Among many uncatalogued photos on my computer, I have a number taken while I was writing my middle grade novel, Missing in Paradise. The photos remind me of a research trip and how just being in a place can influence one’s writing.
In 2005, the book was just a vague idea without firm characters or a substantial plot. The story centered around a teenager who discovers a treasure hidden in a wilderness location but I knew little else at that point. Then I happened to read a newspaper article about a prisoner-of-war camp that once stood in Manitoba’s Riding Mountain National Park. I was intrigued. Could this be the far-off setting for my story?
To investigate, I drove 180 kilometers from Winnipeg to Riding Mountain National Park, then hopped on my bike to ride the final stretch – a bone-rattling 11 kilometres down Central Trail to the site of what was once Whitewater Prisoner-of-War Camp.
Built in 1942 to house German prisoners captured in World War II, the camp had been dismantled in 1945. Of the original buildings – six bunkhouses, a large cookhouse and dining room, quarters for staff, a hospital, barn, and even a powerhouse for generating electricity – not one remained.
I was disappointed to have come so far for nothing. Then, as I turned to leave, I noticed two blocks of concrete behind a cluster of aspens. Rusting rebar poked through the mottled surface. Clearly, these were the remains of a foundation that once stood on the site.
I sat on one block and scanned the scene. I was in a clearing, choked with tall grass and peppered with trees. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of water – Whitewater Lake, the camp’s namesake.
In 1945, this had been a bustling place, filled with buildings and occupied by prisoners captured during the war. Men had once stood in this same place. They’d looked across the very same clearing. It took only a bit of imaging to picture the scene.
I knew then that this would the final destination for my treasure-hunting characters. It took a while to work out the plot, but when it came to writing the scenes at Whitewater Prisoner-of-War Camp, they came easily. Visiting the site solidified the details, making them real to me, and by extension, hopefully real to my readers, too.
Here’s a small sample from the book when Nate, the main character, visits the old site with his treasure-hunting pals, Simon and Marnie.
I took out the aerial photograph of the camp. Simon and Marnie crowded around, trying to catch a glimpse under the flashlight’s narrow beam. The buildings of Whitewater Camp radiated around a circle with the mess hall at the centre. On the far left stood Whitewater Lake. Between the lake and the buildings, tall pines rimmed the clearing. “Look. There is only one building at the camp with a clear view of the lake.” With my finger, I traced a straight line from the lake through an opening in the trees to the camp. “There.”
“The powerhouse,” Marnie said.
“The powerhouse,” Simon echoed.