I have told this story, or parts of it, for several years. I figure it is time to set it all down on paper. And send it out to all those unsuspecting readers who haven’t heard it before.

But first a warning to those of you with weak constitutions: This story talks about the graphic realities of life on the trail. Things that many of our mothers were embarrassed to talk about. Bodily functions.

But this is a new age. There are all sorts of books out, for men and for women, about living in the out of doors. Books that deal with the subject directly and without euphemism. Titles such as How to Shit In The Woods. I kid you not.

So, without further prevarication, I will discuss the topic of urination in the wilds. In particular, the Pee bottle.

Just remember, I did warn you.

This got started in late 1994 when I took Intermediate Climbing School. Before that I just stumbled out of the tent at night when necessary. In our class about winter camping our instructor, who had recently returned from an attempt on Denali, showed the gear he used. One thing he mentioned was the pee bottle. And the only thing I heard him say was make sure it does not feel like any of your water bottles. A logical statement.

This was an exciting time. My buddy, who took the class the year before, stoked my excitement to try all of the new skills we learned. We arranged a snowshoe backpack in January. This would also be our preparation for the snow cave weekend in February. So we packed our gear, including the experimental bottle, and waddled off into the woods.

Leaving the rest of this epic for another time, let me simply say that we made camp that night at about 4:30 in the afternoon. (Dusk in Oregon in January.) We had dinner and did other stuff and went to bed. We had melted quite enough snow for drinking water during the night, so that was fine. I woke sometime early in the night and realized I needed relief. So I reached out and grabbed my bottle. So now I have my bottle and the need to use it.

Now what?

The reality hit like a sledgehammer. I knew what needed to be done but not how to do it. So I lay there and thought for a while. Finally I came up with a plan that would minimize any chance of spilling and still keep me relatively warm. Then I got into position and implemented my plan. I peed.

And I peed.

And I peed.

And I began to worry. Was the 48-ounce jug was big enough? I didn’t want to turn on the light for fear of waking my friends. But I had to know. I took a peek and sighed. This bottle was big enough for now. But not for a second use.

Fortunately the tent had a back door and I could hold the bottle out at arm’s length and empty it. That got us through the night. We brought these issues up with our instructor at the next lecture and he claimed that he told us to "practice this at home first". So I went home and figured out what I would need to do next time.

When we came for the snow cave weekend I thought I was prepared. I brought a one-gallon juice container (empty of course) that had a nice handle. My buddy had a better idea. He got a one-gallon milk jug and collapsed it. That way it took up less space. Then when he needed it he just blew it up. (Of course I see now that this is useful only for one night. I certainly would not want to try inflating this model after it had been used.) So after we got into a really good snow cave we bedded down for the night. I had had a lot of soup and tea so my bottle got used a lot. But it worked great.

My buddy normally does not make much use of his bottle and this night was no exception, fortunately. I say that because the plastic of milk jugs does not take kindly to flexing. When the bottle was collapsed it formed small cracks or leaks. Fortunately in a snow cave we found this quickly and put that bottle in the lowest corner of the cave on the snow. It was a big snow cave.

The next morning I learned the real advantage of these bottles. The cave had been a bit drafty. When I got out in the morning I discovered about a 20 mile per hour wind. The kind of wind that would have made a tent flap all night. But we were blissfully unaware.

Now there are a couple of other things to cover. First, for any women reading this and thinking "guys! Humpf!" I will tell you about the women in my class. They quickly jumped on our lecturer with the question "It may be easy for guys, but what about us?" He of course did what every male instructor has done since, simply shrug and look helpless and say, "I don’t know".

Remembering this, I happened to run across a woman who had climbed Mount Everest. She was a motivational speaker who talked about her climb. And she talked about using a pee bottle. So after the talk I had a chance to chat with her quietly. I explained how our male instructors are at a loss to teach this technique to women. Did she have any suggestions that I could take back to the class? "Tell them to practice it at home." I was stunned, but I realized that was a wonderful answer.

Now you may be thinking that this is only a winter issue or only a snow issue. But I have found that these bottles are useful year round. For example I took a backpack into Jefferson Park Oregon in late July. Jefferson Park is an extremely beautiful area north of Mount Jefferson. That year was what we call a "normal" snow year and the snow had just melted off of this area, leaving marshland and many lakes. And tons of mosquitoes. That night they tried to carry me off as I heated water for dinner. So once my dinner was ready I killed my stove and dove into my tent. While eating I realized that I had everything I needed for the night. I had water and food and the trusty bottle. I even had my toothbrush. I just looked at the bugs buzzing outside my netting and gave them a Bronx cheer of my own.

In all, indoor plumbing is a useful addition to any tent. And if you happen to see me humping my pack down the trail and notice the big empty bottle with the black "P" on it.

Please, don’t ask.