The grossest hunting story- The morning starts out like any other. I am one for routines. I wake up at 4:00am and roll out of bed . I go downstairs and the dog is going bonkers so I let her out. While she’s out I make a pot of coffee. By the time the coffee is done the dog is ready to come in. I let the dog in, pour a cup of coffee, sit down at the computer and check out huntingnet. Then I head upstairs to take a scent free shower before I leave to go hunting.. It’s the same thing EVERY morning. The morning routine also consists of bodily functions. Just like clockwork after the 2nd cup of coffee I’m heading to the can for my morning crap J. After that I’m good to go. That’s my green light to head to the hunting lodge. However, the other morning there was a kink in my ritual. Everything went like it usually does except the morning crap part. I was freaking out. NOTHING. I mean not even an inkling of needing to go. I was a little bothered by not needing to crap. All I can picture is getting into my stand and having to go. I delay my departure for 10 minutes hoping for some last minute magic. Nothing doing. I can’t wait anymore or I’ll be late to my stand. Away I go and my routine carries on. I travel the same route to the hunting lodge. Same radio station. Stop at the same fields to take a glance etc…. All the while in the back of my mind I am deeply disturbed and now officially out of whack for the morning. I get to the lodge and meet up with my hunting buddies. I try to ignore the fact that I haven’t been to the can yet. I get all my gear on and ready to go to the woods. I thought it wise to get a handful of toilet paper and put it in my pack. Again I’m prolonging my departure to walk to my stand hoping for some last minute movement. Nothing doing. Now I’m actually starting to put it out of my head and figuring everything is ok. I simply just didn’t need to crap this morning for whatever reason. So I’m off to the woods. I have quite a little walk to get to my stand. I get halfway across the winter wheat field I have to walk across and I feel a strange little “gurgle”. Oh NO I think to myself. I stop dead in my tracks like a deer caught in headlights trying to figure it out. It rumbles again and I get a bad feeling. I gaze back at the walk back to the hunting lodge and try to decide if I should make a dash for it. It’s getting closer to light than I want it to and I don’t want to be late to my stand so I try to psych myself out and ignore it. I walk about 10 more steps and it’s like a volcano getting ready to erupt. I know at this point I’m doomed. It’s no longer a gurgle or rumble, it’s coming full force now and there is no escaping. I frantically look back at the way I came and then ahead to the edge of the woods as I’m still standing in the middle of an open field. OH man I’m in trouble. There’s no ignoring it anymore. I start making a mad dash to the edge of the woods. It was a cold morning and I have a lot of gear to shed. My hand warmer (muff) goes flying off. I drop my bow to the ground. I undo my release and wing that. My armguard goes flying. I unbuckle my fanny pack and chuck that someplace. I shed my coat. I’m just about falling over trying to unbuckle my bibs and pull them down. I’m in a marathon dash for my life to get to the woods. I feel like Finch in the movie American Pie when Stifler put Ex-Lax in his drink and he had to go to the bathroom in school. I now have a 50 yard trail of gear through a winter wheat field. I finally get to the edge of the woods and barely get my pants down (I mean BARELY). WHEW!!! Out it comes. I finally took my morning crap. It’s about 25 degrees out and the wind is blowing pretty hard. I’m half naked and freezing my butt off. One minor problem…. I threw my pack someplace in my scramble and it’s still dark out. The pack that had the toilet paper that is. So I crawl around with my pants down to my ankles trying to find it. Finally find it and do what I have to do.
Best story I got isn't hunting related but worth telling anyway ... 5 yrs ago I went to a small rodeo in Evansville, Arkansas, the place is right out of the movie Deliverance. I had to go bad, nerves were getting the best of me, but the small arena didn't even have a portajohn around and there were too many people to go in the woods so I went up to the main house and knocked on the door and told the hillbilly lady my dilemna. She pointed in the direction of the bathroom and mumbled something about "... look out for the beenie weenies ..." Couldn't figure out what the heck she meant until I got to the bathroom and lifted the lid to find a pile of old crap in the toilet. Grin and bear it was all I could think so I added to the pile and ran out of the house. Never been back to that hell hole of a town!
