Trend: Destination—Mancation

On a clear blue Saturday morning in June, when the Palouse was still green from the spring rains, two friends and I were bicycling northward on Middle Waitsburg Road, 10 miles outside of Walla Walla, in the farm country of southeastern Washington. The sun shone brightly on the rolling hills. The wheatgrass shimmered like a great green sea.

At the crest of a large hill, we stopped to admire a panorama of wheat fields, scattered farmhouses and the distant, snowcapped Blue Mountains. We three—a radio reporter, a public relations account supervisor and me, all in our early 30s—hadn’t seen much of each other in the prior year or two. But as we soaked in the early summer sunshine, we experienced a slightly shocking revelation: We were on a mancation.

At first, the idea was somewhat unsettling. A mancation? Isn’t that what old guys do? Had we really reached the point when spending time together necessitated weeks of advance planning? Were we already so tied down by the shackles of our schedules that a weekend of dude time seemed like a gift from above?

The answer: Yes. And no.

“Mancation,” in fact, is something of a travel industry buzzword. Though overshadowed by the recently coined (and annoying) staycations, mancations are an increasingly popular marketing ploy used by tour operators and even distilleries, many of which are capitalizing on the fact that men aren’t opposed to trips with a little bit of luxury involved. Example: The Fairmont hotel chain—known for its upscale accommodations—is among the hoteliers marketing to mancationers. And each September—National Bourbon Heritage Month, in case you didn’t know—the Jim Beam and Knob Creek distilleries offer a guys-only tour of Kentucky’s Bourbon Trail.

Closer to home, Spokane’s Dry Fly Distilling—a boutique distillery that is one of Washington’s first—has become a popular destination for discerning vodka-, gin- and whiskey-loving men from around the Pacific Northwest. The distillery offers two- and seven-day distilling classes, schooling gentlemen (and ladies, of course) in everything from mashing grain to marketing spirits.

“Guys tend to bring their guy friends here,” says Dry Fly’s Kent Fleischmann, who founded the distillery with Don Poffenroth in late 2007. “We get constant inquiries from people on the west side of the Cascades.”

One could argue that mancations have existed as long as men have—but by other names. “Golf getaway in Palm Springs,” for example, circa 1962. Or “Bilsdale Fox Hunt in Yorkshire,” circa 1670-something.

In fact, mancations may have peaked in the early 1990s, well before the term was coined. A pair of books—Iron John: A Book About Men, by the poet Robert Bly, and Fire in the Belly: On Being a Man, by Sam Keen—ignited a brief trend in which men (mostly yuppies) confronted their existential crises via trips to the forest, drum circles and therapeutic activities intended to foster emotional breakthroughs.

On this trip, comfort was more important to us than emotional catharsis. In fact, we found that the best way to bond was by riding bikes, eating incredible food and drinking some awesome wines.

As we rode, we discussed the relative merits of mancationing. Obvious merit: finally getting to spend quality time with old buddies. Not so obvious merit: gaining a renewed appreciation for your girlfriend’s pleasant smell. Pro: feeling relaxed enough to express your emotions. Con: feeling relaxed enough to express your emotions.

But aside from the plain-to-see virtues of spending time together, we felt that our mancation was somehow more rewarding than we expected. Spending time together was now more difficult than it had ever been—our lives were busier than in our younger years—and hanging out now seemed more significant, more meaningful and more valuable.

Clark Casebolt, owner of the Friday Harbor–based sea kayaking tour company Outdoor Odysseys, has been leading trips in the San Juan Islands for 22 years. He’s seen his share of mancations.

“I think the premise of the single-gender trip, whether it’s an all-male or all-female group, is that you can let your hair down a bit,” Casebolt says. “It’s not that you’re going to get really gross, but you’re going to be more relaxed.”

We realized that we’d been mancationing for years. We’d been to three bachelor parties on the Oregon coast in the past five years, and all were heavy on male bonding—surf sessions, bonfires, gastronomic gluttony at the brewpub—and mercifully devoid of strippers. (Much to our significant others’ delight, those had been forsaken in favor of upscale beach-house rentals, crab and oysters, and top-shelf bourbons.) And that weekend on the Deschutes River with 10 dudes, two rafts, and a memorable evening of riverside gab? Mancation all the way.

Since our Walla Walla weekend, the three of us have been scouring our calendars—and our maps—in search of another window, another destination, another chance to escape, slow down and hang out with each other. There’s no date set as of now, but all three of us know there’s another mancation in our near future.

Mancations are, after all, wherever you look for them.