Have You Hydrated Enough Today?

"Excuse me, sir! do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior depicted in the Piss Christ?" Immersion, more commonly known as Piss Christ, by Andres Serrano, is a 1987 photograph of a white crucifix submerged in an aquarium of the artist's own urine. Although it won several awards, its merit was criticized by both art critics and people of faith. But the artistic and theological value of the piece, and I think it has both, is irrelevant. What I find truly problematic about Serrano's Piss Christ is that the artist's urine has the same coloration as a bowl of Spaghetti-O's. 

Based on urine color analysis, I live and move and have my being in a constant state of dehydration. I seem to fancy myself part camel with an ability to go super long periods without consuming water. But as my latest blood work revealed, I am, in fact, only human and my kidney function is what the doctor calls, "below average." I need to drink more water. 

Drinking water is excellent. It's good for us in like a gazillion different ways. Notably, when I drink enough, my urine doesn't come ripping out of my urethra as a flaming, stinking, marigold-colored mess. That, and my recent doctor's visit, is why I decided to drink more of it. And while I don't think I'm ready to post on the hydrohomies subreddit yet, I have made changes in the last couple of months that keep me peeing clear. 

SIDEBAR: upon actual research, it is possible to overhydrate before and during endurance activities. Despite the dictum of "clear and copious," the ideal color of your urine is straw-yellow. See chart above.

I try to maintain a 1:4 coffee-to-water ratio. That means for every 8 oz of coffee, I try to drink 32 oz of water. This is absolutely arbitrary and not backed by science in any way. Maybe it is, I don't know. I could Google it but I won't because it works for me. 

I started substituting apres-ride/climb/work beer for seltzer water. Post your favorite LaCroix flavors in the comments below. I like it plain and Key Lime if I'm feeling like mommy's little fancy boy. And if I'm hitting harder stuff, mango-flavored White Claw is the nectar of the gods.  

But these aren't things you couldn't learn from any self-help and wellness influencers on TikTok. That is to say that these aren't things you didn't know already. And this isn't a blog about home and work. It's a blog about [insert human-powered endurance activity here].

WARNING: It's about to get real techy up in here. TL;DR for the non-gear junkies, the triumvirate of backcountry hydration is this: (1) Katadyn Steripen, (2) Nalgene Ultralite, and (3) Arundel Looney Bin.

When it comes to hydrating in the backcountry, nothing beats the Katadyn Steripen Ultra UV Water Purifier. I bought mine with a pro deal back in 2013 and have used it on every backpacking trip. Every bikepacking adventure. Every rock climbing road trip. Cost-per-use, this baby has paid for itself multiple times. I don't know why I never considered it for shorter day hikes, bike rides, or days at the crag until now. Yet here we are, and it rules. The Steripen is light (4.9 oz) and uses ultraviolet light to purify 32 oz of water every 90 seconds. That means you'll be guzzling the good stuff while your rube friends are still pumping and squeezing and sucking through whatever archaic water purification system they still use. I have safely and successfully purified water from the clearest high country creeks to murky, stagnant ponds. Giardia free since twenty-thirteen. I try not to overcommit myself to any brand or product, but this is a hill I am willing to die on. If you go places outside that require drinking more water than what you bring with you, then you need a Steripen. 

My favorite water-carrying vessel is the Nalgene. Everyone has a Nalgene. I prefer the Ultralite (48 oz or 32 oz) not because I'm an ounce-counter, but because I like the bland non-color and the plastic is a little softer and more malleable for fitting into a bicycle bottle cage. What's that you say? "A bottle cage that fits a Nalgene?!" 

Yes, the Arundel Looney Bin and it's my new favorite piece of gear. A bottle cage big enough for a Nalgene that does not rely on Voile straps, what's not to love? The Looney Bin has enough room even for a big ol' wine bottle (though that might offset your hydration gains). The turn knob ratchet strap keeps my Nalgene secure on even the loosest, baby head-sized, rough stuff descents. The Looney Bin will be on all my bike builds from now on. 

With this holy trinity of hydration, I will never go thirsty again. Glory be to the Steripen, and to the Nalgene Ultralite, and to the Arundel Looney Bin, as it should have been in the beginning, is now, and will be forever, a world without dark yellow pee-pee. Amen.  

Have you hydrated enough today?

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5-Word Gear Reviews: Thermarest Z Lite Sleeping Pad

photo by Ry

The Therm-a-Rest Z Lite has been in production since 1989. It's used by alpinists in Denali National Park, thru-hikers on the Appalachian Trail, and bikepackers on the Tour Divide. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of reviews online. Why do the internet and your email inbox need another one? Because alpinists, thru-hikers, and Tour Dividers are hardcore. These folks can rough it. But what about the normal folks, the weekend warriors, the semi-rad fun-hoggers looking for an outdoor sleep system? Let me tell you.

I have slept outside on a Therm-a-Rest Z-Lite sleeping pad since 2013. Before that, I had a Therm-a-Rest Ridgeline I cut and duct-taped back together to accordion fold like a Z Lite. This did not work well. I have put my Z Lite through the wringer, spending hundreds of nights sleeping on dirt, sand, rock, and snow on this 3/4 inch thick piece of dimpled foam. It is amazing. I fiddled around with inflatable pads from the industry's giants -- Therm-a-Rest, Big Agnes, and REI -- but  I always came running back to the indestructibility of the Z Lite. No popping. No waking up in the middle of the night on the ground due to a slow leak. No snorkeling in the bathtub trying to find the impossibly small hole in need of repair. 

However, the Z Lite has a lot of naysayers. "It’s not plush enough." "It’s too dirtbaggy." "It’s not for side-sleepers." Of course, none of these are true. I recently returned from a camping trip with family. This kind of camping involved extension cords running to box fans inside massive dome tents filled with queen-sized air mattresses. They were all flummoxed when Rebecca and I put together our tiny backpacking tent and their jaws hit the ground when we whipped out our matching set of Z Lite sleeping pads. My sister-in-law was even concerned if we were "going to be okay." Eventually, I convinced her husband to lay on it and he said in five words what reviewers at Outdoor Gear Lab, Backcountry, and Gear Junkie have struggled to say in hundreds of user reviews: 

"Oh, it's not that bad." 

And then he fell asleep. Like, he took a nap right there. This is the power of the Z Lite. It's really not as bad as the inflatable crowd says. My brother-in-law's laconic pre-slumber gear review got me thinking about some more 5-word reviews for this industry standard:

You can sleep on it.

It's only a few nights.

Tummy sleeper? No! Buy it.

Maybe don't if you're eighty.

Basic comfy pad cuts mustard 

Closed cell foam gold standard 

Let's be real: it's cheap.

It gets the job done.

Super-lightweight and ultra-durable

And if hyphenated words count as one word: super-lightweight, ultra-durable that never fails.

*This gear review was not sponsored by Therm-a-Rest and I purchased my Z Lites with my own hard-earned monies. This review was also more than five words. 544 to be exact. I apologize. But please continue to support megasplitter by subscribing to the mailchimp, commenting on, and sending the posts that you like to your friends. 

Coffee Political Compass

I've put a lot of thought into this but I reserve the right to be wrong about everything. 

The moka pot is authoritarian-left because it's working-class espresso. There are some rules and regulations. When the rules are followed it works and it works well. But when the rules are broken it is as brutal and unforgiving a cup as winter in the gulags.  

The Chemex is authoritarian-right but in a fun, weird, Catholic integralism kind of way. The Chemex is for people who like to control every aspect of the brewing process. There are rules but, like medieval art, when followed it renders something exquisite, meaningful, and beautiful. 

The Aeropress is libertarian-right because of the Elon Musk level of nerdy experimentation that it encourages, even if it means disastrous negative consequences. Also, it is cheap, plastic, and looks like drug paraphernalia.

The French Press is libertarian-left. It is laissez faire in its attitude toward how much coffee and how much water you put into it; you can French Press without even thinking. It is also a bland and feckless cup of coffee because, despite its best intentions, it demands nothing and therefore achieves nothing.   

Thoughts? Comments? Cries of disbelief? Leave them in the comments. 

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Shanina the Schwinn Sierra Adventure Bike

Roza Shanina was a lovely and lethal Soviet sniper who served in the Red Army during World War II. She was both conventionally beautiful and remarkably deadly with a kill count of at least 59 German Nazis. And while she described her younger self as boundless and reckless, her friends commented that she valued both courage and the absence of egotism. 

Classic elegance capable of pure carnage.

This is the essence of my 1987 Schwinn Sierra. Thoroughly Red, to be sure, and a beautiful piece of vintage MTB simplicity, slightly modified for all day adventures, throwing itself with reckless abandon at crumbling city streets, dusty Appalachian single track, and never ending forested gravel paths. 

This is a DIY budget build of @goodolenam's Specialized Stumpjumper. I cannibalized a WTB saddle and Wald basket off other bikes and then put some inverted SunLite North Road handlebars and grippies on it. Just needs a front rack to get rid of its bent and rattly basket limbs. I thought about a 1x conversion but the mammoth stock biopace chainring is an actual speed demon from the gaping maw of hell. This machine snipes obscure Strava Top 10s like her namesake sniped fascists. It kills them. 

You Got Everything? -- A Gear Guide to Bouldering

you got everything?

Bouldering is simple: there's a boulder, you climb it. That's bouldering. But this is also bouldering: "Lay down start. Lock off with your left. Heal-toe-cam, down turn knee on your right and crank to a mono pocket. Bump to a crimp. Yard up to an crimp rail and traverse left to a finger crack. Layback the crack up to a another rail and top out through an offwidth." That's the actual beta notes I jotted down for a decidedly unclassic V5 at Zahnd in Georgia.

The gear necessary for bouldering can be as simple and as complex (or contrived) as the above paragraph. Stop any mattress carrying whipper snapper in the woods and you'd be amazed at the amount of gear they carry to surmount 12-20 ft summits. From aesthetic clothing to meticulous skincare products to a quiver, nay, arsenal of climbing shoes, the modern day pebble wrestler has more in common with old crusty big wall climbers than meets the eye. If you want to have a nice time out in the boulders these days, you'll need a checklist of the essentials before you head out the door. Here's the necessities:

1. approach shoes: Southeastern approaches can be demanding. Oh sure, they're mostly flat but the occasional rock, root, or puddle of mud demands proper footwear. These shoes are like normal shoes but uglier and with some rubber on the toe so you can kind of sort of climb V0 in them. Pretty neat, right? Well, they cost about as much as those downsized, downturned asymetrical climbing shoes you got too.
2. bright colored pants: Every climber knows the only reason to climb is for the 'gram. And what good is the post if your neutral colored Carharrts blend in with the dull, boring, grey of the stone? Bright colored, preferably yellow, pants will pop with pizzazz and catch the eye of even the most brain dead, free scrolling instragram zombie. You can almost feel the sweet sweet dopamine hit before your followers even double tap.
3. beanie: Let the trad dads have their tired, unoriginal cliches about shirtless climbers wearing beanies. Heat escapes from your head not your pecs, old man.
4. Crocs: Two-thirds of bouldering is sitting. And those downsized, downturned, asymmetrical, and aggressive shoes can't stay on your feet forever. But putting your socks and shoes back on? Yuck! That's why God invented Crocs. And thanks to Post Malone these comfy monstrosities are back in style. I prefer camo.
   
5. Puffy jacket: No, you may not be belaying twelve pitches up on a big wall on Baffin Island or cutting out a snow cave on the Cassin Ridge but it does get chilly in between burns. Don't underestimate the power of puff! Pro-tip: stuff your shoes inside your puffy to keep those toesies nice and happy!
   
6. comfy climbing shoes: A good warm up is crucial to a productive bouldering session and avoiding injury, but you don't want to look like fool slipping off that edge in your approach shoes and you don't want to look like a gumby climbing the warm up slab in Dragons, so you'll want a pair of nice, flat, comfy climbing slippers to warm up in.
7. aggressive climbing shoes: downsized? check. downturned? check. asymmetrical foot shape? check. The ancient and painful tradition that China finally banned is alive and well in America's boulderfields.  The climbing industrial complex is starting to refute their downsizing ways but the true believers know that the send demands the downsize. I threw a heel hook the other day and I swear my toes were touching my heel... and I sent.
8. chalk pot: No chalkee, no sendee. That's a fact. Lots of chalkee, lots of sendee. That's why chalk pots are so big. Also, using a chalk bag while bouldering is a fashion faux pas. It'd be like a snowboarder in a 1990s Disney movie wearing a turtleneck like some New England prep school ski team yuppie. "Come on Johnny Tsunami, we're going on a Sky Raid!" 
9. multiple crash pads: John Sherman may have been able to send the gnar with only the floormat of his #dirtbagswag whip beneath his feet but that doesn't mean that you should. Carry a crashpad. Carry multiple crashpads. Strap, bungee, or tie them together. Carry yours like a  backpack and strap a second pad on top like a backpack for your backpack. Sling another over one shoulder like a cool kid's backpack on Saved by the Bell. That's three pads for your big long roof project or warm up wall traverse! No broken ankles necessary.
10. scratch pad: Sure, those crashpads were meant to be carried and thrown around outside and take the abuse of dirt and stone but you don't want to get your expensive custom Organic pad design dirty! That's what scratch pads are for. Brush your shoes off like you're entering a rich person's house before stepping onto your crashpads like you weren't raised in a barn! Also, suitable as a crash pad for your lowball choss roof project.
11. bouldering brush: Having trouble on that boulder? You definitely have the right beta and you're definitely strong enough. All that chalk and shoe rubber builds up and is likely what's holding you back. Give it a good scrubbing.
12. another bouldering brush: Still not sending? Try your other brush. No, your other brush. The one with the boar's hair. Oh, they're both boar's? Well, maybe the brush with the wooden handle this time.
    
13. another bouldering brush attached to an extendable painter's pole: The last time you want to be surprised by a greasy grimy sloper crimp is at the top of your highball on-sight attempt. These are the job for the mega-brush. You could tape a brush to a long stick but you'll probably forget to take the tape off anyway and you're committed to the LNT, right? ... RIGHT?! Leave no trace.
    
14. tape: Few things can end a sesh quicker than a big ol' flapper. Protect and prolong your time at the proj with simple climber's tape.
    
15. emery board: Hey Paul Bunyan, your calloused hands may impress your big blue cow or whatever but those gratuitously raised pads might be what's giving you those session-ending flappers. File down your callouses so they don't snag and rip on the stone. Sure, you could do this at home before  climbing but why bother? You have to do something while spraying your friends and anyone else within earshot with beta and V-points.
16. skin care salve: Gobies? Flappies? Dried, split phalanges? Try any number of expensive skin care salves marketed exclusively to climbers. After all, there's a reason traveling medicine shows were a thing, right?
    
17. guidebook: "The guidebook says it's classic but I thought it was choss." "The guidebook says it's V7, but I thought it felt more like V4." "The guidebook says it's V4, but I thought it felt more like V7." "The guidebook says it should be here." "The guidebook says I should stick my head in the microwave and give myself a tan...?" The guidebook -- or the profits made from guidebooks -- is sacred and you must not question it.
18. headlamp: All good things must come to an end. And even though your partner is on her 87th "last burn of the day," the sun may finally be the dad who tells his kids' friends "you don't have to go home but you can't stay here." Seeing how you killed your phone battery posting insta stories all day, you're going to want a headlamp to find your way in the dark. 
19. work-light: Fools, cowards, and gumbies go home when it gets dark. Often, the OGs, bone crushers, and slaydies are just rolling into the parking lot at sundown. Daylight is no reason to cut your session short. The cold night air provides those sweet condies you need for the send and a battery powered or rechargeable work light means you can work your project until the cows come home.
20. phone / camera / GoPro: footie of the send.
21. tripod: stable, level, non-shaky footie of the send. 
22. coffee: legal stimulant for the send.
23. food: sustenance for the send.
    
24. water: hydration for the send.
    
25. beer: celebration for the send. or consolation for the lack thereof.

What did I forget?

A Guide to Coffee in the Backcountry

Figure 1.A

I like good coffee. I have a Chemex, a Bialetti moka pot, three variously sized but mostly neglected French presses, my beloved Aeropress and even the new Aeropress Go. I like small coffee shops and local coffee roasters and I prefer to grind my own beans. But I'm no coffee snob. I buy most of my beans from Aldi and I actually like "bad" coffee. I like left-on-the-burner-all-day gas station coffee. I like that hot, brown, water Waffle House calls coffee. And I like Folgers-industrial-grade-teacher-work-room coffee. Whether pretentiously artisanal or strictly utilitarian, I just really like coffee.

Like many backpackers, alpinists, or dirtbag climbers coffee is an essential piece of gear. It fuels all of my outdoor pursuits. "No coffee. No sendee." (Is that on a shirt? It should be.) And, like many backpackers, alpinists, or dirtbag climbers, it can be difficult to enjoy a good, well-crafted cup of coffee that meets the utilitarian necessities of the backcountry.

Figure 1.B

For a long time backcountry coffee drinkers were faced with a series of trade-offs. Like economists, we were caught in an opportunity costs dilemma: a well balanced, silky smooth cup of java or a piping hot cup of bitter brown water. Good coffee was coffee at home or in town. Bad coffee was in the dirt, under a tarp, or from the back of a truck (Figure 1.B). This was the paradigm I inhabited for quite sometime as a snooty, snarky, ultra-light backpacking snob. As a mountain guide, a halfway decent cup of joe was mandatory to maintain sanity in the mountains with teenagers all summer. But it was dirtbagging around the American West, living out of my truck with the comfort of a two-burner camp stove, a moka pot, and a decent bag of beans that broke me out of the either-or binary and opened my eyes to the tasty potential of camp coffee.

Coffee is, after all, a fluid and should be thought of on a spectrum (Figure 1.A).

Circumstances often dictate where on the spectrum of artistry and utility your coffee falls. At the artistic end, Velo Coffee Roasters in Chattanooga will make you an Americano with espresso filtered back through an Aeropress before adding water. It is one of the finest things I have ever tasted. But as far as climbing is concerned, it isn't very utilitarian. On the utility end, you have the dregs of a Love's truck stop "house blend" pot somewhere in Missouri or Kansas. But between those two ends, there is a vast and fluid scale of artistry and utility and, I have learned, backpackers and alpinists and dirtbags don't necessarily have to give up one, artistry or utility, for the other. You can, at least to some degree, have both.

For example, it is easy to produce a delicious cup of coffee from the tailgate of a truck with a camp stove, a moka pot, and your favorite beans. Add some left over hot water you boiled to make oatmeal and you've got an Americano that will not only impress your climbing partner but also get them to have their morning constitution before you are about to tie in at the base of your project. The Aeropress is a delightful coffee travel companion because of its portability and versatility made only more-so by the new addition of the Aeropress Go. The original model already has a dedicated social media cult driven to post images of the Aeropress mid-brew on airplanes or beaches or mountain summits. More on the "Go" down below.

It is the ultra-light backpacking or 3:30 A.M. alpine start scenarios that often force us to sacrifice artistry and taste for utility and efficiency. I admit that in my more legalistic light and fast days on cold and starlit mornings in the Colorado Rockies, I would forgo the cup and bean all together and hustle down a couple espresso flavored energy gels instead. But this grotesque and troglodytic consequentialist behavior was an unnecessary trade-off imposed by a false sense of binary either/or choices. 

Once, in the Linville Gorge, my friend Russ and I filled two water bottles with water chilled in the North Carolina winter air and dumped in a packet of Folgers instant coffee each. Together, we pounded one and then stashed the other with a cache of cams while climbing 3,000 ft in a day. We'd stop, take a couple swigs, grab the gear we needed, and run to the next route. It may not have been technical cold brew steeped overnight by your local coffee shop, but it served its utilitarian purpose (and it didn't taste terrible either).

The Aeropress Go is a nice addition to this "light, fast, and delicious" category. I have taken mine bouldering and I am dying to take it backpacking. One push through the Aeropress Go can make three servings of espresso-like concentrate; add water to taste or inject it straight into your veins to jump start your central nervous system. However, I imagine that its weight (11.4 oz fully packed) will deter the ultra lightweight super zealots among us.

The MSR MugMate is, for me, and for Backpacker Magazine, the gold standard of taste and efficiency equilibrium. For efficiency, this little pour over weighs just .98 ounces, fits inside your cup, cleans easily, and makes little to no waste because it does not require a paper filter. For taste, it is what you make it. Pour over coffee allows you to experiment with the temperature and amount of water as well the roast and grind of the bean. The best brew is to bloom the coffee in boiled water for a few minutes and then pour it through the filter. Mmm! It's fast, light, efficient and tastes great too. My summers spent as a backpacking guide in Colorado were fueled by the MugMate and I stand by it. (The GSI Ultralight Java Drip is another lightweight option for delicious drip.)

A new trend in the Outdoor Industrial Complex, are artisanal instant coffees. Start ups like Kuju and Alpine Start market pre-packaged instant coffees marketed as "speciality grade" (Kuju) "that actually taste good" (Alpine Start). Alpine Start comes as a stir-in packet and Kuju as a disposable pour over. I picked up a handful of Kujus while trying to use up an REI gift card and I was unimpressed. It creates a lot of trash and at approximately $2.50 per serving you'd be better off with literally any other option.

Figure 1.C

Figure 1.C illustrates various camping coffee options rated on multi-axis scale: more efficient to less efficient and more tasty to less tasty.  Efficiency is determined by ease of brewing, pack-a-ability, weight, and waste. Taste is relatively subjective, but it remains an objective truth that the french press sucks (this includes the ESPRO travel press, GSI Java Press).  There is almost always a better option available than the French Press.

While the french press may be nice for brewing for groups, I find it bulky to pack, difficult to clean, and the coffee just too dang weak. The coffee to water ratio, for me, is too wasteful. If you want it to taste remotely more powerful than Waffle House, its coffee to water ratio must be astronomical. A youtube video swears you can brew a tasty, silky, balanced cup but it takes upwards of nine minutes! Which is nice for a rainy Saturday at home but won't cut mustard if you're trying to beat the crowds to the Valhalla Wall at Ten Sleep. Finally, LNT clean up is a chore, especially when compared to the moka pot or Aeropress. I reserve the right to be wrong about everything but I will not be convinced otherwise.

Figure 1.D

 Lastly, Figure 1.D ranks various camp-coffees with more value placed on efficiency than taste. This scale is useful for the ounce counters -- be they alpinists or ultralight backpackers. Since taste ought to be king, it is given more weight (10 pts) but ease of brew, weight, packability,  and waste account for twice as many points. Under this ranking system, GU espresso pouches score higher than my beloved moka pot while the Aeropress Go outscores the MSR Mugmate by a point.

Camp coffee isn't your granddad's Ozark Trail blue enamel percolator anymore. And while Sam Elliot-style cowboy coffee may be a crucial skill, backcountry coffee doesn't have to be that either.

An Open Letter to Every Outdoor Retail Company Ever

The warm alpine glow bounced off the face of White's Peak, down into the valley which separates it from Mt. Antero. It was cold but the early morning light and the urge to relieve myself beckoned me from my Black Diamond bivy bag. I stretched my legs and wiggled my toes and then began to unzip my bivy hood.

SNAG.

The zipper was caught on the NanoShield fabric. I muscled my index and middle fingers into the minuscule unzipped hole, loosened the fabric, and unzipped some more.

SNAG. 

Repeat a half a dozen more times.

With my head finally dislodged from my delightfully lightweight but agonizingly difficult-to-get-out-of rain shelter, I was a step closer to urinating and starting my day. Reluctantly, I started to unzip my beloved Mountain Hardware UltraLamina 32 sleeping bag.

SNAG. 

I wiggled my left arm free from the mummy bag to pull the ultra lightweight synthetic material out of the teeth of the zipper and pulled some more.

SNAG. 

Now I really had to drain the main vein. My right leg began to bounce a little bit, a little like Elvis but a lot more like a toddler standing in line at a urinal. They can put a man on the moon! I thought to myself while wrestling out a few more snags, crawling out and putting on my Chacos. Thankfully, my campers/clients were still asleep so I didn't have to walk far to relieve myself. I spread my knees in a semi-athletic stance and pulled down the zipper of my Marmot Precip Pants.

SNAG. 

SNAG some more.

A string of unmentionable language vomited from my mouth before I barely could access the crotch zipper of my Kuhl Liberator Zip-Off Pants under my rain shell. I wore my Precips over my shorts because the zipper had fallen off the left pant leg on another mountain another week. It took all that was in me to hold my super charged urine while fiddling with an assortment of zippers and zipper teeth on an array of outdoor retail.What had started as a pleasant, peaceful morning in a lovely valley between two beautiful mountains had turned into urinary nightmare.

Chances are if you have ever spent a night in the woods, you had at least one piece of equipment with a zipper on it. And chances are you have a story similar to my own. Which is why I have written an open letter to every outdoor company ever. "Open Letters" are kind of a thing right now, what with the power of the internet and advent of social media and everything. But I believe in them. In 2007, I wrote an open letter to my congressman to end the Taco Bell monopoly of Mountain Dew Baja Blast. And in 2014, purchasing Baja Blast was made available in gas stations and grocery stores everywhere. You're welcome. Unfortunately, I don't drink soda anymore.

So without further adieu, my open letter to every outdoor retail company ever:

Let's spread this thing around. Let's start a movement. Let's be the change in the world we want to see. 

5 Ways to Poop With Your Ice Ax

"The ice ax and skill in its use allow climbers to venture onto all forms of snow and ice, enjoying greater variety of mountain terrain during all seasons of the year." - Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills

The ice ax is among the most basic and essential of climbing equipment. It has helped mountaineers reach their summits since the nineteenth century and by 1889 the tool was heralded by the Italian Alpine Club as an "inseparable companion of the mountaineer."

As mountain guides working in the summer months on mostly non-technical mountains with teenagers, passer-byers often ask us why we have ice axes on our packs. Yes, it is true we are required to carry them in the early months for emergency glissading; but also, and perhaps more importantly, because they are valuable pooping posture facilitators.

"The ice ax, an inherently simple tool, has many uses," says Freedom of the Hills but what it does not include in its bountiful purposes is taking a dump. The ice ax is perfectly -- though inadvertently -- designed for disposing human waste according to Leave No Trace's cathole method.

First, we must reevaluate the anatomy of the ice ax. The adze is more than adequate for chopping through hard ground and digging a 6-8 inch cathole while the pick or the spike help stabilize the practitioner and find solid ground no matter what angle terrain they find themselves in. If you are one to carry toilet paper with you, the shaft is an excellent toilet paper dispenser. Just make sure you pack it out.

Here are five ways your ice ax can enhance your high country pooping experience.

1. The Standard AKA "The Tug and Poop": This is the "standard route" of using the ice ax as a toiletry tool. Dig your cat hole with the adze, turn the ax around and thrust the pick into the ground. Grab and squat with your pooper over the hole and let it rip.

"welcome to my woods."

2. The Harley Davidson: This method is perhaps the most effective but only below tree line. After preparing your poo receptacle, simply wrap your ax around a sturdy, stable tree and hold on like you're on a fat hog and let her ride.

"hey girl, where yo aspen?"

3. The Jackhammer: Soft ground? Jab the spike into the ground and grab the head (pick and adze) like a jackhammer and pound that poop out.

"mmm, corn!"

4. The Throne: Feeling frisky? Situate your ax like the jackhammer but instead of grabbing on, plant your posterior on the pick and adze and let it drop 60 to 70 cm to its target. It is very, very important that you aim well and sit far enough back that you don't crap on your shaft.

"Robin, you look like a woodland nymph when pooping." - Jamie

5. The Dangleberry: Feeling even friskier? Dig your cathole and dangle over the target area from a select and sturdy tree branch.

Note: select your branch carefully

Special thanks to the lovely ladies of Wilderness Expeditions, Robin and Jamie, for modeling.