Marketing Ploy or Essential? Our Editors Debate the Pee Cloth.

Some pieces of gear are just controversial. Trekking poles, camp shoes, and even fleece jackets have their haters and die-hards. As it turns out, so do pee cloths. While legions of women have hailed the pee cloth—a reusable square of fabric used to dab drippy nethers—as a great equalizer in the backcountry, others have rolled their eyes at the excess. For years, the debate has raged on: is the pee cloth an absolute necessity, or just an unnecessary accessory? Here’s our editors’ take.

Pee Cloths Rule

My Kula Cloth is a treasured staple in my backpacking kit. Sure, sticks and leaves can keep me dry-ish in a pinch—but why would I settle for subpar and scratchy and flirt with potential disaster (I’m looking at you, Corey) when I can invest just half an ounce of weight and zero pack space into being dry and clean?

Air drying is OK in a pinch, and snow works where I can find it (brrr!), but my pee cloth keeps me feeling as fresh as I do at home, and it has a cool design that adds some razzle dazzle when hanging on the outside of my pack. If I’m going to spend a week being grimy, I’ll take the small comforts where I can get them. That includes extending the use of my underwear before I’m dying for a fresh pair. I can wear a sweat-stained t-shirt for days, but dry underwear makes all the difference for my enjoyment on trail.

Smell isn’t an issue, either: My Kula dries in a flash in the sun and washes easily in the laundry when I get home. It’s odor-resistant and antimicrobial, so I can feel good about my hygiene. Nothing against smooth rocks and vegetation, but I’d rather keep the dirt on the outside of my hiking pants).

Sure, I could spend a laborious extra minute in a deep squat, trying to shake off the drops, but I’d rather do my business, pat dry, and be back on the trail in a heartbeat. I’d prefer to save my quads for that next climb, anyway.

—Zoe Gates, Senior Editor

Pee Cloths Suck 

Christ on a bike. You wipe with the wrong leaf one time. We all make mistakes in our youth, OK, Zoe?

Still, I confess that after the aforementioned incident, I did try the pee rag method for a while. It seemed like such a good idea for all the reasons you lay out. But in reality, it’s just more trouble than it’s worth.

One of the best things about hiking is that you have the freedom to drop trou at a moment’s notice, whenever the mood or scenery strikes you. But if you have a pee rag to worry about, you can’t just kick into a wide stance and let loose. Instead, you have to remove your pack (delicately, to avoid tossing your pee cloth in the dirt), unfasten the rag, and then discreetly carry it into the woods with you. Once you’ve done your business, you must then carry it, dripping, back to the trail, refasten it, and hoist a backpack covered in moist pee. If your bag is heavy, you must sling it onto your shoulder carefully to avoid whipping your partner in the face with your urine-soaked pennant. Not ideal.

While some backpackers don’t mind the junk show look, I prefer to keep things streamlined. I want my pack neat and tidy, without any danglers to snag on overhung branches or get caught in thorns during sections of bushwhacking. Then there’s the matter of (literally) airing your dirty laundry on the trail. I wouldn’t want a pair of panties dangling off the back of my pack. So why would I want the world to watch my pee flag fluttering in the wind?

Even during the days when I carried a pee cloth with me, I still found myself shaking dry the majority of the time just to avoid the hassle. It’s so easy to do a little wiggle and then use a smooth stick or stone to flick off extra drops. That way, you leave your urine where it ought to be: in the ground, not all over your pack.

In my mind, the pee cloth craze is just another way to get you to spend $20 on a piece of gear you don’t really need. I’ll keep my money—and continue peeing the way nature intended.

—Corey Buhay, Interim Managing Editor