Nonfiction: In mid-November, 1805, Lewis and Clark and their Corps of Discovery finally reached the Pacific Ocean. The expedition had left St. Louis over a year and a half earlier in order to locate the mythical "Northwest Passage," supposedly a series of rivers that would connect the east and west coasts of North America. But it didn't exist, and instead they came upon the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains and found only great hardship and suffering. But they persevered and pushed forward to the Pacific, where they hoped to find passage home by ship. With none to be found, they constructed Fort Clatsop and waited through another bitter winter, suffering more misery and sickness, until the weather broke and the Corps of Discovery headed east for St. Louis in late March 1806. Fiction: The men of the Corps of Discovery scrambled down the sandy dune like children romping in a snowstorm. They charged toward the endless expanse of grey, churning water, as if touching it could erase the struggle and suffering of the last eighteen months. One by one, though, their heads moved from the hypnotic, lapping surf to the space just above the horizon line, searching for a mast or a sail, or any sign of a sailing vessel moving in the distance. And when none could be found, each face glazed over with the understanding that the journey they thought was complete was only halfway done. One by one they turned from the rhythmic, lulling Pacific and faced east, looking at the thick forests and angry mountains they had hoped never to enter again.

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