Unlike both of my main characters, I was a Boy Scout growing up. I have so many memories of participating in that program that it would fill a sizable portion of any memoir I might write, with more than a few chapters highlighting the amazing people I met along the way to my Eagle. Whether by design or not, the process of earning all of those merit badges exposed me to possible careers I could pursue as an adult, but perhaps more importantly, provided me with a far more diverse view of our culture than I would have ever received anywhere else.
If I had one negative experience at all from having participating in the program, I have to finally admit that I never really became a fan of the classic Scouting weekend of camping and hiking; while I do have an appreciation for Mother Nature’s bounty, spending two days fending off black flies while carrying what always felt like twice your weight on your back just never appealed to me. I’d love to write it off to the kind of equipment we had back in the 1980s, but that feels like a cheap excuse; no, I think I spent one too many cold Saturdays picking my way through the forests of Maine, drenched from the inevitable downpour that always seemed to appear at about the time it became apparent there was no turning back.
I love driving through the various National Forests we have here in Arizona, though I am still not used to calling a sea of saguaro cactus a “forest.” My wife and I and enjoyed the same experience back on the East Coast before we moved; working our way up into the Mount Washington Valley during the burst of colors Fall always provides was a regular event on our calendar. Still, after I graduated from High School and the Scouting program itself, I pretty much hung up my hiking boots. Roughing it went from trying to make spaghetti over a wood fire in the pouring rain to risking a stay in a hotel that didn’t have cable (or later, internet access).
So it’s probably not a surprise that I drew from those experiences when crafting some of the pivotal scenes in my latest book, Bygones. While I hasten to add that nothing as nefarious as what is depicted in that novel ever took place in my own personal history, I have been the lucky recipient of happening upon a hidden glade just off the beaten path, or spending that rare morning enjoying the beauty of a mountaintop sunrise from just inside the flap of your tent. More than a few bubbling brooks provided cool refreshment at the end of a particularly grueling hike, and honestly, there isn’t anything quite like sharing ghost stories around a crackling campfire beneath a starry night sky.
Will I ever hike again? Never say never, I suppose, but for now I am perfectly content to sit back and simply imagine how my characters might experience such a thing — and share that with you.