Pooping in the Woods

Tent camping in the breathtaking Wasatch Forest, devoid of amenities and cradled by the whispers of nature, is an experience unlike any other, especially when shared with my partner Ericka and our loyal dog Sampson. As we pitched our tent near a tranquil, meandering river, the serenity enveloped us, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves and distant bird calls. Each morning, we woke to the gentle sound of water flowing over smooth stones, casting a spell that urged us to explore the untouched wilderness surrounding us. Days were spent hiking through underbrush to find stunning vistas and wildflowers swaying in the breeze, while Sampson darted joyfully in and out of the underbrush, his excitement contagious. In the evenings, as the sun dipped behind the mountains and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, we gathered around a crackling campfire, the warmth of the flames a stark contrast to the cool mountain air.

One night as I slept nestled deep within my sleeping bag, the serene atmosphere morphed into an unsettling landscape when I awoke to a series of heavy sniffs echoing through the stillness of the night. My heart raced as I instinctively thought it was a bear, the primal fear gripping me like a vice. Laying silently in my sleeping bag, I could feel the tent fabric quivering slightly with each inquisitive sniff from outside, a reminder of how small and vulnerable I truly was in the vast, untamed wilderness. The rustling leaves and soft crunch of twigs heightened my anxiety, painting a vivid mental picture of the massive creature outside. Was it circling my tent, assessing whether I was friend or foe? My mind raced with a combination of fear and absurdity; I was sure the bright yellow fabric of my tent must resemble a Twinkie to the hungry beast.

Eventually the lumbering bear retreated, leaving me trembling in its wake. The gentle rustle of the leaves and the distant hoot of an owl played on my nerves, while the thought of the bear's massive form looming just outside my sugary haven sent shivers down my spine. I found myself both terrified and oddly amused by the comical imagery -- here I was, in a snack-like shelter, a rather unappetizing offering to the majestic creature of the forest. Hours passed as I remained cocooned in my bright yellow fortress, my heart pounding in time with the rhythm of the night, each sound amplified within the confines of my edible-looking bubble. To make matters worse, I desperately had to pee!

The night had been a symphony of crackling twigs and distant rustles as I lay in my cramped tent, the chilling grips of fear causing my imagination to run wild. Sleep eluded me, driven away by the primal instinct to survive, as the shadows outside danced ominously in the moonlight. As the sun rose above our makeshift campsite, I summoned the courage I didn't know I possessed and finally unzipped the tent flap to confront my fears. Expecting to see the remnants of a bear's nocturnal wanderings, I stepped into the crisp morning air and viewed the unmistakable prints of a moose carving their presence into the soft ground around my campsite. The moose prints, large and spread apart, told the tale of a peaceful evening stroll rather than a fierce predator's search for food. I couldn't help but chuckle at my own foolish fears.

After hours of holding my bladder, I decided that nature's call was simply too urgent to ignore. As the chill of the forest air bit at my skin, I grabbed my portable toilet seat like a makeshift throne and headed into the trees.  Clutching the toilet seat in one hand while navigating the underbrush with the other, I finally found a secluded spot that offered a semblance of privacy amid the towering aspens. With a mix of relief and amusement at the absurdity of the situation, I set the seat down, feeling a strange sense of connection with the wild around me.

As I squatted among the ancient trees, nature's symphony played softly: the rustling leaves, the distant chatter of woodland creatures, and the gentle trickling of a nearby stream creating a serene backdrop for my moment of vulnerability. Suddenly, the tranquility shattered as three mountain bikers whizzed down the mountain, their laughter echoing through the forest. Time seemed to slow as they zipped past, their stunned expressions mirroring my own embarrassment—a raw fusion of humor and humility in the wild. As they flashed past me, each one said, "Morning mam" before continuing their journey. I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all, an unexpected intersection of human life and nature's call, encapsulating the spontaneity and unpredictability that defines outdoor adventures.

Trudging into camp, I shared my morning of humiliation with Ericka. She laughed uncontrollably as I related the tale of my exposed derrière during such a private act. As we sat on a sun-drenched log drinking freshly brewed campfire java, our shared giggles turned my baseless fears of a nighttime bear as well as my pooping adventure into a playful comedy, reminding me that sometimes, the most ludicrous events can forge the strongest bonds. In that moment, I realized that facing life with a partner can highlight the absurdity of life and bring joy to any situation.