This month:
- Finder of Not by Chris Caserta, aka Criminal
- Wives and Geocaching by Jerry Carter, aka El Diablo
- Our Monthly Cartoon by Tee King, aka Pyewacket
aka Criminal
Travis has just marked his 100th DNF, so I thought this would be a good time to share his story... There are many numbers to keep track of in geocaching, millions of permutations of both relevant and nonsensical figures such that one's mind could be boggled by the weight of them. One number that most geocachers try to downplay is the ubiquitous "Not Found", the frown faced log of shame that all of us have had to write from time to time. There are some geocachers who don't log them at all, while others do so religiously. In the Pacific Northwest, one cacher rises above all others in the "did not find" (DNF) category. I won't embarrass TravisL by using his real name, so for this account, we'll just call him "Travis". Travis has just marked his 100th DNF, so I thought this would be a good time to share his story, a story of mysticism, shame, and legend.
But I should start at the beginning. You see, the inability of Travis to find even his own geocaches did not start overnight. So let us go now, back in time, to the days of his troubled youth. The story actually begins in vitro, before he was born. Travis' parents were famed archeologists, leaders in their field, and well respected by the antiquities community. On the seventh day of her seventh month of pregnancy, Mrs. L was involved in the unsealing of an ancient tomb in the Egyptian desert. The burial site was that of the little-known King Spurious, the king who was killed for his constant practical joking. His final prank was to place a curse on his own tomb, the first person to find it and open it would be forever cursed with the inability to find much of anything. (Like his legacy, his curse was a bit vague.) We know little about what happened immediately after that; only that Mrs. L had to be escorted home because she could not find her own way.
Travis, the early days
His entry into the world would be delayed by over a month; some speculate that the infant could not find his way out. Additionally, Travis always looked malnourished as a baby. He was the subject of a number of studies into the inability of an infant to find its source of nutrition. His rattle would inexplicably become lost in his crib, and despite many tedious hours of professional training, he was never able to locate his buttocks with both hands. These and other signs led his mother to believe that her precious child was afflicted with the curse. Immediately after little Travis was born, his mother remembered where she had misplaced her car keys two weeks prior. She was cured, but he would carry the curse even to this day.
Even at Christmas, Travis could find little joy, or even his presents. As a young lad, Travis used to dread the coming of the Easter holiday. The other children in the neighborhood would parade past him with their heaping baskets of colored eggs, peeps, and chocolate balls. Poor Travis could only look on as, one by one, all the Easter treasures were discovered, and a little foil tumbleweed blew around in the bottom of his pink basket.
"Mommy mommy!" cried little Travis, "I can't find my balls! I can't find my eggs or peeps either!"
Even at Christmas, Travis could find little joy, or even his presents. "They're right under the boughs of the tree!" his exasperated mother would exclaim.
Little Travis would pull back the lower branches and ask, "Where? I can't see them!"
At school, he was constantly losing his books in his desk, his lunch on the table, and even his coat on the back of his chair. The constant searching for things he had lost would have a negative impact on his grades. Some speculate he could have gone on to rocket science or brain surgery if only he could have applied himself to his studies. Instead, he was compelled to pursue a law career.
High School
High school presented new and embarrassing situations for Trav, as he was then known. In the ninth grade, he traded the superman doll his mother had tied to his wrist for an intense interest and curiosity of the opposite sex. His raging hormones would do little to quell the curse, and in fact may have made it worse. Young Nicole, with the budding shirt muffins, stood in front of him, glaring and seething in anger.
"You stood me up again, I missed the dance!" she hissed through clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry Nicole," Travis said sadly, "I couldn't find my dad's car."
"Hey!" she snapped, "My eyes are up here, and your dad's car was right in the driveway!"
"I know, but I couldn't find your house!" Travis pleaded.
"I live across the street from you!" she screamed.
They would attempt a few more dates but Travis would inevitably get lost or forget where his date was sitting in the movie theater, and so the romance fizzled.Feeling dejected, Travis sought advice from his guidance counselor. He told her the whole sordid tale of his youth and the curse that yoked him. The counselor reached across her desk and cupped his chin in her soft hand. "Travis, my eyes are up here."
She advised Travis to find a hobby to get his mind off his troubles. "Just don't pick a hobby that involves finding things," she recommended.
Travis would bounce between many different sports activities during this period. He was always the favorite on the basketball team, at least to the opposing players who happily received his passes and watched him shoot at the wrong basket. He would often finish a race with times in the negative numbers in track (ran the wrong way), and gained a degree of notoriety when he threw a javelin in the wrong direction, nearly impaling the town's mayor who was watching the event.At some point in the middle of the gross personal stuff we glossed over, Travis discovered geocaching.
Travis, the Adult
Having long since given up on finding love, love would find him instead and we skip past all the really gross personal stuff to the present. Travis is now married with a child of his own. His logs often feature a mention of his wife (Dragonfli) and daughter (Geogrrrl). Mrs. Travis is blessed with the patience of a saint, making sure her husband is heading in the right direction, finding his misplaced things, and generally carrying the burden of family organization. At some point in the middle of the gross personal stuff we glossed over, Travis discovered geocaching.
Geocaching presented a number of challenges to his poor navigation and finding skills and the new hobby was a frustrating one. He even considered quitting but feared what declaring failure at yet another pastime would do to his shaky image. Travis became further embarrassed when newer geocachers were slowly building strong find counts while his DNF tally continued to grow. One cacher, who is wise and good-looking, was even emailing poor Travis to gloat over his many FTFs (he was only doing this in hopes of spurring Travis on towards more finds). The days were dark indeed. Travis began to look for some way to lift the curse, to rid himself of the torment once and for all.
Dangerous Liaisons
In the summer of 2002, Travis flew to New Orleans to meet with a voodoo priestess who he had heard could break the troubling affliction of King Spurious. Standing in the doorway of her room, he felt much apprehension.
"Come in young man," she said in a soothing and eerie voice. "Sit here at the table and we'll see what the crystal ball has for you."
Travis stepped in and looked around. "Sit? I can't find the chair," he said.
She got up, guided him to the seat across from hers, and sat back down. "What is troubling you? Why do you fret?" soothed her voice.
"I have a curse," Travis began. "I was vexed from birth by a dead Egyptian king. I'm hoping you can rid me of it."
"OK," she said, soothing voice replaced by one of irritation, "my eyes are up here for one, and for two, have you ever been in a mental institution?"
Travis was crestfallen. "I'm serious!" he cried, "I really need your help!"
The priestess sat back and pulled her shawl tightly across her chest. Agonizing minutes passed as she rocked, seemingly in a trance. "I think I can help you," she said finally.
She got up and mixed a potion which she handed to him. "Drink this; you will have a vision in the night, then you will know what you must do."
"Oh thank you!" gushed Travis, "How much do I owe you?"
She stroked her chin and said, "You must deliver to me the first born of your loins."Travis recoiled, "I can't do that! My wife would notice her missing!"
The priestess smiled, "Then deliver to me $40 in cash."
Show Me Visions, Show Me Nightmares
Months passed with no vision and Travis feared he'd been taken. Then one night in November, Travis awoke from a fitful sleep in a cold sweat. The following narrative was taken directly from his stolen diary, and documents the events of that fateful night:
The following narrative was taken directly from his stolen diary, and documents the events of that fateful night: And lo, as I stared upward at the dark ceiling of my discontent, there appeared before me an apparition; I wanted to believe it an angel. It appeared slowly, as though it were having trouble taking form. McDonald's toys, broken and soiled, swirled around the shape. The room crackled with electricity and took the musty smell of the inside of an ammo can. I drew back in fear with much sweat and trembling. The angel finally took shape and I was shocked to see that it looked much like an amalgamation of Dave Ulmer and Jeremy Irish, only ten feet tall and somewhat transparent. His face was stern, his eyes bore straight through my soul, and his hair flew like hair does in a wild breeze. It hovered near the ceiling, its feet not quite touching the floor, and it swayed ghostlike. "Watch out for the ceiling fan!" I advised. At once I saw his hand begin to rise and I shamefully hid my face in my arms. "Please don't smite me!" I cried out.
The spirit put his hand up to his chin with his thumb pointing upwards and his index finger pointing outwardly towards the east, his mouth opened and he spoke in voice that boomed like that of rough god. "YOU ARE TRAVIS, THE FINDER OF NOT!" "Finder of not?" I thought, "What the hell kind of cockamamie spirit is this?" Then again spoke the ghoul, "YOU ARE TRAVIS, THE FINDER OF NOT! I HAVE COME UNTO YOU TO GRANT YOU THE POWER OF FINDING!" With that, the spirit drew a Garmin seemingly from thin air and pointed it at me. A powerful bolt of pure white light streaked from his hand and hit me squarely in the forehead, where it was deflected to the mirror, then the shiny belt buckle on my pants which were hanging over the chair, and straight into the toilet. The Dave-Jeremy lovechild-looking spirit scratched his luminous head. "I SHALL USE PLAN B, THEN!" he boomed. "BRING UNTO THYSELF GREAT MASSES OF GEOCACHERS TO DO THY BIDDING! BRING THEM TWO BY TWO OR EVEN SIX BY SIX, IT MATTERS NOT! TELL THEM THEY ARE ATTENDING AN EVENT! SEND THEM OUT BEFORE THEE IN GREAT NUMBERS SUCH THAT THE EARTH SHALL SHUDDER AND BE TRAMPLED DOWN UNDER THEIR CHARGING HOOVES. WHEN THE VEGETATION IS FLATTENED INTO SUBMISSION, EVEN THE HIDEYEST OF CACHES SHALL BECOME OBVIOUS UNTO THEE!" With my voice trembling, I asked, "How shall I find these geocachers?" The apparition seemed angered by my question and boomed, "THOU SHALL USE THE FORUMS! THOU SHALL CALL THIS ABOMINATION THE BREMERTON CACHE MACHINE!" I opened my mouth to ask him where I should begin, but he seemed to sense my question. "I SHALL SEND UNTO THEE MY SPIRIT THAT MANAGES SUCH MUNDANE AFFAIRS. DISOBEY HER TO YOUR PERIL!" With that, the spirit checked his watch and disappeared.
From Obscurity to Legend
The following night the promised spirit appeared. She looked like Hydee with serpents for hair, glowing eyes, and wearing a pure white, gossamer dress. Her voice was soft and pleasant, not booming and harsh as the spirit of the previous night. "I understand you need assistance in setting up your cache machine?" she asked. Travis began to tremble again, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He touched the sore spot where the light beam had hit him the night before and said, "Yes, I am supposed to organize a large event. Only with the help of other cachers can I find that which eludes me." The Hydee spirit glanced quickly down, "Why do you stare at my bosoms?"
I thought it best to record the story accurately for future generations of young geocachers who might become disillusioned by their DNFs. There was much success and rejoicing on the day of the event as Travis followed along behind the herd of cachers and his find count leapt to legend status. He quickly caught up to and passed cachers who had played for months longer. There was shame in Travis' mind over the method used to bump those numbers, but not so much shame that he couldn't plan more cache machines. Today, Travis approaches 700 finds, and continues to organize cache machines. The latest is known unto us as the Portland Cache Machine.
The tale is known by many here in the Washington-Oregon geocaching area, passed on from cacher to cacher by word of mouth, and it is often told around the campfire to frighten children. I thought it best to record the story accurately for future generations of young geocachers who might become disillusioned by their DNFs. Many even believe that if you sit very quiet and listen, really listen, just before you open a Pacific Northwest cache container, you will hear the faint cry of Travis echoing in the wind, "I found one, Geogrrrl! I really found one!"