Mark enjoyed the feel of the wind in his hair as he drove through the National Forest with the top down. The little vehicle rattled over the washboard surface of the dirt road, raising a cloud of dust behind it. He reached for his GPS unit, which had bounced out of place. The display told him he was less than a half-mile from his goal. He always liked to reach that point, because he knew he could walk that far quickly if he had to. Of course driving was better, he thought. Unless you were one of those "purist" pussies.
Ahead, the dirt road narrowed and curved enough to cause Mark to reduce speed. Within moments he saw the small stream. This was in the description, so he was expecting it. However, he was not expecting it to be so wide. As he approached the edge of the water he slowed the vehicle to a stop and got out. Kicking his sandals off he waded a few feet into the black water.
"Ouch," he said aloud. The bottom of the stream was rocky, in contrast to the sandy road. Rocky and sharp on the feet. At least it meant he could probably make it through without getting stuck. He had his cell phone. Just in case, he pulled it out of his pocket to verify a good signal. After climbing back into the Tracker, he backed up about ten yards. Then he started forward into the water with the necessary momentum.
As he emerged from the water, he felt exhilarated. That was FUN. Mark couldn't wait to go through again on the way out but for now he continued on to his destination, only about a quarter mile away. The road wound through the forest and eventually came to a circle at the end.
This was a cool spot. Here, in the middle of the forest, was a faucet fastened to a post about four feet high. He hopped out of the car and walked over to it, turning the handle. Out poured the water. An artesian well out here. Thus the name - "Forest Oasis".
After a moment of enjoyment, he got back to the hunt. Looking at his GPS unit he saw that he was only about 35 feet away. As he began to look around for potential spots he noticed what a mess the place was. He'd pick up a little trash, AFTER the find of course. He made certain of a good satellite fix and began stepping slowly in the indicated direction. The distance reading counted comfortably downward as he walked. Soon he was within 10 feet and it stopped counting down, so he stopped, checked the bearing and altered direction. Before taking another step he saw a likely spot. A small log that seemed out of place. He bent to pick it up and sure enough, there was a 35-mm film canister neatly tucked into a notch in the log.
He removed the container, popped off the cap and pulled out the logbook. This one had been here for close to a year but still there were only dozen or so signatures. That creek probably scared a lot of people off. If they could even find the way in. He unclasped his pen from the lanyard around his neck and used it to sign the log as "Serial Finder".
After replacing the cache as he had found it, he pulled a plastic bag out of his pack and began to pick up trash. With the bag nearly half full, something caught his eye. It was a sheet of yellow, legal pad paper. On it, handwritten in blue ink, were an unmistakable list of coordinates in latitude and longitude. Cool! He picked it up and looked it over. What were they for? Who did they belong to? A litterbug or someone who would miss them? There were twenty sets of coordinates, or waypoints as they were called. Looking over the list of waypoints and comparing them to his present position, he could see some were close. A couple right here in the State Forest. He folded the paper, put it in his shirt pocket, and returned to filling the bag with trash.
Back at the wheel of the Tracker, Mark retraced his route to the stream. Rather than crossing the stream he decided to try one of the nearby waypoints from the list. He turned north down another dirt road. The coordinates put his destination only about three quarters of a mile away. The road was narrower along this stretch. Brush scraped the sides of the Tracker.
As he approached he tried to imagine what he might find. An unposted cache perhaps? Wouldn't that be great? To be first finder on a cache that hasn't even been posted yet. Or, maybe it was something illicit, like the location of a patch of pot. Out in the middle of the Forest would be a great spot for that. He also thought it could be just a mundane survey thing. But the waypoints seemed way to spread out for that.
Deep in the daydream, he almost missed the stop. He was only about 35 yards away as he slammed on the brakes. He pulled off the dirt road so as not to block it and hopped out of the vehicle. Holding the GPS at viewing length, he got oriented as to bearing and distance. It wasn't far at all but there seemed to be a big stand of brush between him and the cache. If there was a cache.
He slipped into "geo-mode" and made his way along the perimeter of the brush in hopes of finding an opening. The stand was about 50 yards across and circular in shape. As he bushwhacked to a point approximately opposite from where he'd parked, he saw his opening. A narrow, trail like absence of brush that went into the thicket at a slight angle. He walked in and became enveloped in the surrounding foliage. While he saw no recent footprints it was apparent that the place got some regular visitors. It didn't quite rise to the level of a path, but it was definitely beaten down. More so than a game trail. A "geo-trail.”
Just then, another possibility occurred to him. Teen make-out spots. He laughed out loud. If only he'd had GPS technology as a teen, he could have gotten lucky at spots all over the county. The pseudo path ended and there seemed to be nothing but the surrounding brush. The soil was disturbed in spots. Probably some animal rooting for bugs. Definitely not enough room for a make out spot. But it was dead on the coordinates. This was clearly the intended destination. But for what?
He simply proceeded as if looking for an actual cache. When a cursory search turned up nothing, he switched to his standard plan B. He quit looking for a cache and started looking for hiding spots. Nothing stood out other than a brush hunt. He stood in place slowly turning in a circle to view his surroundings. There! Obscured by the brush there stood an old rotten stump. That's where I'd put it, he thought. He stepped over to the stump and gave it a great deal of scrutiny. Looking in all the holes and moving all the natural mulch. As he was rifling through some moss on the side of the stump, something sparkled. Clinging to some moss toward the base of the stump was a tiny shimmer. He reached down and picked it up.
"Cooooool," he said aloud.
It was an earring. Probably a lady's, but who could tell these days. It appeared to be a diamond. Given where he found it he assumed it wasn't a real one. At the very least, it appeared to be a good piece of costume jewelry. It would make a great addition to his trophy hat. There was no backing but it would be easy enough to find one. What was it doing here? He pulled his shirt pocket open with one hand and dropped his treasure into it with the other. Then he gave it a little pat to make sure it was secure.
He gave one last look and began to retrace his steps out of the brush. Suddenly, a great idea stopped him in his tracks. There was obviously no cache here. Why not hide one? He removed his backpack and squatted down on the ground to search through it. All he had with him were micro containers. That would have to do. He pulled out a small log sheet, rolled it up and put it in a small plastic bag. Then he pulled an empty film canister out of the pack and placed the bag and log into it, firmly pressing the cap back on. He walked back to the stump, found a hole and slipped the container into it. The cache was barely visible.
"Perfect."
With that, he headed for home to log his finds for the day and post his new hide.
It had been a few days since Mark had been out geocaching. The weekend was here, all his waypoints were loaded and he was on the hunt. He had even manually added all the waypoints on the list he found in the State Forest. The plan was to try to hit any he came close to while hunting other caches. He would be in the city most of the day. Urban caching as it was called. Still, he thought he'd get to a couple of the mysterious spots. He already had the earring as a nice trophy to show for it, and a great hide as well.
As he drove down the expressway, away from his home at the beach, he planned his route in his head. First the two new caches west of the river to the south. Then north to a handful on the west side. After that he would loop around to the north side of downtown, picking off a few as he went. There he'd be able to pick up at least two spots from the list.
He made great time. The first several were what many cachers would call grab and go micros. Not very challenging on an early Saturday morning. By that afternoon the spots would be packed with people. Muggles they were called, borrowing a term from Harry Potter. With muggles around, a grab and go could become a sit and wait.
Hitting the west side, Mark was glad to come across a few ammo can hides. They were a little more fun than micros because they were filled with trade items. The idea was that you take an item out and put an item of similar value in. He rarely traded but it was still fun to see what was in the boxes. Even if the container was just Tupperware or a plastic jar.
By the time he cleaned out the West Side he had seven finds and not a single "Did not Find" or DNF. As he headed north, his approach took him close enough to one of the list locations that he decided to check it out. LIST07 was the waypoint name he had selected. He had named each waypoint on the list with that designation of the order it appeared on the list. The one he had placed the cache in the Forest at was twelfth on the list, so it was LIST12.
It was not exactly an inspiring locale. The coordinates put him in about 15 acres of woods behind a Gate gas station. It was very likely private land, but it wasn't posted so it didn't bother Mark. He decided to park at Gate. That put him about 300 feet away. The brush was thin and low enough he didn't look for a path or geo-trail. He just headed straight for the waypoint. As he stepped off the pavement, he didn't notice that one of the Gate people had stepped around the corner to watch him.
"Where the hell is that guy going?" the clerk asked no one in particular. As the strange man disappeared into the woods, the clerk flipped his cigarette butt into the parking lot and turned toward the door to go back to work.
As Mark approached the waypoint, the brush became taller and he began to weave his way around it while maintaining the correct heading. As he came to within fifty feet, he saw a thicket of brush similar to the earlier one in the forest, if somewhat smaller. He circled it completely and concluded the waypoint was right in the center. He circled it again, this time looking more closely for a way in.
He saw no apparent opening so he decided to push through in a couple of spots that looked a little thin. All he got from that effort were some bramble scratches on his shins and some brush stubble clinging to his cloths. He stood back and just looked at the brush and said to himself, "If I knew there was something in there it might be worth it, but I think I'll try a few easier ones first". He slowly headed back toward the car, disappointed to come up empty handed. As he crossed the parking lot toward the Tracker he again attracted the attention of the clerk who made a mental note of the strange man's odd behavior and the cool convertible he drove. He noticed the man's legs even seemed to be bleeding.
Needing a confidence builder, Mark went out of his way to pick up a particularly easy cache. Another grab and go micro. Some of the purist pussies would call it geotrash. Just the same, it counted as a find. Geocaching wasn't JUST about the numbers, but for Mark, the numbers were a big part of it. It always seemed important to keep score in some way and in geocaching that meant counting the little "smiley" icons that signified finds.
Just as he had hoped, it turned out to be a quick find. He entered the log in his PDA accordingly and looked at the waypoints displayed on the GPS. The detour had put him in a position where one of the list waypoints was the next closest. LIST04 was only 3 miles to the North. He was a little hesitant to burn daylight on another one so soon, but it was on the way to a small grouping of real caches. He'd just go by and see what he was facing.
He approached the spot from the south and found it was once again in a small wooded lot, perhaps a little smaller than the last one. There was no development around it so he just parked on the side of the road and climbed out. He was never squeamish about parking. It took a brief search to find a way across the ditch with dry feet. Just as he entered the woods between two palmettos he was startled by the sound of a siren. Off to his right a JSO car was headed right toward him. It stopped behind the Tracker. At first he thought it was about his parking job, but as the two officers stepped out of the squad car, they were oblivious to his vehicle. They were focused on him. Reflexively, he looked around for a No Trespassing sign. There were none. What the heck was this about?
"Sir," one of the Officers said, loud enough to hear at a distance, but not really a shout, "Could you please come back out on to the road?"
"Sure," Mark responded, "What's the trouble?"
"What are you doing here?" the second officer asked.
He quickly retrieved his standard caching cover story, "Just looking for a marker."
"You a surveyor?”
"No. No it's just a hobby," Mark said. He attempted a disarming chuckle with little effect. By this time he had made it back to the road where the officers stood.
"Hobby, huh? Could I see your drivers license, sir?" asked the first officer.
"Ah, sure," he felt around for his wallet and managed to fumble his license free.
As the first officer headed back to the squad car with his license, the second one said, "So tell me about this hobby."
"Well, there's not much to tell really." Then he decided to switch tactics and tell the truth. "Have you ever heard of Geocaching?"
"I think I might have seen something on it, but why don't you tell me about it?"
Mark was quite nervous by now and stammered, "Th... th... there's not much to it. You just look for stuff with a GPS device." He held his unit up for inspection. "There are spots all over. There are hundreds of them in Jacksonville."
"Is there one here?" The officer asked.
"I have the coordinates for one, but I don't know if it's actually here".
By this time, the first officer was returning with his license. "Mr. Karl, is this address still good?"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"Have you been out here before?"
"Not that I recall."
"That you recall?" the officer sneered, "What does that mean?"
"No, no I haven't," Mark said more certainly.
"That's a nice hat," the second officer joined in again. "What are all them pins and buttons?"
"Just souvenirs," Mark said trying to fight back the nervous tension. "The pins and buttons are mostly from Geocaches I've done. I call it my trophy hat."
"Trophy hat. Interesting."
The first officer handed his license back to him and said, "I'm gonna have to ask you to stay out of this woods today. I think it's private property anyway. Probably be a good idea to stay out all together."
"Anything wrong?" Mark asked.
"Just move along."
That was an instruction he was delighted to follow. He got back into the Tracker and drove off wondering what that was all about.
Mark awoke right on schedule Monday morning. He was somewhat groggy. A kind of "hangover" from the extensive weekend of Geocaching. On his way to fire up the coffeepot, he hit the remote to turn on he morning news. He didn't think much of television news, but it didn't look like he would have time to read the paper today. Besides, it made good background noise.
The news people jumped from the warehouse fire, to the fatal car wreck to the bank heist with no real news in between. As they headed into the commercial, something caught his ear. "A body is found off Hecksher Drive. More on that after the break.”
He had been in that area on Saturday. The spot he got rousted by JSO was off Hecksher Drive. He wondered if he'd been anywhere near this body. He often thought about the possibility of stumbling upon a body during his Geocaching activities. After all, some of the best places to hide caches would also be great places to hide bodies. It had even happed recently down near Miami. "Father and Son find body during Internet scavenger hunt", the headline said. The article didn't use the word "geocaching" but all the cachers knew what they were talking about. As it turned out, the finder was a cacher Mark knew of through having found some of his hides.
He was putting the finishing touches on his breakfast of oatmeal, when the commercials gave way to the news. "A property owner on the north side, found a body, thought to be that of a missing woman. The body was found on this wooded lot south of Hecksher Drive." Mark was watching the film, but not believing it. That was HIS wooded lot. The one he was run off of by JSO on Saturday. That would explain it. They were keeping him away from a crime seen. "Wow!" he said aloud.
He debated whether or not to post it on the forums. He didn't really have time this morning. Besides, he didn't really want to tell anyone about the list until he figured out what it was. Without explaining the list, his presence there wouldn't make sense. He'd leave it for another time.
He made the time to check his email. His new cache in the Forest at LIST12 had been approved. He had named it "Forest Thicket.” It had been found tree times on Sunday. One cacher asked in his log, "How do you find theses spots Serial Finder?" He loved to read that in logs. It was a sure indication you were introducing someone to a place they would not have found otherwise. He thought that through and wondered how the person who produced the list had found that spot, and why.