Running the Gamut
by Kathleen Meyer
September 2012
September 2012
Last month I wrote the guest blog—“Uh-Oh!”—for Philip Werner’s Web site SectionHiker. If you haven’t read it yet, or perused the pooping/weeing photos, or checked out the comments, prepare to be amused and educated!
Uh-Oh!
To get you up to speed on trail lingo, “section hikers” are folks who traverse the long trails—as in, the Appalachian Trail, the Continental Divide Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail—section by section, not necessarily in order, over the course of more than one year. Those hiking an entire trail in one slog are called “thru-hikers.” “Flippers” are just that, perhaps attacking the southern section first, then, after the snows melt, jumping to the north end. The speed-demons who manage to cover all three trails in one year can claim the honor “Triple Crowner.” On top of those appellations, and to solve the problem of there being among us too many John’s and Bob’s and Mary’s, long-distance hikers adopt personal trail monikers—say, “Flyin’ Brian,” “Moose Charmer,” “Blueberry Fingers”—for which they become known all along their routes. Sometimes, a trail name sticks because of a fellow hiker’s drubbing, er dubbing: “Root Beer Hog.”
But back to my guest appearance. About the time the eastern seaboard was heading toward midnight and I’d been at the screen in Montana for ten hours watching comments roll in, decidedly from women, I, in my cross-eyedness, blithely tossed out a general challenge for men to share a shit-in-the-woods story. The submitter of the funniest poo story would win a signed copy of How to Shit and a matching T-shirt. Two chronicles appeared before we all withered for the night; the third, I found in the morning. One posted to SectionHiker. The other two, to my blog. (Look for J. Mark Lane on the guest blog, Dennis Blanchard and Keith below.)
Because, together, the three stories ran the gamut of emotions associated with fecal disasters, and because the authors, while getting quite graphic, kept, as requested, to the high road of eloquence, I decided that they all won. Keith, for the category “courageous first entry & most soul-baring.” Dennis, for “absolute funniest” (at least, for everybody but the poor squatter). And J. Mark, for “sweetest.”
Before I forget, here is the string of feelings: shame; guilt; self-flagellation; embarrassment to the point of mortification; fear; gratitude; empathy; kindness; closeness and friendship; humility; humiliation; forgiveness; acceptance; compassion; respect; protectiveness; and then hilarity . . . from two sources. (What else can we do but laugh? and I’m fine because he’s entirely worse.) Add some more.
Hallelujah Keith, for stepping up to divulge something that has no doubt happened to us all, if not in the backcountry, then on a race from the front door to the powder room or in the aisle at the grocery store: Not getting there on time. To have then agonized about your wreckage upon nature, sets you far above the crowd. The same ailment has visited me on several occasions, and only once have I been in a position to circle back and tidy things up. And yet, if these were the only types of unfortunate episodes occurring out there, Mother Nature would be content, and empathetic.
With none of the authors offering up a trail name, I hereby take the opportunity to pin one on each. Keith merits “Bravo!” Dennis, henceforth, will be known as “Belly Laugh” or “Yikes!” (By the way, I’ll never use your dung hole!) And J. Mark, I’m happy to knight: “Rides a White Horse.” For the record, I’d send any babe-in-the-woods hiking with J. Mark.
Thank you, all.
But back to my guest appearance. About the time the eastern seaboard was heading toward midnight and I’d been at the screen in Montana for ten hours watching comments roll in, decidedly from women, I, in my cross-eyedness, blithely tossed out a general challenge for men to share a shit-in-the-woods story. The submitter of the funniest poo story would win a signed copy of How to Shit and a matching T-shirt. Two chronicles appeared before we all withered for the night; the third, I found in the morning. One posted to SectionHiker. The other two, to my blog. (Look for J. Mark Lane on the guest blog, Dennis Blanchard and Keith below.)
Because, together, the three stories ran the gamut of emotions associated with fecal disasters, and because the authors, while getting quite graphic, kept, as requested, to the high road of eloquence, I decided that they all won. Keith, for the category “courageous first entry & most soul-baring.” Dennis, for “absolute funniest” (at least, for everybody but the poor squatter). And J. Mark, for “sweetest.”
Before I forget, here is the string of feelings: shame; guilt; self-flagellation; embarrassment to the point of mortification; fear; gratitude; empathy; kindness; closeness and friendship; humility; humiliation; forgiveness; acceptance; compassion; respect; protectiveness; and then hilarity . . . from two sources. (What else can we do but laugh? and I’m fine because he’s entirely worse.) Add some more.
Hallelujah Keith, for stepping up to divulge something that has no doubt happened to us all, if not in the backcountry, then on a race from the front door to the powder room or in the aisle at the grocery store: Not getting there on time. To have then agonized about your wreckage upon nature, sets you far above the crowd. The same ailment has visited me on several occasions, and only once have I been in a position to circle back and tidy things up. And yet, if these were the only types of unfortunate episodes occurring out there, Mother Nature would be content, and empathetic.
With none of the authors offering up a trail name, I hereby take the opportunity to pin one on each. Keith merits “Bravo!” Dennis, henceforth, will be known as “Belly Laugh” or “Yikes!” (By the way, I’ll never use your dung hole!) And J. Mark, I’m happy to knight: “Rides a White Horse.” For the record, I’d send any babe-in-the-woods hiking with J. Mark.
Thank you, all.
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Running the Gamut
by Kathleen Meyer
September 2012
September 2012
Last month I wrote the guest blog—“Uh-Oh!”—for Philip Werner’s Web site SectionHiker. If you haven’t read it yet, or perused the pooping/weeing photos, or checked out the comments, prepare to be amused and educated!
Uh-Oh!
To get you up to speed on trail lingo, “section hikers” are folks who traverse the long trails—as in, the Appalachian Trail, the Continental Divide Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail—section by section, not necessarily in order, over the course of more than one year. Those hiking an entire trail in one slog are called “thru-hikers.” “Flippers” are just that, perhaps attacking the southern section first, then, after the snows melt, jumping to the north end. The speed-demons who manage to cover all three trails in one year can claim the honor “Triple Crowner.” On top of those appellations, and to solve the problem of there being among us too many John’s and Bob’s and Mary’s, long-distance hikers adopt personal trail monikers—say, “Flyin’ Brian,” “Moose Charmer,” “Blueberry Fingers”—for which they become known all along their routes. Sometimes, a trail name sticks because of a fellow hiker’s drubbing, er dubbing: “Root Beer Hog.”
But back to my guest appearance. About the time the eastern seaboard was heading toward midnight and I’d been at the screen in Montana for ten hours watching comments roll in, decidedly from women, I, in my cross-eyedness, blithely tossed out a general challenge for men to share a shit-in-the-woods story. The submitter of the funniest poo story would win a signed copy of How to Shit and a matching T-shirt. Two chronicles appeared before we all withered for the night; the third, I found in the morning. One posted to SectionHiker. The other two, to my blog. (Look for J. Mark Lane on the guest blog, Dennis Blanchard and Keith below.)
Because, together, the three stories ran the gamut of emotions associated with fecal disasters, and because the authors, while getting quite graphic, kept, as requested, to the high road of eloquence, I decided that they all won. Keith, for the category “courageous first entry & most soul-baring.” Dennis, for “absolute funniest” (at least, for everybody but the poor squatter). And J. Mark, for “sweetest.”
Before I forget, here is the string of feelings: shame; guilt; self-flagellation; embarrassment to the point of mortification; fear; gratitude; empathy; kindness; closeness and friendship; humility; humiliation; forgiveness; acceptance; compassion; respect; protectiveness; and then hilarity . . . from two sources. (What else can we do but laugh? and I’m fine because he’s entirely worse.) Add some more.
Hallelujah Keith, for stepping up to divulge something that has no doubt happened to us all, if not in the backcountry, then on a race from the front door to the powder room or in the aisle at the grocery store: Not getting there on time. To have then agonized about your wreckage upon nature, sets you far above the crowd. The same ailment has visited me on several occasions, and only once have I been in a position to circle back and tidy things up. And yet, if these were the only types of unfortunate episodes occurring out there, Mother Nature would be content, and empathetic.
With none of the authors offering up a trail name, I hereby take the opportunity to pin one on each. Keith merits “Bravo!” Dennis, henceforth, will be known as “Belly Laugh” or “Yikes!” (By the way, I’ll never use your dung hole!) And J. Mark, I’m happy to knight: “Rides a White Horse.” For the record, I’d send any babe-in-the-woods hiking with J. Mark.
Thank you, all.
But back to my guest appearance. About the time the eastern seaboard was heading toward midnight and I’d been at the screen in Montana for ten hours watching comments roll in, decidedly from women, I, in my cross-eyedness, blithely tossed out a general challenge for men to share a shit-in-the-woods story. The submitter of the funniest poo story would win a signed copy of How to Shit and a matching T-shirt. Two chronicles appeared before we all withered for the night; the third, I found in the morning. One posted to SectionHiker. The other two, to my blog. (Look for J. Mark Lane on the guest blog, Dennis Blanchard and Keith below.)
Because, together, the three stories ran the gamut of emotions associated with fecal disasters, and because the authors, while getting quite graphic, kept, as requested, to the high road of eloquence, I decided that they all won. Keith, for the category “courageous first entry & most soul-baring.” Dennis, for “absolute funniest” (at least, for everybody but the poor squatter). And J. Mark, for “sweetest.”
Before I forget, here is the string of feelings: shame; guilt; self-flagellation; embarrassment to the point of mortification; fear; gratitude; empathy; kindness; closeness and friendship; humility; humiliation; forgiveness; acceptance; compassion; respect; protectiveness; and then hilarity . . . from two sources. (What else can we do but laugh? and I’m fine because he’s entirely worse.) Add some more.
Hallelujah Keith, for stepping up to divulge something that has no doubt happened to us all, if not in the backcountry, then on a race from the front door to the powder room or in the aisle at the grocery store: Not getting there on time. To have then agonized about your wreckage upon nature, sets you far above the crowd. The same ailment has visited me on several occasions, and only once have I been in a position to circle back and tidy things up. And yet, if these were the only types of unfortunate episodes occurring out there, Mother Nature would be content, and empathetic.
With none of the authors offering up a trail name, I hereby take the opportunity to pin one on each. Keith merits “Bravo!” Dennis, henceforth, will be known as “Belly Laugh” or “Yikes!” (By the way, I’ll never use your dung hole!) And J. Mark, I’m happy to knight: “Rides a White Horse.” For the record, I’d send any babe-in-the-woods hiking with J. Mark.
Thank you, all.
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© 2011 by Author Kathleen Meyer • All Rights Reserved
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© 2011 by Author Kathleen Meyer • All Rights Reserved
Web site design by RapidRiver.us