Privyleged
The meal we eat after hiking one day proves to be the meal we carry in our gut the next day.
(Readers of these posts have no qualms about a topic discussed by aging adults —gastrointestinal stories. Let the squeamish and prudish exit now.)
Beyond a trailhead, where there’s a well-tended outhouse, if not flush toilets with running water, a hiker worries about where to go to the bathroom. A female may envy the male on the trail for standing while taking care of business, but now we’re talking about the business where the playing field is level.
Unlike John Muir, who took off for a long day in the high Sierras with no more than a slice of bread, today’s hiker loads up on fuel even if breakfast comes hours before sunrise. Producing energy from this intake results in discarding, shall we say, leftovers.
Once digested, food asks to be excused from the body.
Bob and I laugh about how, sixteen years ago, we camped out overnight at Jumbo Rocks in Joshua Tree National Park and got up before dawn to climb Ryan Mountain. Since we would return to the campsite after hiking, we left our gear behind. Nature called for Bob so he sought a hiding place among the bare rocks while I detained oncoming hikers. He seemed good-natured upon his return considering that he’d been equipped with no more than his trowel and an energy bar wrapper.
On our trek up Mount Whitney a few years ago, Doctor Bob made sure I had a bedtime fiber drink and then a bounteous breakfast before our marathon journey. The sun had not yet risen when nature called my name. I had resolved to leave no trace of our trek. Resolutions, they say, are made to be broken.
In Colorado, on our way down from Ouzel Falls, after counting on Bob’s trowel earlier, I was delighted to happen upon a stainless steel potty with a split log wall surrounding three sides. It even came with tissue! True luxury!
Better yet, near Odessa Lake, I stumbled upon a new option — the composting toilet.
It was a foreign object to me. It sat on a platform exposed to onlookers though tucked away from the main trail and campsites. When I got home and went walking with my friend who retired from the Forest Service, I learned that composting toilets are being installed across the country.
This toilet’s instructions were simple enough. First, try not to pee into the toilet for that creates an undesirable odor. No problem; campers and hikers become proficient at urinating somewhere behind a tree. Second, see the sawdust? Take the scoop and cover your poop. Third, close the lid and go away.
Adding red wriggler worms speeds things up, but in the cold atmosphere at high altitude, the toilet requires at least three years to finish its business. Still, it’s more sanitary than an outhouse although I’d object to using it to fertilize a vegetable garden.
