2020 Event in West Yellowstone

 

Finale = the close or end of something (Merriam Webster.)

Forrest Fenn always had a way with words.

 

Getting There —

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West Yellowstone —

Searchers (not “finders”) gathered for a weekend of fun.

Bullwinkle’s
Picnic in the Park
Capturing the Photographer

Going Home —

Paradise Valley/Yellowstone River

Not until we were well on our way home, just ahead of the massive snow storm, did we hear the news of Fenn’s passing. 

One treasure found. One treasure lost.

Old Santa Fe Trail

Happy fishing, Forrest.

Forrest Fenn Finale Event–Labor Day Weekend

Closure?

Maybe, maybe not.

 Celebration?

Yes.

Where?

West Yellowstone and Yellowstone Park.

Who?

Cynthia is orchestrating it.  Dal is presenting. Toby is streaming it.   Fun and games. Picnic. Brunch. And mixing it up at Bullwinkle’s.

Details at this  Link.  

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Fishing Bridge from below

 

Also, your chance to be in a legacy group photo (socially-distanced, of course) on the Fishing Bridge.

 High noon.

Don’t be late.

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The Keeper of the Bees

A story almost a hundred years old. A soldier, wounded inside and out, walks out of a facility and, in time, finds healing.

Keeper

Shell shock.

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Jump to today.  Same story. New name.

I listened to a podcast recently about a group (begun) in Texas called Hives for Heroes.  Commendable.  Give it a listen.  They are also on Facebook and at Hives for Heroes . com.

I’m only in my second year of beekeeping but I get it.

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Bees are mesmerizing. So organized, with a uniform goal of survival and yet independent.

And share with us such sweet rewards.

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Water High as a Hint/Clue

The photo of Forrest Fenn looking over the contents of the found treasure chest shows, in my opinion, silty sand around the rim of the open box. Like what you’d expect if it had sat in a river bed for ten years or so.

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Intrepid

A line from the poem includes “There’ll be no paddle up your creek, just heavy loads and water high.”  I’ve used Water High as my screen name, I chose it quickly when setting up this (my first) web site.

After that, during my endless investigations while trying to solve the clues in the poem, I learned that navigable waters are public property, even when they flow through private property. Definitions of such are subjects of interminable legal battles, such as the recently-overturned claim by the EPA that if a rainstorm leaves a puddle, it falls under their jurisdiction as a waters of the USA, blah, blah, blah.

What piqued my interest was how the edge of the river is determined. The river is deemed “public” land, up to the “high water mark.”  Relevant, yes?

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A beach with water lines

I imagine the chest was in a river bed, somewhere below the high water mark, making it legally on public land.

Verification? May be never, may be soon.

From another poem, once carved in stone in Wisconsin:

It may be never, it may be soon,

But I hope that it will be one afternoon.

I’ll hear a step on the creaking stair.

I’ll open the door, and you’ll be there.

 

 

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UPDATE– It’s Wyoming.

It’s a start. A new message from Forrest Fenn reveals the treasure was hidden and found in Wyoming. That was my first solve.

Can’t wait to learn more someday.

The message below is posted on Dal’s site:  The Thrill of the Chase.

 

SUBMITTED June 6th, 2020 by Forrest The treasure has been found It was under a canopy of stars in the lush, forested vegetation of the Rocky Mountains and had not moved from the spot where I hid it more than 10 years ago. I do not know the person who found it, but the poem…

via THE CHEST HAS BEEN FOUND!!!!…part fifteen — Thrill Of The Chase

Forrest Got His Bracelet Back

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Photographic images verifying that the chest was found and the turquoise and silver bracelet is on Forrest Fenn’s wrist again. The LINK.

Book Signing at La Fonda

The bracelet is unique in that the beads are mounted flat. A lot of history there.

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Again, congratulations to the finder of the chest!

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Forrest Fenn’s Treasure Chest

The Artist

Good Friday Remembrance

My great-grandmother’s grandfather was an artist. Not sure when he was born, but her mother was born in 1837 in Braunschweig.

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On the back of the drawing is a tempera (?) painting of the Wetterhorn alp from the glacier-filled valley at Grindelwald.

Wetterhorn

 

Have a blessed Easter.

Gold is Where You Find It

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What began as a birthday gift from Mr. W in late 2018, has kinda taken over. Coolest invention, that Flow Hive, or so I remarked, and Voila! It appeared.

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Some (entire) assembly required.

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So, after a two-day bee-keeping class, lots of reading, and acquiring the appropriate protective wear, (I convinced my doctor that maybe I should have an Epi pen because it’s a long way to a hospital), I ordered my bees.

And, yes, there was a certain amount of trepidation as I drove home with twenty thousand in the back seat.  Brave…

swarm of bees

Photo by Mustafa Eissa on Pexels.com

After a cold, wet spring, they took off. Gangbusters. Prairie blossoms galore.

Bountiful.  More honey than the bees needed. Where to put said treasure?

Beg, borrow and seal any available bottles.

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(Those cute little jars fit in the box my children made for me for Christmas. (See next photo of exotic colored woods. They are nowhere large enough, but I will keep some of each vintage in that treasure box.)

Next, drain and strain, and there you go.

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The new gold standard?

[Maybe I can trade it for toilet paper in these unusual times.]

 

 

 

 

Gold

Gold is where you find it.                 In a poem.                        After a snow.

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From —

              The Spell of the Yukon

by Robert Service

There’s gold, and it’s haunting and haunting;

It’s luring me on as of old;

Yet it isn’t the gold that I’m wanting

So much as just finding the gold.