On the Trail

Empty Headed
(or, The Dumb Beast Blues)

Those brewski barons really hand me a laugh. They advise people to "drink responsibly" as if that didn’t qualify as one of the most glaring oxymorons ever coined.

I’m a non-drinker, but believe me if I did imbibe, the first reason I’d drink was to forget about being responsible and having responsibilities.

They also advise "put litter in its place," surely overlooking the fact that when one is blotto finding a waste receptacle (or an official urinal for that matter) is not a top priority.

But this is what I really cannot comprehend. I hike with a fully-loaded pack and I’m a small person. I carry two full-size bottles of water, a 24 fluid oz. Pepsi, food, dog biscuits, toilet paper, a writing notebook and a change of heavy clothing. It’s a crushing load but I manage to haul it all in and haul it all out again every time.

How is it possible that some of my fellow outdoor enthusiasts—mostly strapping youth or other gym-slimmed types—lug in a "suitcase" of beer (glass or aluminum) to enjoy on a remote spot in the mountains, but cannot find the strength to carry out EMPTIES? A cardboard box and a few crushed cans or some drained bottles? Talk about wimps.

And the scary new trend is towards super-sized elongated cans. These suckers resemble torpedoes or oxygen tanks.

You get a six-pack all in a single sip. Four of these were floating on the surface of a tiny cove in our mobile home community’s lake one recent morning.

I walk my dog daily picking up her nasty contributions to the lovely native landscape while also picking up random bits of trash the little kids are just not yet environmentally aware enough to properly dispose of. An unnatural glittering among the shallow lake’s grasses and floating clouds of algae bloom caught my eye.

There was a park bench a few feet away. Pop-top rings were scattered around its wrought iron legs. It’s the Quaff and Toss Game!

Fish, frogs and turtles make their homes in the lake, herons and ducks use it and despite its diminutive size and somewhat mucky state (due to sediment buildup) the lake is a charming feature. Just not with mega-sized beer cans bobbing in it.

It’s the same along or near some popular hiking trails. Beer must be the No. 1 thirst quencher for overheated hikers judging by what I haul out…when it is haul-able. Boulders in and around a dry creek bed were invented for smashing glass empties. You didn’t know this? It’s one of the Top 10 Rules of Hiking Enjoyment in the Beer Drinker’s Guide to Despoiling the Natural World.

Yup, listen to your headphones where some country western singer is extolling the virtues of a honky-tonk whose spigots never run dry of heartbreak-mendin’ sudsy brew. Then drain that long-necked amber-brown beauty, go into your wind up and pitch! Smasheroo! It’s the Boot-Scootin’ Beer Toss!

Beaches are similarly popular with visitors of this same mentality. Rip-rap and breakwaters are ideal for the Great Beer Bottle Toss ’n’ Smash Game! Some even toss and score from a moving vehicle on the PCH! It’s a sport soon to be recognized by the Olympic Committee.

Occasionally I’ll come upon an empty plastic Gatorade or other "power" drink container or empty water bottles left behind on trails or thoughtfully shoved part way under a leafy sumac. (This is the "hiding litter makes it okay" philosophy. Or, the "If it contained a nutritious drink then it couldn’t possibly be considered garbage" philosophy.) So this then shifts some of the blame from the beer guzzling slobs to include the health conscious slobs.

My dog thinks an empty water bottle is the greatest toy ever invented. She’s no Hercules, you understand, but she’ll manage to carry one in her mouth for miles, all the way back to my truck! Certainly this qualifies her for some sort of civic recognition award, don’t you think? A "dumb beast" who hauls her own empties out.

So for those who enjoy drinking responsibly outdoors the suggestion is made they do so on their own back patios so they can lob empties into the wife’s prized flowerbeds. That way they’ll either wind up divorced, castrated or as one of the new millenium’s most active anti-litter advocates.

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