        His rusty white Honda wagon was backed up next to a tree, leaving the bulk of the campsite open, and the park permit was carefully tucked into the wooden post, the expiration date clearly visible from the road.  Park rangers tended to mind their own business as long as the site stayed quiet, but they’d be looking if he stayed a day late.  He figured that the empty roof rack on his car would provide enough of a clue that he’d left in a boat; if he hadn’t made it back by the end of the week, he’d be happy for the Coasties to come to his rescue.  To narrow their search, he had written his itinerary on a sheet of paper, which he’d left on the driver’s seat.