Got stung on my twig and berries by a swarm of Yellow Jacket Wasps while trying to poop off the trail. This really happened. As we reached the bottom of the gorgeous forks of the Kern River dressed in fall yellows and oranges, I was compelled to do that very natural thing that God’s creatures do—And with haste! Hobbling off the trail and tossing my pack, I found a stick and started digging through foot-or-so deep decaying pine needles. Stop reading now if you’re squeamish. In rapid desperation I assumed the position—I’m not kidding you, within two seconds I felt a confusing number of sharp pains all over my tenderloins and one on the top of my head (through my wig!). There was a nano second of what-was-that! until I saw one of those yellow flying demons on me like I was an unguarded campsite hot dog. In an instant I yelped like a dog with its tail shut in a door, half pulled up my drawls, and ran all the way up the hill hobbling like a bow-legged cowboy on my invisible horse. Tried to finish my business there, but again, in seconds I was getting another sting direct to the butt cheek. In hind sight, my best guess is that I dug into a wasp nest and proceeded to defecate on their home….in which case I grudgingly admit that the attack was justified. But MAN! It’s the next morning now and feels like an endless case of blue balls.
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