Setting Scouting

Planning and Plotting

When planning a vacation, planet Earth offers a myriad of options, but when selecting an ultimate destination, most people would select a penultimate travel destinations: Paris, Disneyland, the Grand Canyon.  Yet the jewel in my empty-nest crown revolved around a spectacular vacation, ninety percent of which became secondary to the ultimate destination.  As I began planning my latest expedition, one that my boss entitled my “Fuck The World” vacation, I spent a ridiculously short amount of time evaluating where I would voyage.  And then I added additional locations that most travelers would find at the top of their itinerary: Death Valley, the Great Salt Lake, Yosemite; all beautiful, of course, but none of which were my priority.

I wanted to find the ideal location for my work of fiction that had been tumbling about in my brain for the past decade. Over a plate of sushi and teriyaki, my friend recommended I succumb to my darkening world and embrace the midlife crisis hovering in my baffles. While sitting in silence later that night contemplating the vastness of locations to which I could plot my escape, the perfect place for my vacation became the future site of my protagonist’s climax. I mapped out a route through some of the most remote roads in America – northern Nevada, eastern California, northeastern Utah.  I wanted to drive The Loneliest Road in America, I wanted to see the buffalo on Antelope Island, cross Donner Pass, and get away from everything remotely related to tourism, familiarity, and people.  I made my vacation my own work of fiction.  The key elements of my story (plot, theme, characters, conflict, and setting) become the purpose for my exodus: I began with the setting.

Pull Over

Looking at my beloved atlas (see “Traveling With Boys,” November 2011), I plot the general area in which I feel my main character would travel.  From there, I began planning the peripheral expeditions which others might consider primary destinations.  I book a B&B on the western shore after circumnavigating Lake Tahoe.  I spend an artful night in Yosemite Valley, outside the majestic waterfalls (a destination at which I arrives having just missing the closing of Tioga Pass by less than forty-eight hours due to an early-season snowfall).  I reach Donner Pass, likewise covered in multiple inches of snow, dining on a more mild diet of cheese sticks and breakfast bars.  I descend thousands of feet to sea level to Stovepipe Wells in the core of Death Valley National Park.  Yet in this crib of spectacular natural vistas, I seek a location so secluded, so distant, so ignored by the world that an author finds both inspiration and desolation.  I stop along US Highway 93 in the Steptoe Valley where signs warn of lengthy durations without petrol services and I find the cubbies, the coves, and the open caverns where I can allow my character to escape unnoticed in the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest.

I pull off the road and spend nearly thirty minutes capturing the scene on celluloid.  Dirty cliffs, sage brush cover, nooks in which an entire vehicle might steal away unnoticed create the perfect ambiance for my character.  For all the beautiful sights I witness over six full days, from the granite cliffs to the layered canyons, to the monstrous, towering creatures of the Mariposa Grove, these desolate, hidden crevices entice and enthrall me.  Few trees stand in the distance.  Even the wild mustangs avoid these hills bordering the dry, salt flats of western Utah.  More plant life than a moonscape, while slightly less fragrant than springtime jasmine, the brown, barren environment summons me and serves as the pinnacle of my escape.  Perhaps it becomes fitting that the Idiot Tree (see “The Idiot Tree” from December 2011) stands just ahead around a few mild curves in the road.  I’m in my favorite corner of the world and I am enveloped in inspiration, and here the story begins.

Have You Ever Had That Feeling You’ve Been Somewhere Before?

Take Two

When I first pulled up to the Wawona Hotel at the southern end of Yosemite National Park, the late morning sun brightened the western-facing front of the gleaming white 19^th century inn.  Nestled just down the road from the towering Sequoias, the beautiful Victorian lodge provides me with the perfect opportunity to slow down and enjoy a leisurely lunch.  On my first outing through Yosemite, I have the remarkable sense of déjà vu as I drive around the curved road along the main steps of the veranda and as I pull into the tree-shaded lot and leave my rental car to cool off from the winding, twisting excursion I have completed from Tioga Pass.  As I stroll slowly on this autumn day, I have this remarkable sense of being in this time and this place and this moment somewhere previously.  I stop for photos looking out at the lush lawn that enjoys its final month before the winter snows begin their annual visits.

Inside the café, with only a few tables occupied, I marvel at the detailed architecture that surrounds me.  The lighting fixtures, the ceiling, the tall windows, all augmented by the pristine white table linens and the illumination from the perfect morning light welcoming a similarly lovely afternoon, remind me so vividly of another meal in another hotel in another vacation.  Yet this unique structure, built when the national was merely a hundred years in age, gracing the jewel of the Sierra Nevadas, provides a singularly unique turn-of-two-centuries glimpse into the earliest efforts of a country to relax and unwind.  And on this day, I continue to take advantage of its original expectations for its guests, but still I feel I have been here before.

Take One

When I first pulled up to the western-facing Lodge at Cloudcroft hidden within the Sacramento Mountains, the fading twilight provided just enough illumination to confirm that an early summer storm neared its moment of impact.  Perched in the elevations rising high above Alamogordo, the historic inn built as a resort terminus by the nineteenth century railroad company allowed just enough cover to bring some of our luggage inside before the lightening, thunder, and hail descended on the small New Mexican town.  I had pulled past the grassy lawn and found a spot between the pines before ducking back inside dodging the large raindrops beginning to pelt me – I would get the last of our bags after the menacing storm wandered along its way to the southeast.

The next morning we awake early, before the sun even has a chance to glisten on the rain-drenched furs and grass and blooms, and descend to the gypsum slopes to sled and roll and explore White Sands National Monument.  We cross paths with another early riser: an elk crossing the road and headed back into the forest before those pesky humans invade the thoroughfares.  And when we return to the mountain top for our late-morning Sunday brunch, we drive around the curved road along the main steps of the lodge.  As I pull into the tree-shaded lot and leave the rented SUV to cool off from the winding, twisting excursion we complete up from the sandy slopes, we stroll inside and sit for our relaxing midday meal.  Surrounded by perfectly appointed lighting fixtures, the tall windows, and the historic stained glass, all augmented by the pristine white table linens and the illumination of the late morning sunshine, we enjoy a fabulous brunch before the next leg of our epic family vacation.  What are the chances that I will ever experience a moment like this again?

Crossing The Rivers

The Kootenai River – Idaho



 

The Tuolumne River – California

 

The Snake River – Washington

 

The Clearwater River – Idaho

 

The Lewis River – Wyoming

 

 

 

Changes In Rank

My Favorite National Park

Knowing that I am a national parks junkie, from time to time friends inquire what national park tops
my “most favorite” list.  Of course, since I recently gave up making lists (see “Forgotten,” August 2012), I rarely have a ready answer.  Sometimes the most recent park I have visited gets special billing, other times I consider which has been the most impactful to me, or to the country, or to history, or is most photogenic, or I have spent the most time, or with whom I experienced the site, or, or, or.  Then, also, the nomenclature of ‘parks’ may not be entirely accurate for the purposes of my sharing my favorites because I have equal affinity for national monuments, battlefields, historic sites, preserves, and memorials.

Truthfully, I never bothered to rank the various entities of the National Parks Service as favorites because each provides such unique experiences, offers spectacular and varied vistas, and holds special places in my mind and my heart.  Some I have seen only once, but I desperately want to return.  Others I have visited more than once, and the second time I have felt unbelievably fortunate to experience the places twice.  Still others I know I will adore, but I have yet to see them for myself.  Asking me for a favorite national park may be like asking parents who is their favorite child – I love them all for different reasons.

If Such A List Existed

I begin to rethink the question now that I am visiting Dry Tortugas National Park.  Such history, such remoteness, such tranquility – it all reminds me of what I love most about the national park system.  “Maybe,” I think, “maybe this is my new favorite site.”  And no sooner do the words cross my mind than I realize I have never really declared my favorite, so how could this amazing location unseat that which has not yet been established?  The time has come to select a favorite.  And within moments, some of my most beloved sites in America scroll through my mind: Grand Canyon, Glacier, Glacier Bay, Yosemite, Yellowstone, Carlsbad Caverns, Golden Spike, Gettysburg, Everglades, Channel Islands, the National Mall, North Cascades, Lewis and Clark Trail – oh, I cannot even think of them all as I stand in this idyllic setting.

So rather than think about one, I think about two and decide which one ranks higher; for example, Glacier Bay versus Channel Islands.  I have visited Glacier Bay twice and Channel Islands once, so Glacier Bay earns a theoretical hash mark.  Both involve riding a boat, so each gets a nod.  Glacier Bay takes more effort to reach, but I enjoyed the Channel Islands with Son #2, and I observed far more wildlife at the Channel Islands, so they are still pretty close.  On and on I go until my rankings take shape: 1) Carlsbad Caverns (see “Hidden Beauty” from March 2012), and then 2) Glacier National Park (see “Went-To-The-Sun Road” from February 2012), followed by my new favorite, Dry Tortugas National Park, although it nearly ties with 4) Grand Canyon National Park.  Next is Yellowstone National Park followed by Yosemite National Park – oh, wait, no, switch those – Yosemite and then Yellowstone.  And here I pause and remind myself this is why I gave up making lists: I cannot even count higher than four without being utterly confused.

Trees