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| Spitfire, after a good night's rest. |
There are many, many things that hikers do while on the trail that they would never really consider doing when not on the trail. Finding food on the ground and eating it. Sharing a bed with a guy you met two days ago. Eating 4200 calories in one sitting at a McDonalds. And ending pretty much every conversation with a lengthy discussion about pooping. This is not to say that you absolutely wouldn’t ever do these things in the “real world.” I have a friend who has mentioned pooping in every conversation we’ve had for the past fifteen years. But it’s rare.
On the other hand, there’s one thing that people will almost definitely never do off trail that, if they hike long enough, is almost inevitable. I am, of course, talking about sleeping in a bathroom (AKA "The Privy Bivy").
In 2008, the day before my PCT hike began, Scott “Squatch” Herriott and I were at Mt. Laguna and stopped by the Laguna Mountain Visitor Center. If you take the path to the right, you end up in the Center, and can get all sorts of information about Cleveland National Forest. We took the path to the left, and ended up at the bathrooms, which were large, clean, dry, and comfortable.
“This bathroom is amazing,” I said. “There’s only one problem with it.”
“What’s that?” asked Squatch.
“It’s only 43 miles into the trail. Almost no one will appreciate how nice it would be to sleep in here.”
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| Rainy Pass (or possibly Snowy Pass) |
That’s a complicated way of saying that for the most part, just like real estate, opening a restaurant, and how far away from me you should be sleeping when I’ve eaten a Mountain House Chili Mac With Beef, sleeping in a bathroom is mostly about location, location, location. And possibly rain, snow, and cold.
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| Lose the toss, sleep next to the can. Typo, Hee Haw, and Scallywag. |
Don’t get me wrong -- the things you’d like to see in a bathroom you’re using as a bathroom still apply when you’re using it as a bedroom. Except things are much more relative. It would be nice if it were dry, but it’s definitely drier than your shelter if it’s been raining for the past six days and the inside of your tent qualifies as a Federal Wetland. Warm? Warm is good. And the inside of a bathroom is almost certainly warmer than the outside of a bathroom that’s under a foot of snow. And clean is definitely a positive, but if you’re honest with yourself, you’re already pretty filthy. If anything, the bathroom should be concerned about you.
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| Dirty. But dirtier than you? Not really, no. |
So maybe it’s late in the season and you’re at a place called “Rainy Pass,” and the weather has been teetering back and forth on the line between annoying and alarming. And maybe “Rainy Pass” is called that for a reason (it is), although “Snowy Pass” would also have been an appropriate choice. And there’s a bathroom in the trailhead parking lot (ADA compliant, which to a hiker means “plenty of room for sleeping!”). And like most bathrooms, there might be signs that tell you what you can’t do in there (no smoking, no putting feminine hygiene products in the toilet), but funny enough, none of them ever say “No Sleeping In Here.” Because who would do that?
You. You would do that.
I mean, who would walk from Mexico to Canada? You’re already doing something that doesn’t make any sense. Sleeping in a bathroom won’t exactly make you any more weird than you were before you slept in a bathroom.
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| Hybrid bathroom sleeping. |
So now that’s we’ve very generally covered the merits of sheltering in bathrooms and you realize what a fantastic idea it can be, I know what you’re wondering. “Do you have any tips when selecting this kind of shelter?”
Of course I do.
-- Unlike shopping for a tent, tarp, or hammock, weight is pretty much a non-factor. I don’t even know how much a bathroom weighs.
-- A skylight is a nice touch, but not absolutely necessary. The weather is a festival of misery out there. The sun will, in fact, come out tomorrow -- just not where you are.
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| Also great for cooking in! |
-- Look for hooks and/or nails on your bathroom walls. They’re perfect for hanging up your wet gear and lying to yourself about it drying overnight.
-- Your bathroom is most likely going to be near a road, so the ability to lock it is something to look for. A passing motorist might want to actually use it as a bathroom. But who does that? Isn’t that what the woods are for?
-- an overhanging roof, like a vestibule, is good for storing wet gear, dirty boots, or a hiking partner who has eaten a Mountain House Chili Mac With Beef for dinner.
-- as with fish, and um, let's just go with shoes: size matters! You really can't get a good night's sleep in a PortaJohn.
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| Don't try it. Trust me. |
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| Remember to tip your housekeeper! |
You’ll find other things to look for as you gain more experience by spending more time in bathrooms, but those are just the details. Overall, try to keep this in mind: the charms of thru-hiking are many -- the beauty of the mountains and wild spaces; the restoration of faith in humanity through the kindness of strangers; the ability to destroy two large Meat Lovers Pizzas plus an entire apple pie and not gain weight.
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| SOL on the CDT in a bathroom "vestibule." |
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| John Muir probably didn't say this. |
Note: As usual, I write these things, but I don't make them alone. Special thanks to those who answered my call for help/provided photos: Annie Mac, Hee Haw, Balls, Smooth, Spitfire, Neon, Daredevil, Wired, Skeeter, SOL, Mags, and Squatch.
