“There are five thousand people coming down this stretch of the river every year,” Donovan replies. “And only so much sand to cover their poop. And our drinking water is coming from the river, so we like to keep things out of it as much as we can. So nope, everything we bring in has to go out.”
Hence the bucket.
Thiago holds the thing up for us to see—it’s a plastic square container with a round lid at the top—and explains that it is for excrement only because we only have three of the fancy buckets to last the whole week.
Folding my arms, I lean over to Hunter and mutter, “Didn’t read this on the website…” I’ve used outhouses before, just not ones that are only eight cubic feet and will be sitting on the gear boat every day. With me.
“I’m not using it,” Hunter mutters back.
“Some of you might try to hold it,” Donovan says, her eyes on Hunter even though I don’t think she heard him from the other side of our circle, “but I don’t recommend that. Six days is a long time to go without going.”
“So if that’s just for sh…poop,” Brody says, changing his word choice when he glances at the blonde woman next to him, “are we supposed to pee in the river like we did at lunch? You just said we drink from there!”
“We have a filter,” Donovan says with a chuckle. “And yes. Peeing in the river is a great plan.”
“What about the girls?” another guy asks. He’s one of the older half of the group that I haven’t met yet, and the woman who clings to his hand—his wife, maybe?—looks terrified about the bathroom situation. “Their mechanics are…uh…less convenient.”
Several people snicker.
“We have a bucket for that,” Thiago replies, setting the poop can down to show us the black five-gallon bucket sitting next to him. There’s a toilet seat attached, but I don’t think the situation is much improved for the many women listening to this. “You make sure you don’t mix up the buckets, yeah? Number one.” He holds up the bucket. “Number two.” Holds up the square container.
“That’s why we call it the Hopper,” Farah says brightly, though her cheeriness doesn’t really fit the uncertain mood of the group. “Because sometimes you have to hop back and forth!”
I’ve never been more glad to be a man.
“I know it’s uncomfortable,” Donovan says, clearly speaking to the women as she looks at all of them in turn. “But on the bright side, it’s not a Groover!”
Morgan slowly lifts her hand again. “What’s a…” She seems too scared to finish her question and starts playing with her hair.
Donovan grins wide. “Back in the day, when my Grandpa guided trips for other companies, they used an old military ammo can, like the smaller ones we keep our food in on the boats. Narrow enough to sit on.” She holds up her hands, palms about a foot apart. “But not very comfortable. They didn’t have seats to go over them, so you were sitting right on the top of the can. Left some nice grooves in your rear end, so I hear.”
“I’ll take the seat,” a dark-haired woman whispers with wide eyes. As if she might have to switch to a Groover if she doesn’t praise the system we have now.
Now I see why Donovan refused to answer my question when I asked about the Hopper. Her green eyes are dancing with amusement as she waits for anyone else to ask a question. There’s no way for her to change the circumstances, so she seems to be having fun with it where she can.
“So here are the important rules of the Hopper,” she says when no one speaks up. “One, like Thiago said, we want to keep things as separate as we can, so only your poo is going in the square bucket. Two, we only have so much toilet paper, and if we run out, we can’t pop over to the store to grab some more. So use itsparingly. Three, wash your hands.”
A few people laugh at that one, but Donovan shakes her head.
“You think that one’s obvious, but some people forget about hygiene when they’re outside. Don’t be one of those people. We have a hand wash station over there by the kitchen, and all you have to do is press the pump with your foot to get the water flowing.”
“Is that just water from the river?” someone asks, looking into the hand wash bucket. “Isn’t that unsanitary?”
“It’s more sanitary than having poop on your hands,” Donovan counters. “And there’s soap. But we also have hand sanitizer if you’re worried. And the final rule…” She points at Mason.
He has a plastic paddle in his hand, kind of like the ones kayakers use but with a handle on one end instead of a second blade. He stabs it into the sand and steps back, letting it stand straight up in the air. “If this paddle is here,” he says, “it means the Hopper is empty. If you’re using the Hopper, take the paddle with you, or someone will come walking in on you while you’re doing your business.”
“How long can a conversation about using the toilet last before it’s awkward?” I ask Hunter under my breath.
“It’s always awkward,” he mutters back, drawing a soft laugh out of me.
All things considered, I’m in a good mood right now and not too concerned about the bathroom situation. I’m still thinking about the way Donovan had another back-and-forth conversation with me, which hopefully means I’m making some progress. The more I can get her to talk, the more likely she’ll realize she doesn’t have to be afraid of me.
“If there’s one thing to remember on this trip,” Mason continues, “it’s bringing the paddle back when you’re done. I beg you. Don’t leave it by the Hopper when there’s no one back there. You’re going to have a lot of angry people if you do that.Bring the paddle back.”
I’m going to guess he’s speaking from experience, though I can’t decide if he was the one who left the paddle or if he was stuck waiting for no one.
“You’re never going to have better bathroom views than these,” Farah says and sweeps her hand over the canyon behind us. “By the end of this week, you’re going to love using the Hopper!”
