Well, I guess I can tell it. After all, what's written on the Surl stays on the Surl, right?
When I was 13 or 14 years old I had a friend in Temple whose uncle was a surveyor. His uncle was young and liked to drink and have a good time and he was really like an older brother as opposed to an uncle. Anyway, one time this uncle asked me and my friend if we wanted to go down to Kerrville with him to survey a huge ranch that he had been employed to survey for some reason. It was summer and we weren't doing anything and my dad said okay so we went. Last thing my dad said was "put some toilet paper in your pack. You never know when you might need it." Ever the dutiful boy scout, I did so.
My friend's uncle had sold us visions of horseback riding and ranch fun but when we got down there it quickly became apparent that his uncle was going to put us to work, hauling transits, moving stuff around at a far distance --- whatever it was he needed for us to do. I was out there for some reason in an area of tall grass far away from the others when nature called. Looking around, I could see that I was alone ... and I had my toilet paper. So there I was out there in the tall grass, doing my thing, my pants around my ankles, when a pack of javelinas started moving through the grass all around me. There were 15-20 of them. I was petrified. I don't know that I'd ever even seen a javelina in the wild. And they were snorting and rooting around and ripping stuff up and I could see their tusks but I absolutely could not move because of the way my pants were situated. The javelinas didn't seem to notice me, though, and quickly moved on. I finished my business and, feeling like Marlon Perkins in Wild Kingdom, pulled my pants up and buckled my belt. I hadn't moved more than 20-30 feet when two Hispanic men approached me from out of nowhere. I was completely mortified and, being that they were grown men and bigger than I was, a bit frightened. Through their broken English and my broken Spanish, I figured out they were headed toward Kerrville and wanted to know how far it was. "Norte," I said, pointing in the right direction, "vente kilometers." At that point, one of the men put his fingers to his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle, whereupon an entire Hispanic family ---- a mother, a grandfather, a boy, and two girls ---- scrambled down an embankment and started walking toward me. They kept on going, of course, leaving me to realize that my entire escapade had been witnessed by the entire family, the girls included. When I told my friend's uncle what had happened he ROARED with laughter. Later that evening, though, he let us drink some of his Schlitz beer.
But, yeah, think you're out there in the middle of nowhere, completely by yourself ... only to find out that you are not. It taught me a lesson, though, that has stuck with me to this day: always, always ALWAYS make sure you're alone, then go and scout again to make sure you're REALLY alone. Then do your business as quickly as possible and run away.