope others have better experiences than this one.
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