Once I rapped off Sharkfin and had to take a massive dump. I dropped trou, and released the brown hostage, who, unfortunately had the consistency of chili - two bowls full. I scooped what I could into a blue bag and left the rest.
stashed the blue bag, climbed Sahale the next day, then carried the now fermenting crap down Boston Basin. By the time we hit treeline it was 95+ degrees. My blue bag was quadruple-wrapped in plastic bags, but still stunk to high heaven. Every time I stopped 50 flies landed on my back pack. My partners could not stand behind me. One guy fell (maybe due to swooning from the smell?) and broke his ankle. We redistributed his back to everyone, and walked out at a snail's pace to the car.
I had to air out my pack for a week to get the smell out.
Is this what you had in mind, Peter?