The groove box

This would be how we do it. Photos by David Lansing.

So you know how we take a bath. We grab a bar of Dr. Bronner’s 18-in-1 hemp lavender Magic Soap and go stand in the river, soaping ourselves up. Some people go look for a spot far away from camp so they can have a little privacy while they’re sudsing their private parts; some people just go wherever the water is shallow and the current slow.

But, no doubt, you’ve been dying to ask: What do you do when you have to go to the bathroom? Ah. Well. That’s a bit trickier. One bit of river terminology I forgot to mention was the groove box. The groove box is a blue metal can—like an ammo box, which is probably what it once was—that sits in front of the oarman or oarwoman in a position where they can put their feet on it when they need a little extra rowing power from their legs. The groove box is also our toilet.

When we make camp, someone from the crew (and this is a really shitty job) sets up what looks like a little changing tent at least a hundred yards away from camp. In the tent goes the groove box with a sort of toilet seat on top. You do your business, pour in some chemicals, and replace the lid for the next visitor. Then, about a hundred feet away from the tent, two buckets are placed, with water in one and a little hand pump, where you go and wash your hands. All very sanitary.

The real drama, of course, always plays out in the morning. Some of us, I won’t say who, have decided that the thing to do is get up before the crack of dawn and hit the groove box while the stars are still out and everyone else is sleeping. Others wait until Sarah Jane has served breakfast and then mosey away from the table, as if they’re getting a refill on their coffee, and don’t come back for 15 or 20 minutes. You have to be vigilant. The last thing anyone wants to do is come upon the groove box when it is occupied. Or when someone is just coming out of it. So you sit at the breakfast table, discussing the events of yesterday or last night, and you notice that just about everyone glances, every few minutes, in the direction of the groove box. To see if someone is going. Or returning. Trying never to look too desperate when someone quickly pops up from the table before you have a chance to get at it. It’s a real cat-and-mouse game.