Designated Blogger

Editor's note: Ashlynne and I spent the weekend in Nashville and weren't able to go caching with the guys, but I knew you folks would be unhappy if there was no blog for this week, so I talked our friend Doc, who was tagging along in our absence, to write up the week's adventures. Doc could out-write me in his sleep, so you guys are in for a treat. Just don't get to liking it too much. You're back stuck with me next week...

Gryphon kindly asked me to write for the Zen Bassmaster's Adventures in Geocaching blog as he and Ashlynne were attending a concert that day. Some of you know me, but to those that do not I am Doc, or Entropy or Entropius. Like all of you, I've been fascinated by the tales of my friends' adventures, and joined them when I can. This day, Tserof, Fish and Chri asked if I would come along as some of the others would be absent, and a happy circumstance of scheduling made it so. I hope you can forgive me the discontinuity of styles between Gryphon and myself--I'm unfamiliar with the language of 'caching, but will do my best to describe a wonderful day.
We began that day with a pick-up truck. Not just any pick-up truck, but a truck of such reserves of strength and fortitude that it could shoulder the great burden of the Zen Bassmasters themselves. Such an awesome vehicle deserved an awesome name, and this is had. The Titan.
The Titan's amenities were many, it's drawbacks few but fierce. The great transport had an extended cab capable of blissfully free-knee movement for four, half it's systems were heated (and perhaps the rest, too), and cargo had no hope of escaping it's gated bed. It's brakes were mighty (as we discovered many times that day), it's acceleration sedate and untroubled by hill or valley, it's lights plentiful, and the mysteries of it's various storage compartments and cubbyholes a never ending source of wonder.
However, the Titan suffered from two key weaknesses. First, and perhaps most obvious, was it's voracious liquid thirst. A vampire of ancient fern, the magnitude of it's hunger wasn't clear until Tserof, shortly before our journey, drew a deep breath while removing the gas cap to insert the nozzle.
“You know, this thing holds twenty-eight gallons,” he told me ruefully.
A mighty thirst, indeed.
Secondly, the Titan's designers seemed to have had misconceptions about the girth of those that would ride it's steel frame. Having had such good engineering in all other aspects of the vehicle's seating, one wonders why those engineers failed to figure on folks greater than ten years of age when designing the safety features. So, aside from Fish, who religiously insisted on wearing his seatbelt irregardless of the discomfort and permanent disfigurement it caused, we relied on the numerous handles and sturdy protrusions to steady ourselves during the Titan's voyage.
Fish and Chri met Tserof and me at Tserof's place. Seat assignments were made and we began our pleasant trip to Huntsville, AL., where the day's festivities would play out. Heaven has made few things more perfect than a cool, sunny day in fall. The light breeze refreshed us and stirred the city vapors, and all in all the day itself became a reason to be out within it.
After a ritual male comparison of GPS devices, Tserof and Fish began negotiating which caches we would see in what order. It seemed Fish's goals that day were twofold--first, he wanted to gather as many “bugs” as possible before his trip next week to friends in Missouri. These bugs are an interesting aspect of 'caching, and a tribute to the good faith of the community itself. I've seen a few, and been impressed by the progress of them all. They are miniature Olympic torches, handed off one to another in an unbroken chain of good will, and for a few of them Fish was going to take a small part in their journey by giving them a two state jump. The stories they could tell if only they could talk.
Secondly, Fish was rapidly approaching his 100th cache. He had, in fact, meticulously planned out WHICH cache he wanted to be number 100. But most of the caches on the list that day were caches he'd already found that he'd since discovered had bugs--his idea was to allow the rest of to find these on our own while he chuckled and cajoled from a safe distance. THAT part of his plan, however, fell short--for the day was to be the day of Chri.
The first cache, No Birds Allowed, was in the outskirts of northeast Huntsville. After traveling through a lonely industrial part of town with endless steel buildings and warehouses, we broke into a fairly new residential subdivision with typically winding streets and cul-de-sacs. A couple of twists and “semi-circular course corrections” later, Chri spotted a significant street sign and we found a likely place to approach. After discovering several things a bird would find distressing, Chri located the cache itself. The engineering and application of the thing was ingenious--Fish took time to point out the features that made it both a good hide and aptly named.
It was about this time that we realized we weren't harnessing the full potential of the Titan. As we approached some railroad tracks on our way out, Fish urged Tserof, “Gun it! Gun it! You know you want to get some air-time.” Indeed! The Titan's flight characteristics were untried and unknown, yet it would be such a time saver to hop hills and rivers and dense foliage in the Titan on the way to inaccessible caches! Tserof wisely declined, however, instead limiting the Titan to jumping curbs, small rocks and potholes.
We ate at Beauregard's after some Magic Eight Ball Navigation (Tserof: “Do I go right?” Fish: “Yeah. Sort of.”) The infamous home of glow-in-the-dark all-you-can-eat chicken wings, the selection included more varieties of tongue-burning sauces and dips than there are words in the world meaning “Too Hot.” Fortunately, the drinks served were generous--I had four tall Diet Pepsis before it was all over. Fish discovered he liked the Jamaican Jerk sauce, while I was able to (after years of fortifying myself on mild salsa) eat the “hot” chicken wings. “Hot” being just two on scale of Mild to “Nuclear,” but we all must take pride in our baby steps.
During lunch, Fish made several predictions--naming a cache and pointing to each of us in turn and saying “You'll be the one to find this one, the rest of you will NEVER get it.” These predictions were at least partially correct--whenever he predicted Chri would find one, he was right.
After lunch, Fish was looking forward to showing us Grizzly Gator, but some muggles were nearby so we waved off. Instead, we had encounters with two great beasts. One, a fearsome life-sized bear carved in wood, stood menacingly before a home along the street near the cache. I wondered if it was a result of chainsaw art, given the many planes and angles there were. Secondly was a small grey squirrel. One might think that in a contest between a squirrel crossing the road and the Titan, the outcome would be certain. Not so--the squirrel was victorious as the Titan's quite ample brakes yielded the field! Squirrels 1, Titan 0.
We traveled on to the shade side of Huntsville's progress and industry, beneath the opening ribbons of Interstate that climb up on compressed concrete and rebar over the railroad tracks downtown. Here lay Dragon's Breath 2, and it was quite a find. This was left by a man named Zaybex, who I firmly believe is a rigger or longshoreman by day. It was a very clever hide, and once again Chri, who would not bow to the obvious, scored the find. While retrieval was going on, a freight train rumbled pass--it's been a long time since I'd seen one, and that sight alone would have made the day worth it.
We approached our next, Rocky's First Cache, through downtown Huntsville. Being a Saturday, it was quiet and deserted, but I still imagined the great Titan encountering those one way streets on it's own terms and being unbowed. No onslaught of oncoming traffic could deter our Titan! Let the pedestrians yield!
The cache itself was one both Tserof and Fish had seen before, so for the first time I was handed a GPS and told, “Go forth.” I did so, peering intently at the glowing compass heading and following it faithfully--to a point almost thirty feet away from the actual cache, which Chri found in moments.
By this time, Fish was getting nervous. Chri was scoring all the finds, and doing so with apparent skill and ease. Jokes about his predictions ceased, the Bart Simpson laughter was growing less pronounced. But I know he was quietly proud of her, for never was there any complaint.
We traveled along University Drive to the landmark Huntsville Arch. A pedestrian walkway meant to keep students safe from the Atlanta-like traffic speeding along the thoroughfare below, it spanned the distance between a school and a sub sandwich shop, two places well visited by school kids. Walking the arch itself is an experience! The spectacle of all that oncoming traffic rushing at you but suddenly passing harmlessly below is invigorating. This was another that Fish had been to, and he quite enjoyed watching us climb in and around the arch searching for the thing. When Chri finally found it, Fish admitted that while we were looking he tried to spot it and it took him three tries even knowing where it was!
A few twist and turns later led us to Girls Went a Courting, a cache that both Tserof and Fish had already found. Chri and I manned the GPSs again and rummaged around until Chri called out in triumph. A well decorated and populated box was the prize, as well as another notch for Chri's belt.
We traveled to a nearby cemetery for the next cache. Remember Dred Scott was one those caches that leads to a fascinating place. The cache itself, which Tserof found, was not obvious yet in an obvious place that was both respectful and complimentary to the setting. I'd never known the place existed, and was gratified to be led there--another great feature of geocaching.
We next traveled to the campus of the University of Alabama in Huntsville, my old alma matter. It's been years since I've been on the campus proper, and how it's changed! New buildings are everywhere, but the old buildings remain--I might still be able to find the cafeteria, after all. We parked the Titan and trekked off, encountering a fellow walking a large canine along the way with a leash that could more accurately be called a tow cable as the man was certainly being towed by the dog. Soon we were upon a shady place that I must have driven by a hundred times and never thought twice about it. Within were nestled some rocks overgrown with foliage. “Rocks!” Chri said, “I like rocks!” And, indeed, her instincts were again correct, except this time there was a conspiracy of dwadaling. The others made a point of resting and taking in the view while I was handed a GPS and wandered off. Eventually I found the thing--the largest cache of the trip and rather patriotically appointed to be noticeable, and still I walked by it twice. The gang logged us in and off we went.
We'd been at it for some hours and it was time for a pit stop. We chose an old Circle-C near the Space and Rocket Center, a place where an old friend used to work. Call him Kenchlo, none of us had seen him in years, and returning to that spot made us wonder. The store itself hadn't changed much--it lacked the Slushy machine that used to be our excuse to travel down at 4:30 AM to visit Kench at work, but otherwise still had the same diagonal rows of candy and starch and beer. If only our old friend Kench had been behind the counter to kid us about our strictly non-alcoholic refreshments, the scene would have been complete.
The next cache was something special. Fish proclaimed that Thorton Research Park was his favorite hide, and said he was going to particularly enjoy sitting and watching us grow frustrated. To his alarm, however, Tserof and Chri teamed up and reasoned it out, and finally found the thing in rather less time that Fish had before. Indeed, it was awfully clever, the work of a craftsman that impressed us all. But poor Fish, bemused yet proud of his wife, couldn't help but calling Chri and Tserof choice five letter words on our walk back to the Titan.
A feat or two of navigation later, and travel over what was perhaps the bumpiest paved road in the Huntsville area, we arrived at Off the Beaten Path. It was located in a place with a fantastic name--I even loved the name of the road in front of it. Yet, as the cache describes, it was rather desolate, a failed experiment in speculative real estate. The cache was hidden well enough, found by Tserof after a few minutes of searching. As Chri said, speaking of the types of flora nearby, “They could have been much more cruel.”
The sun was beginning to get sleepy and was headed towards it's nightly rest as we pulled into a public ball park. Saturday evening games had already started up, and we parked among a crowd of family minivans and harried mothers and fathers shuffling their little leaguers off to their glory. We marched to the beat of the GPSs and the roar of crowds and balls on bats, and soon entered a wood near the fields. We found what we believed was the setup indicated by the cache's name, but never could find the cache itself. Had it not been for the fading light, I'm sure we would have spent hours more looking.
Interestingly, we'd discovered a fairway completely covered in kudzu not far from the cache site. We gave it little attention until, at some point during our exploration, we heard a loud approaching rumbling and thunder. Alarmed, we looked around and, to everyone's surprise, saw a freight train rush past right through that field of kudzu! The kudzu, being so voracious, had grown right over the railroad tracks, concealing them until the train roared past.
It was now deep twilight, and we were making plans to return home. Fish still had a couple of things he wanted to try, so try we did. On the way to the first was the Mountain of Despair, the hill along Four Mile Post that Fish and Tserof and the others had all had near-death experiences upon. It sounded dreadful, and I could tell that even just driving by it was far too close for their comfort.
Four Mile Post Rocks, View of the Cave! was a nighttime find for us. The half moon hovered in the low horizon, obscured by mist and high broken clouds. It and the small flashlights we scavenged provided enough light for Fish and Tserof to find the cache. They described an unusual container, perhaps a candy dispenser of some sort, and Tserof said he'd like to get one to hide himself someday.
Fish said we'd get a kick out of Path to Nowhere, and right he was. Chri, still on her roll, found it almost within seconds, even in the dark. It's an interesting place that deserves something more--benches for quiet reflection, perhaps. Even the Path to Nowhere leads somewhere.
Finally came Fish's chosen cache, the cache he wanted to be his one hundredth. He knew about it because he'd encountered the place once before and decided it was great spot to hide a cache, yet when he researched it he discovered someone had beaten him to it. So he decided to find THEIR cache instead, which the rest of us wondered how it would be accomplished at night with two small penlights, one with fading batteries.
As we parked, Fish told us, “You can't find it, this one's mine!”
Tserof said, “You want us to wait here?”
“Oh, okay,” Fish replied, almost grudgingly, “you can come.”
And so we did--into a place that reminded me of a football stadium. After a bit of searching, Fish did indeed find the cache, and not once did the flashlights see service.
Our adventure in geocaching was complete. We'd spent a full eight hours traveling around and having a good time--I'm deeply thankful for the chance to spend time with Tserof, Fish and Chri, and glad to have experienced again this remarkable hobby of theirs. Every cache we found had the weight of history, the lingering touch of other human hands, their works and skill made substantial before our very eyes. It's a type of history you can see and feel and know where it's been and follow where it's going. Real people came before, and real people will come after, and they will see the names and wonder who those people were...
...but they will KNOW why they were there.