A Hole, a Bag and a Bit of Decency: Wild-Camp Toilet Craft for British Woods

There’s a moment on every wild camp when the wood goes quiet, your coffee kicks in and you realise the next decision matters more than your shelter pitch. Answering the call of nature in a British wood is not glamorous, but it is a skill. Do it well and nobody knows you were there. Do it badly and you leave a mess that gets wild camping banned from the very places we love.

This isn’t about being squeamish. It’s about being useful. A decent wild-toilet routine is part planning, part digging, part packing out, and a good deal of common sense. Here’s how to keep your conscience—and the woodland floor—clean.

Plan Before You Need To

The best time to think about the loo is before you leave the house. Check the land you’re heading to. In England and Wales, wild camping is mostly permission-only; in Scotland, the right to roam comes with responsibilities under the Scottish Outdoor Access Code. Either way, burying a surprise by a bothy or lay-by is not a right.

Pack a small toilet kit: a trowel, toilet paper in a zip bag, hand sanitiser, and a couple of heavy-duty sealable bags. For group camps, add a portable toilet system—a folding seat with compostable liners or a proper pack-out kit—and a dedicated dry bag for waste. Yes, it’s a bit of faff. It’s less faff than a ranger finding your calling card.

The Cat Hole: Depth, Distance and Judgement

Where it’s allowed and the ground is deep enough, the classic cat hole works. Aim for a hole about 15–20 centimetres deep and a spade-width across. That’s deep enough to break down waste away from roots and animals, but shallow enough not to churn up archaeology or fragile soil. Clay soils drain poorly, so choose a spot where the ground looks crumbly and alive rather than waterlogged.

Distance matters. Keep at least 30 metres from streams, lochs, tarns and standing water. Stay well away from paths, pitches and anything that looks like a favourite lunch spot. Pick a spot with dark soil and leaf litter, not a patch of rare moss. Use your trowel, not a stick, and don’t widen the hole into a trench.

When you’re done, bury the waste, replace the leaf litter and mark nothing. No stones arranged in a smiley face, no toilet-paper flag. The point is that the next person sees a wood, not a crime scene.

When Digging Is the Wrong Answer

Some ground should never be dug. Peat bogs, heather moorland, thin soil over rock, sand dunes and ancient woodland with a delicate herb layer are all poor candidates. In these places—and anywhere with a high water table—pack it out.

That means everything: waste, paper, wipes. Those “biodegradable” wipes are not a bury-and-forget item; they can take years to break down and they don’t belong in a British wood. Double-bag, seal, and carry it in a dedicated dry bag that lives outside your pack. If that sounds grim, remember it’s a small weight to pay for keeping access open.

Burning toilet paper is not a magic trick, either. In dry weather it’s a fire risk; in wet weather it just makes a mess. Pack it out with the rest.

Group Camps: The Awkward Briefing That Saves the Trip

A group wild camp is where toilet etiquette goes to die unless someone takes charge. Before the first brew, gather everyone and say the boring thing out loud: where the loo is, what the kit is, and what “pack out” actually means.

Set up a simple system: a screened spot away from the kitchen and tents, a trowel on a lanyard, a bin for used paper, and hand sanitiser that everyone can find in the dark. If you’re using a portable toilet, agree who empties it and where it goes. If you’re digging, agree the area and keep it small. In a heavily used wood, one agreed pack-out spot beats fifty tiny holes.

And wash your hands. It sounds obvious until you’re three days in, sharing a bag of trail mix and pretending everything is fine.

The Trace You Leave Behind

Low-impact camping isn’t just about campfires and tent pitches. It’s also about the things we’d rather not talk about. A proper wild-toilet routine is a quiet sign of respect: for the wood, for the next walker, and for the people who decide whether wild camping stays possible.

So carry the trowel, bring the bags, and learn to read the ground before you unzip. A few minutes of care means your wild camp leaves nothing behind but a bit of flattened grass and a very relieved memory.