We’d been in the canoes for three days, and the river was a designated wilderness gorge area. That meant no trash, no food, no waste of any kind left behind, as a condition of Outward Bound groups using the area. So for those three days we’ve been shitting in buckets. With screw on lids. Two buckets for 15 people, eating hippie food.  It was July. You learned how to hold your breath and poop quick. 

When we were finished cleaning the boats and gear,  they told us that somebody had to clean out the buckets. I don’t remember why I decided that I’d volunteer to do it (with another member of my group), but I remember thinking “what the hell –  it has to be done.”

I can still smell it. Right now, as I think about it. The physical presence that happened when we unscrewed those buckets made me gag. It made  the hole of the  septic tank seem benign. It is, without question, the worst thing I’ve ever smelled. 

But here’s the thing: I remember thinking even in those two minutes, I mean how long does it take to dump a bucket and spray a hose into it? It couldn’t be that long because we definitely tried to hold our breath the entire time.. But I remember thinking as I slopping out the honey-bucket, that this would definitely be the most disgusting thing I’d ever have to do, and if I could do this, then I’d know that I never have to do anything more vile in my life. I never have. Of all the things I learned that summer, hiking through the North Carolina wilderness with strangers, that’s definitely one of the biggies. Plenty of things are unpleasant, to the point of physical discomfort, but they just need doing. So you do it, and then go get a piece of gum, and move on.