Drop Your Remote and Get Really Remote, But Pack Accordingly

You're Too Old to Spend the Rest of Your Life on the Couch: Let's Adventure!

Photo by Visit Greenland on Unsplash

What goes in, must come back out: a lesson in Leave No Trace

Kangerlussuaq (gang-er-loose-sue-arc)

This Greenlandic airport town is where I flew in to do a few days of remote kayaking in 2017. Greenland had just been added to the offerings of one trip provider and I had leapt at the chance, adding it to an itinerary which had already included kayaking in the Svalbard Islands and seeing northern Europe for the first time.

My guide, a Dane named Jens-Pavier, had advised that we had to pack lightly. He also warned me of one key factor of this trip: no potty breaks during kayaking, except for lunch.

ALL. DAY.

For most women over sixty, and I was 64 that year, that’s a challenge.

It isn’t just that there’s no way I never could hold my water that long. It’s that as we age, our kidneys and bladders simply don’t work as well. My vessel just got leakier, as do many of us.

That said, any Road Scholar guide will probably admit to knowing the locations of all the public toilets for any city where they take their older clients.

I’m a sieve, not just because I drink lots of water, but that’s how I’m built. Costco toilet paper packages of 30 rolls each are good at my single family home for, say, a week. Okay, two. Still, you get it.

Normally that’s no issue, but crammed into a tight kayak for most of the day with no way to step ashore, there was only one option: adult diapers.

Lots of folks might have quit there.

The way I see it, you don’t can an adventure simply because you can’t take care of your can, if you will.

So I researched the options. Depends made the best versions, so I was on my way to kayaking with a bubble butt.

I crammed four of those bad boys into my pack. Sadly, that meant that I had to leave behind my own kayaking gear, sized to fit a 118-lb woman. I had no clue that this would have significant consequences.

Greenland scenery in summer, far from town. Julia Hubbel

By the time my guide and I got to the base camp, which was a grueling one-day cross-country hike from Kangerlussuaq, it was night. I barely had enough time to set up my tent, as the next day we were off early.

Jens kept a stash of kayaking gear at base camp, but the splash jackets and pants were sized for adult men. The rest of our group had hiked in ahead of me, so what there was of relatively small gear was already taken by the other women.

I ended up with a splash jacket and pants sized for an NFL defensive lineman, which meant that the neck and cuffs were impossible to close. There was no way to tighten the waist, which we scrunched together as best we could, leaving open gaps. Same with the wrists.

Thus attired, with a nice, dry Depends cushioning my butt, I set off in my kayak with the group.

Just one minor detail. Jens handed me a Greenlandic paddle, which is a slim, beautifully-carved piece of wood. It took me a while to figure it out, but as with all noobs, there was one small detail I couldn't stop:

Cold water ran straight down my arms and splashed down the back of my neck, right into my nice, dry Depends.

By the time I realized what was happening, we were way too far from base camp. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I concentrated on my boat, the musk oxen, getting photographs, and keeping a straight face.

Julia Hubbel

By nine a.m. my breakfast coffee was ready to make its expected departure from my person. At this point, though, my diapers were already soaking wet from the lake water dribbling down the paddle, down my neck and arms and into my diaper.

You can only hold on for so long.

And a Depends can only hold so much liquid.

I could feel the warm pee puddle in my kayaking boots.

By lunchtime my Depends were full, and so were my boots. When we finally stopped at the assigned safe lunch spot, there was no point in trying to find a place to pee. It was all in my butt and boots.

By the end of the day I was SpongeBob Wetpants. Piss in Boots.

When we returned to the campground I sloshed behind a big rock outcropping to wipe down. I changed into dry clothes and squeezed the Depends as best I could. I rinsed out the gear to dry overnight.

Photo by Zachary Kadolph / Unsplash

Two days of this left me with a seriously heavy stack of four wet Depends.

For some odd reason Greenland doesn't do garbage pickup in the far outback. I crammed my dirty Depends into a black plastic bag to pack out first thing in the morning.

As Jens got us ready to hike back to Kangerlussuaq, he picked up a few extra trash bags from our tents as a courtesy. He also grabbed mine. In the rush of preparation I didn't take notice.

I wouldn't realize until much later that Jens had snagged my bag containing the dirty diapers.

Meanwhile, we had a long day of hiking in the summer heat. Yes, it does get toasty in Greenland.

It was July. Temps in the 80s. The bag was black. You do the math.

Every so often I'd get a downwind whiff but figured, that's why they call them musk oxen.

I was oblivious.

By day's end, sweaty, dirty, exhausted and desperate for a shower, rest and dinner, we arrived at the airport hotel. There, Jens left us for his apartment.

Everyone else checked in.

I couldn't.

Jens had forgotten to set up a reservation for me. It took the front desk person an hour to track him down, bring him back and sign me in.

Dead on my feet, I limped to my room, where I opened my backpack.

Suddenly I realized that Jens had my dirty diaper bag. All I could think of was that he would likely be opening that bag up on his kitchen table to see if he could locate some identification.

Holy crap.

I jerked my boots back on and hurtled to the front desk, where of course nobody was minding the phones. I had to scrape the facility to find someone to get me a cab to Jens' house.

The moment I arrived, my dirty diaper bag was in fact perched on the kitchen table. Jens was moments away from revealing my stinky stash.

I was two seconds away from terrible embarrassment...but actually not.

I wasn't saved by the bell. I was saved by the smell.

Jens-Pavier's wife is Inuit. She was cooking whale blubber, the intense odor of which hit me like a two-fisted hammer the moment he opened the door.

Honestly I'm not sure what was worse: dead fish or dirty diapers.

I sucked in some outside air, said thanks, smiled at them both, snatched my bag and ran for my cab, my dignity at least partially intact.

The moral of the story is of course, you can depend on Depends, but can you be depended upon to pack them back out?

Let’s play.

***

I have heard lots of arguments about not traveling because someone has dentures, someone uses adult diapers, someone has food challenges. I have all those and more. Lots more. I’ve yet to let those keep me from going remote. If anything, I’ve found guides and good guiding companies to be exceedingly patient and understanding, particularly if you and I are willing to poke fun at ourselves, take it all in stride and be willing to find the joy in the experience instead of taking ourselves so very seriously.

It’s just life.

Let’s not let those “just life” conditions keep us from having amazing memories and the best stories. We deserve it. So yeah, you can do that. Whether you’re heading to the high country to hike, the river country to raft, to the ranch to ride, makes no difference. Just go now.

Jens-Pavier with my black diaper bag on his pack. Julia Hubbel

Thanks for taking a quick journey with me back to Greenland today. I hope you got a laugh, but more so I hope you were inspired to get remote. If so please consider

If you know someone who is using too many excuses to avoid releasing that remote, please also consider

Either way, thanks for reading and happy travels!