I sort of met him on a forest trail about 15 miles out of town...We weren’t there together. I got too close to the edge of the bluff and slipped over the edge, sliding about fifty feet down the muddy hillside in on my back. When I finally stopped, I opened my eyes and saw the older man staring at me... Wilson McGoff lived in a little rambler at the end of an unpaved road near my house. It was the kind of road that allowed only one car at a time. I lived in a subdivision down the road from that. There was a small patch of woods behind my backyard, and just beyond that was the back of the rambler.

I knew there was a rambler house out there; in the fall I could see it through the leafless trees. I didn’t know who lived there. McGoff was older than me by a number of years, and looked even older than that. I don’t know what he did for a living; he might have been a writer or some other job that means you don’t have to commute. He might have been retired.

I sort of met him on a forest trail about 15 miles out of town, I was geocaching and he was geocaching. We weren’t there together. I got too close to the edge of the bluff and slipped over the edge, sliding about fifty feet down the muddy hillside in on my back. When I finally stopped, I opened my eyes and saw the older man staring at me; he was pushing an ammo can up under a log about three feet from where I was lying. He just chuckled and went on his way. I found the cache. It was just a box in the woods, but the forest was a pleasant enough one for a shady walk on a hot summer day, muddy back notwithstanding.

I never saw anyone else log the cache that day. It was a few months later while I was clearing some brush from the forest patch behind my house that I would actually make his acquaintance. I must have strayed too close to his property because he yelled something at me. I looked through the trees and saw him, standing near the fence, glaring at me. I walked up and introduced myself, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything witty to shout back.

I guess he recognized me from that cache. We became friends. He didn’t talk much. He grunted a lot though. I would often walk through the small patch of forest to his backyard and knock on his back door. The door had a window in it. We would sometimes geocache together, or else just sit and drink beer and watch a game. Wilson liked to drink beer.

He just reached his hand around behind the guardrail and pulled out a small tin with a magnet glued to the bottom. Then he threw it in the river. “Guess that’s one I didn’t find”, he said rather plainly. I talked him into hunting a geocache that was supposed to be hiding somewhere on a bridge north of town. We parked his rusty pickup truck on the side of the road before the bridge. He walked in front of me. We walked single file along the narrow sidewalk trying to stay off the road. No cars were coming. He had a slight limp; I figure I’d ask him about that sometime, might be a good war story or something in that.

When he reached the middle of the bridge, he stopped and put his old Garmin into his left rear pocket. “Supposed to be here,” he muttered.

This was not the type of cache he liked to look for. He didn’t look. He just reached his hand around behind the guardrail and pulled out a small tin with a magnet glued to the bottom. Then he threw it in the river. “Guess that’s one I didn’t find”, he said rather plainly.

I looked down over the rail at the rushing water. McGoff started walking back to his rusty pickup truck. “I guess not.” I said rather plainly.

Some people thought Wilson McGoff to be somewhat of a simpleton, due mainly to his propensity for avoiding the spoken word. The more I got to know him, the more I realized how really brilliant he was. I would describe him as a genius that lacked articulation. He was more of a doer, less of a talker. Maybe his brain worked much faster than he could work his mouth. He would often struggle for the right words, stopping in mid sentence, or just grunting instead.

I have to believe that if he had some small degree of background knowledge on cancer or lupus, he’d show me how to cure those, too.I was in my garage one day with the front end of my car up on the jack. I had been hearing a lot of weird grinding noises, so without much idea of what to do exactly, I jacked it up and spun the wheel a few times. I spun it to the left, nothing. I spun it to the right, nothing. McGoff came over so I explained it to him. He took a deep breath. He started explaining the way the wheel bearing supported the wheel on the spindle, then he began to struggle. Fifteen minutes later he handed me the bad wheel bearing. A doer. I have to believe that if he had some small degree of background knowledge on cancer or lupus, he’d show me how to cure those, too.

One Saturday afternoon I walked through the small patch of forest and knocked on his back door. There was a girl there, a pretty girl. She was McGoff’s daughter, visiting from college. I guess his wife must have been pretty. I told him that. She didn’t seem surprised to see me there, so I figure she knew I was coming. She wanted to hike up to a remote cache at the summit of some minor mountain. So we did that. We all jammed into the rusty pickup truck and drove to the trailhead.

I had a pack with a first aid kit, water filter, compass, trade stuff, mittens, map, raincoat, GPSr, digital camera, knife, extra socks, can opener, extra batteries, snacks, food, spare food, emergency food, and enough water to cross the Sahara. McGoff had his old Garmin and a well used and reused bottle filled with tap water. McGoff looked at me and smiled like I was pathetic. He’ll be sorry if we get stuck up there in a freak summer snowstorm.

His daughter brought nothing. She didn’t walk; she just blew up the hillside like a fragrant breeze. She spoke through movement and gesture; she answered unasked questions by mere eye contact. I wished I were 20 years younger. I think she knew that. She found the container before we did. McGoff just smiled and grunted. Come to think of it, I don’t recall him saying much if anything to her the entire day, he seemed a bit out of breath. I didn’t say much either. It didn’t snow. Later we all drank beer and watched a game.

I was cutting the lawn after work on a Tuesday. I like to cut the lawn after work, if only to irritate my next-door neighbor who thinks everyone should be quiet while her baby naps. Hey, it’s a subdivision, get over it. It frees up my weekend too.

McGoff came ambling through the small patch of forest. He had a slight limp. I shut off the mower so I could hear him. He grunted and handed me a print of a cache page; it was a new one. “Gimmie 20 minutes” I said. He walked back through the small patch of forest. He had a slight limp.

I turned to see my neighbor looking from her back porch slab. I think she wasn’t happy. A person should endeavor to be happy I think. No point in being angry or sad all the time. Sometime maybe, but not all the time. She made a career of it. “Who was that?” she hollered to me.

“Santa Clause!” I hollered back. She smirked and went back inside. I pulled the rope and restarted the mower. I think I’ll take the muffler off next week.

I had to admire this man; he seemed so at peace with everything. Later I went over to McGoff’s and we went after the new cache. It was a pretty good one. It was well concealed, a metal box in the recess of a large tree’s root system. The owner had sprayed some sort of adhesive on the lid and just added forest debris from the area; it stuck on the lid and made the perfect camouflage. McGoff was impressed, he grunted twice and smiled. Walking out I slipped on a rock and slid down the hillside on my butt. He laughed at me. He seemed out of breath the whole day and I meant to ask him about it and the limp as well. Might be a good story in that.

“Let me show you something” he said after I got up. I followed him along the path for a couple miles or so, and then he turned off the trail to the right. We stepped carefully through the thick brush. I did because I noticed he was. We gingerly pushed through some pretty thick undergrowth until the forest thinned a bit, making the going easier.

Forty minutes later we stood on an outcropping overlooking the river valley, it was breathtaking. McGoff sat down on a log to catch his breath. I had to admire this man; he seemed so at peace with everything. I tried to look out over the valley but couldn’t help but cast a glance over to him. He just stared at the horizon, lost in some thought or another, his wrinkled face expressing only calm. I noticed the spot where his feet rested was well worn; I think he visited here often. This had to be the single most beautiful vista for a hundred miles. I immediately thought about the cache potential. I’ll have to ask him about that. We stayed for an hour or so, and then walked back to the trailhead. I looked down at my arms, scratched from the thick undergrowth. “Nothing good comes cheap,” said McGoff. Wow, four words all strung together.

I was pretty busy at work and had little time for caching, even on the weekend. So it was after two solid weeks that I finally wedged in a little time to do something I wanted to do, instead of things that I needed to do. I found three caches that were close enough to each other that we could do them together. I walked through the small patch of forest to McGoff’s back yard. The place seemed quiet, eerily still.

I walked up and looked through the window on the back door. I saw Wilson’s daughter sitting at the kitchen table looking through some papers. She seemed to sense I was standing there and turned, her eyes red and swollen. She opened the door and hugged me. She didn’t need to say a word, nor did she. I knew. With a sudden turn, she ran to another room, away from me, away from the papers, just away from everything. I let myself out the back door then, and walked back through the small patch of forest.

Halfway across my backyard I stopped and turned around. I looked at the well-worn path that had appeared there over the summer months. I looked up at the sky, I don’t know what I expected to see, maybe the clouds would form into the shape of his head and he’d say something profound to me, or grunt. That didn’t happen.

A large formation of geese flew overhead, heading south, the birds chirped their evening greetings, and life went on in that place. I threw my pack together and drove to the same trailhead from our last cache hunt and began hiking to McGoff’s vista. A fragrant breeze blew up the hillside like a beautiful girl. Careful not to leave a trail, I picked through the thick bush to the viewpoint. I sat on the log and looked out over the river valley. The evening sun reflected off the shimmering water far below, the birds sang, and there was peace there. It might have been something if I could say I felt his presence, but it was just regular.

I sat there feeling very alone until the sun was just shy of setting. Not wanting to have to pick my way out through the thick brush in the dark, I got up and started out. A large formation of geese flew overhead, heading south, the birds chirped their evening greetings, and life went on in that place.