There is something about being out of doors in an isolated area (with friends who have nothing to hide from the others) that pops the seams of social restraints. Sitting around the campfire can become a kind of libertine free-for-all'if you have something to say, you say it; if you have rumble in the gut, you let it rip, perhaps even exaggerating its intensity. The images of the campfire scene in Mel Brooks Blazing Saddles comes readily to mind, with the many grimaces, physical contortions, explosive emissions, and disgusted reactions (often exaggerated also).

People observing from a distance or casually taking note recognize right away what is going on. The circle of guys standing fairly close to each other suddenly separates into a group of one while the seven or eight others retreat a few yards away, gasping and clutching their nostrils, while howling plaintively that obviously something had died in the offender's colon. After a bout of people's fanning the air and regaining their composure, the circle closes again until the next eruption.

On one trip in particular, the cuisine for the day had been some fried fish, some hot dogs, several bags of peanuts in the shell, and a large batch of ?home-made? chili, loaded with beans and onions.

Well'at the fire that night, an especially cool evening, most of the guys were standing with their backs to the fire to warm up uniformly, turning almost in unison after a minute or two. This whole body toasting had gone on for a bit, when Gary, one of EZ's nephews, suddenly lifted his leg and let loose an anal explosion that surprised Rick, who was standing next to him, to the point where he leaped a foot into the air yelling ?What the hell was that?? Almost at the same moment, Ron erupted in similar volume and force, followed quickly by Hop, then me, then EZ and Gasser; it was a genuine gastric concert, spontaneous but orchestrated, a malodorous melody, a noisome symphony to which just about everybody contributed in tight sequence, like a jazz group featuring solos on each instrument, a wild run of ?thrapps,? ?booms,? and a smattering of two-toned ?ferrip/ferrap.? Those who were not originally moved then tried their best to whip up a wind-breaker of some kind. The hilarious outpouring of colonic creativity sustained for several minutes, ending in a ?toot? from Muskie.

This was the way that whirl ended, not with a ?bang,? but a ?whimper.