In the summer of my twenty-third year, I pooped my pants in Sunshine Canyon, Colorado. Eight years later, I can take you to the exact spot it happened, to the exact place I buried my underwear in shame.
A few years ago, my friend Paul and I were hiking to climb at the Obed and discussing the lyrics of Ice Cube’s “Good Day” when somewhere along the way the discussion turned to pooping your pants. I recounted my experience in Colorado: my first real cross-country climbing trip with my friend Kyle. He was a vegan and I was not but to keep our budget reasonable we shared his diet for a few weeks. Of course, if you’ve ever made the transition to a totally plant-based diet you know that your bowels will take some adjusting. Mine did exactly that one evening after a very bean-y dinner. I reared back (as one does) and forced out what was supposed to be a hilarious fart. Except, it was more. It was a lot more. And I waddled off into the dark and dug a shallow grave for my underpants.
Most people think of pooping your pants as a bimodal probability across one’s lifespan, as an inverse bell curve: babies poop their pants and old people poop their pants. But, according to Paul, pooping your pants is a multimodal probability — not just for infants and the elderly.
There must be some account for people who spend a lot of time in the woods. It would appear that another “peak” or “local maxima” should be added to our graph for the potty-trained aged outdoor folks who, for one reason or another, have their own muddy butt stories. Whether the inability to dig a hole fast enough, a beany vegan diet, or giardia, take it from professional rock climber Jason Kruk who reminded all of us about the statistical probability of pooping your pants when he said, “
It’s just an odds thing, really.”
Here are some stories shared by friends, whose names have been redacted or changed (to characters from Gilligan's Island), where the odds were definitely not in their favor. They are posted here in solidarity with all those with similar stories, for educational purposes and, of course, a good laugh. You may notice a recurring theme of burying one's underwear in the woods. This is not LNT and should be avoided at all costs. Learn from us.
On Giardia or "Beaver Fever"
“Summit day, the first week of July. Two weeks prior, I’d come down from the summit with an inner-city group from Houston and three kids had run out of water so I gave them all of mine. I grabbed Ginger’s water bottle and started chugging before she told me that she had not purified it yet.
Two weeks to the day, I felt it stirring and had 10 seconds before I had to go. I went 55 times in 10 days and lost 14 pounds.
By the end of it, I got so sick of water and crackers, that I chugged a Coke. It shot through my system in 35 seconds and came out carbonated. In my pants. Still smelled like Coke.”
On Our First Backpacking Trip
"The most memorable was with you. The first time we used my water filter, we had forgotten to flush it out before using it. The first bottle was filled with purple water, black specks, and being young and dumb, I drank it. Since the system was now "flushed," your bottle was just fine. But I had to cut my man panties off and bury them in the woods. Then I stuffed my extra underwear in my pants to soak up the diarrhea that kept leaking out my butt while we hiked. Thanks for the memories!”
The Text Message that Inspired this Post
"Me and Mary Ann went on a breakfast date this morning and stopped at the skateboard park. I skated around it once and destroyed my pants. Like an explosion of diarrhea in my jeans. I had to strip naked in a parking lot and just throw my underwear away."
On Inadequate Wiping Opportunities
“Well not as much 'pooped the pants' but I had diarrhea at the top of the big hill at Radnor. I barely made it off the side of the trail and I dropped trousers just in time. But there was nothing good to wipe with. So I had muddy butt the rest of the hike back to my truck.”
On IBS and Possible Divine Judgment
The following comes from a phone conversation with my friend Gilligan: “You know I have more poop in your pants stories than you could ever handle. If you ever write a second edition and it’s not in the woods, I have some amazing stories but I did poop my pants in the woods hardcore once…”
“I can’t remember what mountain I was guiding but I was with The Professor and Mr. Howell. I left them with the kids at high camp, I snuck out and hiked to the truck and drove into Buena Vista, which we're not supposed to do, and I go to K's Dairy Delite and get hamburgers and milkshakes..."
“I have IBS, I don’t know if you know this but I’m lactose intolerant and have irritable bowel syndrome and a spastic colon so that’s a good detail. And of course, I load up on ice cream and cheeseburgers and the whole deal...”
“So I’m trying to be sneaky and I’m hiking back off trail and I remember my daypack is full of burgers and I’m in the middle of nowhere, like this big field with tall grass and nothing else and I had to fart, so I just let it out and I diarrhea’d everywhere.”
"I’m in the middle of nowhere: no leaves, no toilet paper, no wipes, nothing. I wiped with clumps of grass — think about that — and then sacrificed my t-shirt. And I just left it. It was destroyed and I littered. It was not good... For me, it's the textures: my hairy legs, the runny poop, my merino socks, the clumps of grass, and the smell of burgers. I returned to high camp shirtless and covered in poop and nobody ate the burgers."
Have your own story to tell? Leave it in the comments and take full advantage of the anonymity of the internet.
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