Canoe Trippin' with LB: Bathroom Etiquette

 Continuation of Canoe Trippin' with LB: Bear Safety

 

A bear would NOT use a privy to shit in the woods, but the rest of us have too

BATHROOM ETIQUETTE

I can tell you for sure that a bear shits in the woods, and considering how many camping trips I have taken, I have done the same. Being privy to information is always a good deal, having to use a privy is not. This whimsical creation can be found on most campsites across Canada, and varies in design. Sometimes its a barrel with a toilet lid, sometimes a wooden box, sometimes there is no lid and you can be sure that toilet paper is never supplied. 

I am very comfortable (aside from the fact there is no comfort in sitting on one of these beauts) using a privy and really any outdoor toilet available. I even spent a summer as an Ontario Junior Ranger in 1999 and part of that job included covering up old privies and digging new ones. 

Basically that means I was paid lower than minimum wage to dig shitters. I didn't mind much, I always enjoyed placing the new ones in really open spaces for low privacy. It made having to do this task much more enjoyable. 

Using a privy is thus, not the most enjoyable event while camping, what's worse is having to go when there is no privy to be found. I know for men, when it comes to having a tinkle they can seem to go anywhere at anytime. The dynamics of going are easier and there is no need for me to explain why, we all know why.

I have perfected urinating outside (sexy I know) over the years from a variety of life circumstances. Sometimes it's been out in the middle of nowhere, sometimes it's been behind a few space trees in a city area (I drank too much in my twenties don't judge me). At times I was sober, at times I was indeed drunk. 

I have been caught by watchful eyes, I have been bitten by bugs and I have "missed" all while going out there in the world, sans toilet. I have come up with some neat tricks along the way, and since I am talking camping here I will stick with that genre. I have also not gone in a public in a decade, so I'd like to keep that topic where it belongs - in the past.

Important to locate when you number one outside as a lady - privacy. Since the while shebang needs to get pulled down you best hide your naked ass behind some shrubbery. If your ass is a white almost blue hue like me, I suggest extra shrubbery. It reflects the sun something awful so be warned that waving that around where any light shines can give you away.

It is crucial that you find a tree within the shrubbery. Ideal conditions are in a thick wooded area with lots of forest floor coverage. You will need this tree for support, so make sure you don't mind holding on to it (pine trees can get a bit sappy so beware.) 

So step one - locate the flora. Step two - I will get back too. I must jump to step three first, if you don't mind (you have absolutely no control anyhow). Step three - really pull those trow down. All the way down. There is nothing that can get any splash or spray off your pantaloons when you are camping or hiking, and by George you don't want to spend the rest of the day in urine doused anything.

Step four - use the tree as leverage while you relieve yourself. Just hug that tree like your David Suzuki and make sure your feet are at the base of the tree and your bum is as far away from the it as is humanly possible. (The lack of a tree results in a squat, which causes my under worked thighs start to burn).

The fifth step is simple, just pull yourself back into the tree, take a hop away from the contaminated area and move on with your day (I am just assuming you know the common sense of the front to back you need to do before pulling up your pants).

Simple? Yes. Effective? Absolutely. It may not be as efficient as a go girl but the system works, I have used it for years. They system has been a constant for me and is in my eyes, perfect. The only small tiny glitch is, if you miss a step, you can really land yourself in some trouble.

Step Two is brought to you by the Adirondacks in upper state New York. It's a breathtaking area of foothills and mountains, made for hiking. I was still a canoe trip leader even if this particular trip had no canoes, it was all altitude and on foot.

It was day three or four this time, I can't remember which one but it was dab in the middle of our adventures. We were moving base camps and heading up into the alpine zone and over a mountain to cross down to our next camp. I was hiking with my pack full of gear and was making sure I stayed hydrated (lovely to have fresh mountain water at hand).

I guess I got a bit too hydrated, and nature called (I was conveniently already in the woods - har har). Unfortunately at a higher altitude the ground had but moss and pine needle coverage and the trees had gotten smaller and more sparse.

I told my campers I would be right back, and they giggled when I explained I needed them to all face the other way. I walked about a hundred feet but was still in eyesight of the trail.

I felt secure that no one would turn around and I began my steps - if there is no coverage - just improvise like that. Step two I will tell you now, is check the tree. I mean really check it. Make sure that tree is solid, and I mean solid. Take a test run hanging on that thing before you move to the third step.

I missed step two, I fucking missed step two and didn't check to see if I had something to bear my weight. I wrapped my arms around that skinny half dead tree and was nearly completed step four aside from my shake and wipe (needs no explaining, sorry if it's too much info but that's what I am all about).

I did the shake and it all went to hell.

The tree cracked, it cracked in half. It hit the forest floor and the sound of the crack and crash echoed through the mountains. The hills were alive with the sound of failure.

As the tree fell I fell backwards with my hunter green hiking shorts around my ankles. My tan boots kicked into the air, and the entire group of campers turned around in reaction to the noise.

I have body image issues sometimes, and it is thus no suprise before even telling everyone I was ok, I yelled out "I'm fat!"

They all burst into laughter knowing I was ok, and I was now the literal butt of any joke for the end of the trip. 

So there you have it, when your doing a number one out in the wilderness, don't forget step number two.

Coming soon: Canoe Safety

Canoe Trippin with LB: Bear Safety

Continuation of Canoe Tripping with LB: Equipment

That right there - is an actual photo of a bear shitting in the woods

BEAR SAFETY

When I was a young girl, I was always given the same reply when I asked my mother a question with an obvious answer ' "Does a bear shit in the woods?" It was a staple, and in Jasper Alberta during the summer of 2007, I witnessed an actual bear, shitting in the woods. I called my mother immediately to let her know - yes, they do.

This was however, not the first bear I had seen in the flesh. To recall that I will have to return to my summers as a canoe trip leader. The incident took place in Algonquin Park, but not the same trip as my previous mishap (because I like to spread out the craziness for all to share). 

The week before I left for my trip news was buzzing around Ontario that there had been a bear attack in Algonquin Park. No one was harmed, but a lady and her daughter had been chased off a cliff (leaping into a lake) by a bear. 

I have and will defend that bears for the most part are not a threat, they are mainly vegetarian and have no interest in eating humans (just the processed food and garbage irresponsible campers leave behind). Bears are generally quiet and solitary, only getting to a dangerous point around their young. 

A week before my trip and I wasn't panicking, because there is no need to be afraid of bears. Pack a bear kit, make noise when in the forest and of course, don't feed the bears. Simple, easy, I told my mother not to worry when I called home, I would be fine, the campers would be safe. 

The week flew and after re-routing the trip to avoid a lake that had been closed due to a bear I was ready to rock. Before I knew it I was packed in a van with a fellow leader, seven hyper campers and one very quirky driver named Dane who always told me on a scale of 1-10 how much I "ranked" after a trip. 

When I registered at the main gate, I was told that the lake closure had been lifted and the "bear problem" solved. I didn't ask further questions, I knew it was either a relocation or they put the poor thing down and I didn't want to hear it. Either way, the original route was back in play.

Day four of the trip my group made it to the lake of the bear. It was a very windy day and we were all struggling to paddle against a strong headwind across the lake. I wanted to get as far ahead as possible before we stopped (our permit was to stay on that lake on that night). 

The weather was unforgiving of my plan, so after consideration (and a really tired upper body) I directed the canoes to a campsite to stop and set up for the evening. As we paddled closer to the site, I noticed a yellow sign posted. 

We tied up the canoes and I told the campers to hold off while I investigated. I read the sign easily: SITE CLOSED DUE TO BEAR PROBLEMS

Fucking idiots, I thought, they forgot to take the damn signs down. 

I gave the go to unpack and my junior camp counsellor agreed to walk with me to inspect the campsite. I always did this to start, locate the toilet (aka hole in the ground with a half barrel over it), look for lone wilderness men etc. 

We walked liesurley down a pine coated path and chatted as we checked things out. There was an interesting cave located a bit down the path and just as I was about to make a bear related comment, I saw it. 

I saw my first bear. Brown fur, black nose, cute little bear bum, it wandered off in the distance, just a tiny little guy, nothing scary. Nothing scary until I realized it wasn't that far off, but it was tiny, and it did have a cute little bum, because it was a bear cub. Holy fuck I thought, I have loured my campers to their deaths. 

I quietly whispered to my friend, "slowly start walking backwards, we need to leave."

She noticed the bear at this time, and we walked backwards slowly until the bear was out of sight, and made our way to the campers and more importantly the canoes. 

"OK guys!" I announced, "pack it all up, we are leaving."

The campers whined, moaned and asked why because we just got there. 

"Just move quickly, we need to leave now." I said. 

They argued again, told me it was too windy, they were tired, they like the site etc. 

"There's a bear on the site." I snapped trying my best to sound calm (shitting my pants on the inside)

That did it. My mind and heart were racing as we pushed off shore and made our way around the site, and then I saw it. 

A cliff face, a giant cliff face leading into the water located on the site I just tried to claim. A site that was clearly marked closed. I stopped at the exact site where the bear attack had happened the week before, and there it was, the cliff. 

The cliff with a giant red X painted on it because assholes like me apparently need more that a stupid sign to tell me to keep off a damn site. Assholes like me who assumed taking care of a bear problem didn't mean posting a damn sign on one site as though the bear would never travel elsewhere.

Of course, it didn't. It was still there, and this asshole almost pitched a tent and started cooking dinner meters away from a bear cave, with a cute cub and a very protective mama. 

It's a laughable matter now and was for the whole lot of us once we were safe and a bit of time had passed. I know you're thinking now, wondering, was I allowed to take more trips out after this incident?

Answer: Does a bear shit in the woods? 

Coming soon: Canoe Trippin' with LB: Bathroom Etiquette

Canoe Trippin' with LB: Equipment

 That's me, pretending to be part of the Canadian Shield  

(if you can find me)

Lift your hands up to your ears, cover them in full and prepare yourself to hear a very loud toot. By "toot" I don't mean the kind my nephew swears comes out of his penis, I mean the loud resonating tooting of my own horn. Toot Toot! Side note: my nephew who is just under three farted on me this week, and when I told him he tooted at his Aunt because his bum was facing me, he giggled and said "No Aunt L, I toot out my penis!" (Either I need to call Family and Children's Services on my sister or this kid is full talent and may just change the world). Anyhow - here's my loud toot (which incredibly enough is coming out of my fingers at this moment)

I can be a bucket of fun, did I tell you that? Well, I can, and when I was a summer camp canoe trip leader in my early twenties and the early 00's - I was KNOWN for my fun. Children I had never met would be in glee when they found out that I was to be their canoe trip leader; they celebrated and danced around to have ME because dang-it - I'm fun stuff. Those that had gone on trips with me would run back to their fellow campers upon return and regale tales of laughter and silliness. I was famous the two summers I devoted to that place. The canoe trip leader all the kids wanted to camp with...and there's the toot.

Here's the echo of that giant toot; I may be looking at reality in a different sense. By that, I mean I may at times (and maybe even this time) exaggerate or perhaps rephrase a tiny bit of truth here and there (and everywhere). It's true, I mean children around camp did mention me, but it may not have been because I was exactly the most "fun" leader in the camp. You could maybe say that it was because on my trips "funny" things always happened. By "funny" I mean hilariously disastrous. You know, LB's law of absolute ridiculousness, also known as reverse horseshoe up my ass (which in todays world would be #horseshoesthewrongway or some such).

The kids weren't wrong at all either, it was true, any trip I took out from the three-nighters to the week-longs, mania occurred. If it could south, it did. There was the usual fuck ups you would expect. The time or two I forgot the poles for the tent; the few times a canoe tipped or leaked; the times I got lost and made up stories of complete bullshit as to why we paddled or hiked how ever many hours or kilometers off track. Usually it was some "legend" I made up and then would show the campers the magical or special fill in the blank (rock, creek, tree, dead end etc) before announcing we were now going to turn around and head in a completely different direction (after checking the map again for no reason....)

The remaining events, perhaps less average but sadly true.

BARREL OF LAUGHS

It was somewhere in Algonquin Park, day one of a seven day trip. I was the luckiest leader on staff, as the week long trips in Algonquin were a big deal to lead and only happened twice a summer. I was looking forward to the trip and  excited to try out new equipment the camp had purchased: a barrel pack. It's an interesting piece of camping equipment if you have ever used one and basically is exactly what it's called: a barrel that is indeed a backpack.

 

This gem of a creation is meant to keep supplies dry and safe and can be useful to store food in at night to keep out wildlife. It's designed for anything but comfort, and the barrel is larger than most people's torsos making movement both awkward and kinda painful. The straps help distribute the weight like a regular pack, but anytime the wearer moves with any sort of jump it jabs into their back and slowly bruises their tail-bone. It sucks to get stuck wearing it, but it was better than what we brought the year prior: a heavy wooden box with a strap.

On day one of the trip, it was packed to the brim with seven days worth of food. This is not normal practice for the barrel, it is not a fair or even distribution of weight among the camping party. The smart camp leader separates the food per camper and puts all the food in the barrel at night, but no, on my trips you just skip that fuss and pack it all in that fucker.

The upside of being a trip leader is being outside all summer and getting paid (not much but enough) to have fun and camp. The downside, being responsible for the lives of other people and being the sucker that gets stuck carrying really heavy shit because you can't force campers to do it - that's abuse.

The first portage that day was tolerable, a mere kilometer. I ended up with the barrel heavy on my shoulders and attached to me at chest and waist. It was heavy and I told the group I would lead since I needed to get moving.

I could feel my spine curving and crushing with every step of the journey to the other side, and my muscles tightened and twitched as the landscape rolled from downhill to uphill. By the end of the kilometer I was red, sweaty and muttering to myself.

I hauled over one last hill and up ahead the trees parted and there was the lake, it was heaven. 

"You got this Anderson." I gasped, "this is all you."

I pushed with everything I had left and made it to the waters edge where I could finally get what now felt like twenty cinder blocks off my back. Seeing the campers slowly following behind as I turned, tired but proud look on my face I let out a huge sigh, clicked the chest strap off and tossed that barrel right off my shoulders.

It would have been nothing short of the best release of my life, had I only remembered to remove the waist strap. Not being directly next to a natural ditch would have been ideal as well.

With the toss of the barrel and an audience of young teens, I flung back violently, smacked against the ground and rolled with that thing all the way to the bottom of the ditch. It rolled over me. I somehow managed enough momentum to run over myself.

I shutter to think trusting parents allowed me to take their precious children into the deep wilderness, there has to be a law against that shit somewhere. I'd like to say that was the last time I used that barrel, it wasn't.

I had six more blissful days with that thing. Six days and the rest of the summer.



Coming next: Canoe Trippin' with LB: Bear Safety