Men. Can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em (DNA is just too conclusive these days). From a woman's point of view, men can be obstinate, ornery, and stubborn. Oh, and they won't stop and ask for directions.

My father-in-law, my old buddy, my pal...my best friend...is a snowbird, for the most part, spending his summers in temperate climates and wintering where the weather is warmer. He often spends the winter months here in South Carolina, where snow is infrequent and December temperatures of 70 degrees are common. Before he arrived in October, I'd told him that, before he left South Carolina, he'd be a seasoned cacher. At his age (he's 69), he gets around better than I do, often riding his mountain bike five or six miles a day. Because of his travels, I know that he's probably ridden past dozens of caches without even knowing it. Reasoning that I needed a caching partner and he needed biking destinations, caching would be the perfect activity for him.

Our first cache venture was to be one located along the Palmetto Trail, a system of trails that willl eventually be 425 miles in length and will traverse the entire state of South Carolina. Unfortunately, many of these trails are currently unimproved, resembling mere deer paths, if that. Palmetto Trail - High Hills 1 has a terrain rating of three stars. Being in a wheelchair doesn't keep me from attempting caches with a terrain rating of 1.5 or higher, but this one was just out of my range. The three-star rating was a factor in itself, but my father-in-law (Drifter Dad) and I drove around and around, yet couldn't even find a way down the steep hills to get to the trail below. In our defense, we didn't log this particular cache as a DNF, as we didn't even attempt it. Moving right along, the next cache on my list, also on the Palmetto Trail, was Palmetto State Happy with a terrain rating of two stars.

I should have thought twice after initially having to ford a four-inch deep, ten-foot long puddle. I wasn't about to let that stop me, though, especially after boasting to Drifter Dad about my cache exploits. I slowly tackled the puddle. No matter that I was throwing muddy water and clay behind me, I made it across to find a nice, wide, leaf-covered trail that was relatively even. "Piece of cake", I thought, as Drifter Dad and I headed down the path. Pleasant conversation with a companion on a gorgeous autumn day...what more could one ask for on a caching adventure? It didn't take long, however, for our journey to become a misadventure.

After traveling a half mile or so, what had been the trail turned into a ditch. A gully. A small ravine that even the most stout-hearted wagon train master wouldn't attempt. I'm not a wagon train master, however. Drifter Dad and I kept moving in the direction of the pointing arrows of three GPS receivers. I was having a rough go of things, often bottoming out or becoming high-centered. If I didn't get stuck in the mud, my tires would spin on wet leaves or pine needles. Drifter Dad to the rescue! This bear of a man, standing six feet tall, has strength that belies his age. Pushing or pulling the weight of my chair and me, he didn't even get winded. Time and again, he'd backtrack, answering my call of, "Help! I'm stuck!"

Eventually, we found the cache, hidden many feet off the trail (I use the term in the loosest sense). I traded trinkets, we both signed the log book, and began the trek back to my van. I offered him an FRS radio and a GPSr, but he refused both (this is where the stubborn man aspect of my story becomes pertinent). Drifter Dad decided that he would take a short detour to "relieve" himself of the morning's coffee. He made his way off the trail about 50 feet and out of my sight. Now, I certainly wasn't moving very quickly, but somehow, we lost one another. Rather, he became lost. Oh, he'll deny it, but he was lost. I followed the exact route back to my van, recognizing landmarks we had passed on our way to the cache. Drifter Dad, on the other hand, somehow managed to lose me and the trail (what there was of one) after taking his "break". While tramping through the woods, he feared that I had turned over my chair somewhere and was unable to call out to him. Similarly, I could picture him beside a log, having tripped, unable to get up or call out to me.

I blew my emergency whistle, thinking that there was no way he could have traveled out of ear shot of the shrill notes it produces. I listened...nothing. "DAAAAAAD!!!" Again, nothing. It was as if he disappeared totally and completely. I alternated between blowing the whistle and yelling for him, and never heard him answer. "He's much quicker than I am", I thought to myself, so I assumed that perhaps he was waiting for me back at my van. Successfully avoiding the pitfalls I encountered on the way in, I eventually made it back to my vehicle, with no evidence of Drifter Dad's presence. "Great", I thought...not only had I lost my best friend, but my husband's father. Despite a weak cell phone signal, I called my husband.

"Sweetie, we found the cache. But..."

"But what?"

"Well...how do I say this..."

"What is it?"

"Dad's lost."

"WHAT?!?"

"I don't know what happened...he was with me one second, and the next he was just...well, gone."

"You lost my dad? He's the only one I've got!"

"I didn't lose him...he lost himself! I backtracked the same path we followed on the way in, but he just disappeared."

"You have to find him! What if he's hurt?"

"I've been calling to him, but he wouldn't take a radio and he obviously can't hear me yelling or blowing my whistle. Hang on, I'll call out to him again. DAAAAAD! Can you hear me?"

Utter silence.

"There's no answer. I keep listening for him yelling, or for footsteps, and there's just silence."

"Keep looking...I'll come and help just as soon as I can get there. In the meantime, call me every five minutes or so."

"Okay...Love you. Bye."

I "waded" across that puddle no less than six times, traveling back and forth between the place where we'd become separated and where my van was parked. Eventually, I realized that either he'd find his way back, or I'd need reenforcements to find him. Visions of legions of seekers, shoulder-to-shoulder, walking through the forest, bounced around in my head. I headed back to the van, still blowing my whistle and yelling until I was hoarse and my wheelchair batteries were considerably weaker. I'd nearly made it back to the van when I finally heard him answer my frantic calls.

"Dad, where ARE you?!?"

"I'm right here...where are YOU?"

Somehow, he'd managed to cross the "trail", travel 1/4 mile on the other side of the "trail", and come out on a road past where my van was parked. I didn't know whether to smack him or hug him when I realized he was safe. I did, of course, question him repeatedly about how he managed to get lost so quickly, and chastised him for not taking a radio. He retrieved his bottle of water from my van (we didn't think we'd be out long enough to take our drinks with us) and took several LONG swigs before he replied, "I don't know...I went behind a tree, and when I was done, you were gone!" Try as I might, that's the only answer I could get from him.

Believe it or not, this newbie and I decided to hit two more caches before calling it a day. However, I made certain I didn't let him out of my sight and he carried one of the GPS receivers AND one of the radios. I'm not sure he's the caching zealot I am; he hasn't yet shopped for a GPSr of his own. But, he did tag along with me when I went to a park where a cache is hidden (he found it more quickly than I did several months ago). Maybe he's a natural...as long as he hunts urban caches in a somewhat populated area with muggles nearby. I'm glad I found him...he's pretty nice to have around, and I don't think my husband would ever forgive me for losing the only father he has. And, it's given us both a story to tell...fodder for light-hearted ribbing about who lost whom...for years to come. For the record, I was never lost. Isn't it nice being able to have the final word?