Nameless Range
Well-known member
Last weekend I was on annual fishing trip with some high school friends. We camped, hiked, drank, fished and survived. One evening, a raucous debate arose questioning the manhood and heartiness of those present.
We were 1.5 miles from a campground at which there were pit toilets, and some of us thought it worth it to drive the 3 minutes down the road to use them, while others thought such behavior was unbecoming. I strongly believe that pooping in a pit toilet is a finer experience than squatting in the wilds, but the question is: How much finer? At what distance is getting to the pit toilet no longer justified, and the proper thing to do is to grab the shovel and take a walk?
A little history that may influence my own assessment: When I was 11 or 12, I went to Boy Scout Camp somewhere out by Anaconda. The toilet situation was a 10 foot 2 x 12, in which 4 toilet holes were cut. There were no dividers. If ya had to go, ya had to go with possibility of someone seeing you. I was deeply bothered by this, and held it in for 3 days. On the night of the 3rd day, I was on the verge of an internal bleve, and so I waited till about 2 in the morning. Certainly, I would have that holed plank to myself. I stayed up and made my move, creeping through the night to the outhouse. I took a seat, and no sooner did I open the valve, than a friend of mine, let's call him Jake, came in. Jake sat down right next to me and began a conversation. And in my relief I was horrified.
We were 1.5 miles from a campground at which there were pit toilets, and some of us thought it worth it to drive the 3 minutes down the road to use them, while others thought such behavior was unbecoming. I strongly believe that pooping in a pit toilet is a finer experience than squatting in the wilds, but the question is: How much finer? At what distance is getting to the pit toilet no longer justified, and the proper thing to do is to grab the shovel and take a walk?
A little history that may influence my own assessment: When I was 11 or 12, I went to Boy Scout Camp somewhere out by Anaconda. The toilet situation was a 10 foot 2 x 12, in which 4 toilet holes were cut. There were no dividers. If ya had to go, ya had to go with possibility of someone seeing you. I was deeply bothered by this, and held it in for 3 days. On the night of the 3rd day, I was on the verge of an internal bleve, and so I waited till about 2 in the morning. Certainly, I would have that holed plank to myself. I stayed up and made my move, creeping through the night to the outhouse. I took a seat, and no sooner did I open the valve, than a friend of mine, let's call him Jake, came in. Jake sat down right next to me and began a conversation. And in my relief I was horrified.