First, the video available was very limited.
By the time we rolled up to the scene about 5 miles west of the city limits of Olympia, the news helicopters were already buzzing overhead. Otherwise, it was hard to tell from the road that anything was out of the ordinary.
Those huge fir trees so ubiquitous in the Pacific Northwest hemmed us in from every direction.

A single home on the road was about the only reminder people actually lived around here.
Somewhere down a "private" road and well off into a dense forest was what we wanted to see, but couldn't: searchers, dogs - activity.
Instead, we were stuck. Since being greeted by a friendly but stern detective who reminded us to stay put until his "boss" showed up, we hadn't gotten anywhere near where the pictures were.
Around 1 p.m., with virtually no video and no immediate prospects of getting any, photographer Tom Tedford and I changed directions. We went to see the coroner. He had a model skeleton and could use it to show us a replica of what had been found. It wasn't the search scene, but it was something.
When we returned, two photographers from other news agencies looked like they were stuck in quick drying cement. They had hardly moved from the spot we left them nearly 90 minutes earlier. Not a good sign.
But the demands of an imposing deadline will not be ignored. We couldn't wait much longer. Looking for support from the group of reporters, I said something like, "well, the golden hour is upon us. We've got to get some pictures. I'm going to see if someone up there can let us get any closer."
With that, I started a tentative march toward the activity. Everyone else walked with me. "Good," I thought. "Safety in numbers."
To my surprise, when we get up the road the "boss" was already on scene. Somehow he had slipped past the posse of reporters waiting for permission to get pictures of the scene. He let us get some video. Not great, up close, get-you-right-in-the-middle-of-the-action video, but it was video.
Second, the real challenge: a live shot.
It would be nice to go live somewhere near the scene. That would help people watching understand the terrain and its demands. It would also be a lot more interesting to look at than an empty parking lot at the county sheriff's office many miles away.
But those trees. And that mountain ridge. In the world of television live shots, the wilderness is tough terrain. As engineers say, "you have to have a line of sight." That means the microwave (radio frequency) that shoots our signal from the live truck to an antenna-like "receiver" can't be obstructed by physical objects.
Most crews in Seattle have an engineer that drives the truck and sets the live shot. The reporter and photographer concentrate on telling the story.
This is not a luxury that we get in the bureau.
It's just Tom raising the mast, calling to "dial-in" our video signal, making sure our two-way audio communication is clear, stringing cable, setting-up lights. You name it, he does it.
The photographer from a competing bureau didn't even try to get a signal. He shook his head and headed for the empty parking lot.
But not Tom. He likes a challenge. He doesn't mind pushing a deadline to the last minute. He's got guts---and sometimes that puts a hole in mine. But Tom always gets the job done. And today was no different.
By 4:50 p.m., our story was edited and ready for air. Our live shot was dialed-in and looked good.
We had beaten the limited access, beaten the tall trees, and beaten the other guys.
All just so we had something interesting to put on the air.