Umbrella Envy

In the prairies down south, farmers brag about the flatness of the land where you can watch your dog run away for three days. In some tundra environments you could up that boast and then some. Unless you are the color of this tundra landscape you cannot hide here. 

I am not the same color as the tundra. 

I cannot hide.

I am six feet tall, typically garbed in a smattering of orange and blue rain gear with a red PFD to tie the ensemble together. At times I feel like I am glowing here, bright and lanky and high above the grasses.

This is exactly how I felt the first day in the Brooks Range Alaskan tundra and this is how it continued to be for the weeks to follow.

For this reason the daily poop excursions became a game of hide and seek that had no winners.

This Noatak expedition wasn’t my first river trip. I had been on many before.  I considered myself competent in the art of finding a discreet spot with a five star view. The fear, and occasionally complicated maneuvers, of outdoor pooping were long behind me.

We were a group of eight people, two instructors and six students. Discretion got tricky out here in bear country where we stuck together in groups of four at all times. This meant that, literally, half the group had to always be with you.

Creating a necessary but challenging scenario.

It was early morning, and I began looking behind me into the wall of thick willows that fanned out along the gravel bar, I had just finished my first black coffee of the trip.

The willows  blocked the step up to the tundra that I knew was right behind it. I asked, into the cool morning air, if anyone would mind joining me on a poop errand. Despite my composed tone, there was a rough rumble in my belly, I was anything but calm in the painful silence that followed my question.

I have always had a quick turn around after coffee, for better or for worse- right now worse.

With much teeth pulling and pleading, I managed to gather three boys to join me. Apologetically, I dragged them away from their breakfasts, but the matter was urgent- I didn’t have time to feel too bad.

A few of the boys awkwardly confessed that they too desperately had to poop, but just didn’t want to go to the trouble- I will never understand this will-power. With bear spray at our hips, we hurriedly bashed through the willows and climbed the muddy bank reaching the plateau of the tundra. 

We finally emerged through the shwack onto a flat, bushless, wide open swath of land that expanded for as far as we could see, in all directions. With plenty of fresh bear digs surrounding us, it served as a strong reminder that dispersing was not an option.

My insides viciously rumbled as I scanned all around me, fleetingly,  looking for anything to hide behind. 

Nothing. 

Zilch.

Not a single thing.

 The boys didn’t seem perturbed by this as they casually wandered off in a semi-circle only a stone’s throw from each other.

What followed to my horror was something I had never considered.

The boys, one by one, pulled out umbrellas: orange, blue and even a green camouflage umbrella that belonged somewhere way greener and way south of here.

They proceeded to open their colourful array of umbrellas, and soon disappeared behind them. Out of view completely, into a world of supposed privacy, hidden from all.

Where had I been for this crucial packing moment? As I stood there baffled and dumbfounded, I wondered how I, the only woman on this trip of men, was left out of the conversation on “How to poop discreetly, in a world without trees”??

I alone was disgruntled at the lack of privacy.

I alone thought ahead to thirty more mornings of exposed tundra baldness.

I alone was left envious and wishing for an umbrella. 

With everyone in their own little world, privately doing their thing, I wandered off,  cursing this lack of foresight on my part. In vain, I yearned for a dip or a shrub I had missed but this morning’s poop was going to be as exposed as one could be.

I was shuffling at this point as I didn’t trust my body- the coffee was working it’s speedy magic. I was in emergency mode and yet I dragged my heels as I walked to the end of their line of umbrellas and then some.

No obstacles bailed me out, no hiding spot magically appeared.

I placed my soap and water down beside me*, I dug a cat hole in the tundra floor. My belly irritability gurgled begging me to get on with it. I lowered my rain pants, loudly bear called, bared my butt to the world and finally pooped. The boys chatted and laughed at each other's farts- I on the other hand, stared at the blades of grass blowing in front of me. I was so exposed. It was like I was on a pedestal, just daring everyone to look at me. It was all I could do to not accidentally meet someone’s eyes.

As the days and weeks went by I grew used to this routine and was thrilled to find a little dip I could squat in or a small hummock to use as cover, a few measly blowing pieces of grass obscuring me.

A big rock was reason for celebration and blueberry bushes were both effective and delicious. A few memorable times, the willows receded inland from the river following underground water sources and we blissfully found privacy in thick vegetation. 

For the most part however, I just sat half naked, dreaming of all the umbrellas I could have had.

Like an ostrich with its head in the sand, pretending for all that I was worth, that it was just me and the huge arctic sky.

 Needless to say my packing list for trips has evolved since that fateful first arctic river trip and a small robust umbrella now sits right near the top.

By: Lauren Wonfor

** We pooped in catholes and used no toilet paper as part of our Leave No Trace expedition. This meant that students either found moss, leaves or rocks to wipe with, but the majority of us were well versed in the “backcountry bidet”. This is exactly what it sounds like, cleaning yourself with soap and water while you squat in the wilderness.