A U.S. Air Force Sikorsky HH-53C Super Jolly Green Giant helicopter being refueled over Vietnam. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
This was a footnote on the previous post, but I think it deserves more attention——-Forrest Fenn was the rescuee.
Bittersweet
“Hear Me All . . . ” Forrest Fenn
Somewhere south of Duluth
English: John Muir (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
“There is a musical idea in every form. See, hear, how sharp, loud, and clear-ringing are the tones of the sky-piercing peaks and spires; and how deep and smooth and massive those of the swelling domes and round-backed ridge-waves; and how quickly the multitude of small features in a landscape suggest hurrying trills and ripples and waves of melody. We not only see the forms and colors of the mountains, but hear them. Plants and animals also seem to be music both in form and color. Everything breaks forth into form, color, song, and fragrance – an eternal chorus of praise going up from every garden and grove, a wide range of harmonies leading into the inner harmonies that are eternal.”
Signature of John Muir (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
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How A 3200-Mile Loop Became a 4000-Mile Crazy 8 (The End)
When I wished Forrest Fenn a Happy Birthday, I mentioned I was in Cody. He asked about my search and by Saturday, when I was halfway up/down the Gallatin, he invited to meet him for a cup of coffee. Wow, I thought.
Now, I’d told my husband I’d be home by Friday, unless I found the chest and needed to swing by Santa Fe to return a bracelet to Mr.Fenn. Hmm.
I could do both if I knocked off a visit to a hot springs and a great restaurant I had reservations at. Hmm.
I’d also brought my book hoping to get it signed if the opportunity presented itself. Hmm.
“Life is short and getting shorter” said Mr. Fenn. Hmm.
Mr. W’s phone was off on Sunday. By the time I got ahold of him, I’d already flown by Billings, Casper, Laramie, and was maybe nearing Denver.
“Cool,” he said. I told him he was invited, too, but he’s still busy supporting my hobbies.
Serendipity. A southern suburb with a gas station, a car wash, and across the street, a great steak salad for a late lunch. I didn’t recognize anything of the Denver I knew in the mid-80’s.
Back on the road, it was dark when I passed through the mountains north and east of Santa Fe. I had reservations on the west side and thought I’d have no trouble finding the Fenn estate the next morning.
Wrong. I plugged in the address but it wanted to send me about 12 miles back east of town. Time was getting short, so I stopped at a place I was sure could help: The Collected Works Bookstore.
Fortunately, the guy at the desk knew it was only a couple miles away, and gave me a start in the right direction. Museum Hill would be ‘too far’. That’s where I turned around, but at least I’d passed the correct address.
(Was anyone else a bit claustrophobic with the narrow streets, adobe walls, and one way streets in old Santa Fe, or is it just that I’m used to seeing horizons?)
I turned in the drive and pushed a button. The gate opened and I pulled forward. I grabbed my book and camera, and hoped the big dog was friendly.
Yes, those are Post-Its in my book.
Mr. Fenn met me at the door, and I was escorted into the big room, familiar because I’d seen Dal’s pictures: the wooden Indian by the fireplace, the ancient books on the shelves, the buffalo skull. Bells. Baskets. Beautiful things.
He was curious about my search; I was curious about everything. The time flew. Then, I took a couple pictures, he signed my book, and a “homely girl” got a kiss. No. How does it go? I mean, smile. (Is it too late for braces?)
I headed home with my treasures. Amarillo, Tulsa, St. Louis, Bloomington…..
Friday evening, I was greeted with a vase full of roses, happy chickens, and fresh peaches on the tree. More treasures. They don’t all fit in a chest.
Life is good.
Relax and Live a Little
New Caption: Now, was that North by Northwest and across a 66,000 chainlink fence?
Holy Pompeii Pillars, Batman!
So what does it mean if the night after I drove through Yellowstone National Park I had a nightmare and woke up in a one-horse town frantically searching for the dust mask I had packed (somewhere) because the volcano had blown and the ash-laden air was getting thicker and thicker?!?
Can you say “Terremoto“?
{I’m still searching for Forrest Fenn’s hidden treasure chest BTW.}
Signature of William Clark, on 1806-07-25 at todays Pompeys Pillar National Monument, Montana (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
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Fracking: opportunity or danger? Or cute cartoon?
” “.
Giant US tar sands project lurking in the shadows
Ruh ro?
The ‘cheetah of the Cretaceous’
Controversy . . . .
It’s been a dinosaury week so far at the British Science Festival! Our event, ‘Dinosaurs, monsters and myths’ kicked off a huge amount of press coverage for Nanotyrannus, a disputed new species. Once thought to be a juvenile T. Rex, Nanotyrannus now appears to be confirmed, thanks to a beautiful new specimen which has been discovered in Montana by a real life dinosaur cowboy. That’s right, a Dinosaur Cowboy.
Here he is with his find…
‘This is possibly the most amazing fossil in the world’ says the University of Manchester’s Dr Phil Manning, who also described the fossil as ‘lickable.’
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Under the Microscope
Just cool.
The minerals that make up rocks can be really interesting under the microscope.
The treasure that you seek
The Hero’s Journey …..
The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure that you seek.
-Joseph Campbell
West Yellowstone & Up the Gallatin (Part IV)
In the morning, the first item on my agenda was to find Dal’s cache in the woods. His GPS coordinates were of no use to me, but fortunately his instructions were clear, and if precisely followed would lead me to the stash with confidence. It also didn’t hurt that I’d seen the photos on his blog. 
I’d brought a set of ‘important bear info’ playing cards to leave in the tub. To make room, I had to choose between a black thing and electric tape. I took the tape. 
Good to go.
The rest of the morning was spent driving down the Madison and checking out the earthquake damage. I’d been there the day it happened and again when I was ten. (See Terremoto entry.)
The Hebgen Lake Dam and fishing access was closed for construction/repairs.
Possibility of water high?!
Surprising how the rocky scars still look fresh. In fact, across from the Earthquake Visitor’s Center (also CLOSED), I saw an omega blaze and looked quickly down.
OMG! The Omega?
Okay, between me and the hidden treasure chest was a rushing river, boulders, and a steep ravine. Hmm. I’ll come up from below, I thought. 
I drove down to where the valley opened up. A longer hike than I’d be doing alone in the heat. Maybe not ever.
I turned around and drove back up the ‘hill’. Now, there were 2 empty cars parked along the road. For a moment I panicked and thought they were just ahead of me on the chase. I parked and started hiking down the slippery slope across from my blaze. And then I saw them.
It turned out, they were ‘just’ fishing.
I had some time to think there on the slide. The more I gazed across the river, the more I realized that spot was just not possible to reach safely. Not for a child, a person of eighty, or even one approaching 60. Anyone in between, go for it. You have my blessing. Go in peace.
Instead of heading north, I went back into West Yellowstone for bear spray, just in case I got brave enough to get in the wood. And, just to remind myself of the vertical factor this winter while I’m poring over maps, I picked up a 3-D molded plastic version map of the area. I think we still have a Denver/Rockies one from 28 years ago.
I inquired of the volunteers at tourist info as to where Watkins Creek was. In addition to printing me a map, they mentioned a $6k per week Firehole. I started out for it, but the tarred road was scant. 
I made it a bit past the nice boat launch/campground before I was jarred into turning around. Clearly the movie stars they’d mentioned must fly in.
I made it a bit past the nice boat launch/campground before I was jarred into turning around. Clearly the movie stars they’d mentioned must fly in.
I only had 6.7 more miles of gravelly washboard to go. If Mr. W gets that pickup, we’ll try it next year. Plus, that will give me an extra year to get into shape to reach those aptly (?) named lakes above there. *** Is there an air ambulance available for the over-confident? she wonders.
After lunch, I headed up Highway 191, the Gallatin River valley, to the Soldier’s Chapel. I’d recently read The Bloody Bozeman, and have to agree with the person who mentioned that Bozeman ought to be named Story. Bozeman was rather reckless with other people’s lives.
I headed south to where I’d made a reservation for the night. A welcome thunderstorm passed through that night and drenched the area. Helpful to those battling a fire or two. 
I planned to attend the chapel service Sunday morning, and then, if I was really brave, I just might have (probably not), ridden the ski lift/tram up Lone Mountain before heading to parts north.
I planned to attend the chapel service Sunday morning, and then, if I was really brave, I just might have (probably not), ridden the ski lift/tram up Lone Mountain before heading to parts north.But, there was an email waiting for me. From Forrest Fenn.
*** If I had kept up with Dal’s blog the day I was packing, I would have realized that a couple of fearless, and healthy, searchers had made the trek up the mountain to not just Lower Coffin Lake, but the Upper one as well. So, maybe we don’t need that pick-up truck. . . .
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Where It’s Not — Part Three
In the morning, I drove through the tunnel, past Mummy Cave, and the BB Dam again. About the time I stopped to pay my entrance fee to Yellowstone Park, I was struck by a blaze — the blinding kind you get before a migraine, if you’re subject to auras.
At home my remedy would have been to boil water, brew green tea with half a capsule of feverfew, and hit a dark room with an eye mask. On a 2-lane winding highway, I popped a cola for caffeine and downed Excedrin, and took a time out at a pull-out. 
Then I spent more time at the ranger station/stuffed animal museum. In the shade.
The ranger called the lone bison I’d seen a “fed-up bull” — fed up of fighting the young bulls in the herd, and at an age where he prefers to go it alone.
There were 5 fires burning in Yellowstone Park at the time, a few pull-outs were closed, but no roads closed that day. I remembered the summer of 1988 and the massive fires in Yellowstone. We could smell the smoke all the way over in Minnesota.
Fishing Bridge
So far, going solo hadn’t been a problem (except for getting creeped out by a guy in a van who asked me where I was from. He had just been staring at my license plate, so I thought it was not a real question. This happened back at the Oregon Trail ruts and Register Cliff where we seemed to be the only tourists out in the 105 degree weather. Not a good sign. Maybe it was nothing, but I didn’t like being followed.)
West Thumb of Yellowstone Lake
Another reason I’m going to bring Mr. W next time came about at Isa Lake.
Lily Pads at the Continental Divide? Is there a frog?
I really wanted to wade into the lily pads to see what was at the end of an under-water marker, but a couple (searchers??) from Salt Lake City was kinda killin’ time, like they were waiting for me to leave.
I won, but then realized, typical female, I didn’t have the right shoes. 
Also, I saw strange underwater bugs, a possible fluke-wiry worm, and a very fast little pond-hugging, mole-nosed rodent running towards me. The picture that was supposed to of him is a blur of me jumping out of his way.
Yikes!
I don’t think I screamed.
From there, not far but too far to walk, I arrived at Old Faithful at the perfect time. People were streaming towards it so I parked and joined them. Another geyser was putting on a show at the same time. Serendipity strikes again.
And then, something else. Remember I left home without a GPS? The only place I might have needed it this trip was in the parking lot at Old Faithful Lodge and Visitor Center. It’s changed in the last 15 years apparently. 
The other thing about migraines is the mental shadow they leave you with. It took me an extra 15 minutes (or so) to find my car, and then I scared a poor family picnicking next to it when the alarm went off.
I passed another lone bison as I continued west. My heart goes out to the old and lonely.
On to the much discussed Firehole River and Canyon. Is it “Where Warm Waters Halt”? I couldn’t say.
And then, of course, the much touted Madison River, which had lots of giant boulders lying around.
I tarried as much as I wanted that day. I had a reservation for that night in West Yellowstone, so no need to hurry. Just tried to absorb the beauty and if a potential solution to one of the TTOTC 9 clues presented itself, all the better. 
No treasure yet, but so far, so good. Any day that doesn’t involve a trip to the hospital is a big plus.
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The Fenn Diagrams 