About dal

dal is an occasional filmmaker, writer and photographer who lives on an island in Washington State's Salish Sea.

Forrest Gets Mail – 14

I love emails like this one from Diane. Makes me wish I could go back to the starting place and experience all of the things I might have done, but didn’t.


I have a technicolor picture of me running through the brambles with Diane.

It is comforting that the treasures chest thread has brought so many of us together in a kindred way. I feel like I know that girl who played with hobos. f

—————————————————————

Forrest-
My grandfather was a train engineer.  He used to do a big train whistle out of town so my grandmother could hear to let him know he was on the way, and she’d tell me to take off running. I would run like the dickens through the bramble, and meet his train on the edge of Lewistown, Mt., and he would stop it to a complete halt, then let me on, and I got to drive the train all the way through Lewistown, Mt., then I would hop off, with the train building steam and run back to grandma’s house.  Never fell once.  I remember the train would slow down slow, then come to a complete halt like how I think warm waters halt.

One of my favorite things to do is go in to town and have lunch with the “young hobos” who hop the trains out of Colorado Springs.  My Sunday hobo church.  They grab food from people coming out of the cafes and eat it up like morsels form heaven.  Took me only a day to adjust to their routine.  They are brilliant poets, just like Forrest.  A few are banjo players, and they are peaceful, but not for the meek.  They are totally free to ride the rails to the next adventure, and I live vicariously through them, as I also love the rails.
I’m new to the chase, and am having fun studying my stacks of maps, and the poem, and I giggle a lot when I wonder- “What would Bubba do?”
Diane

 

 

Passages One

Do you save things? I do. When I’m walking along a creek bed or a forest path I find things. Odd things. Pretty things. Curious things. Sometimes I put them in my pocket. Momentos…

When I return home I put these things on the window sill in my cabin, or my bookshelves, or anyplace I can find to tuck them in. They remind me, sometimes decades later, of trips I took, vacations Kathy and I shared, people I’ve met or moments I am glad I can still recall.

The items are certainly meaningless and practically valueless to anyone beyond me. My descendants will be left scratching their cumulative heads wondering why on earth I kept this stuff. If they only knew the sacred memories they served up.
dal-

Below are some of Forrest’s interesting saves…


In Jenny’s recent “6 questions” to me she mentioned a piece of chamisa root that she picked up and saved. She said it was special to her. It reminded me of a few things that are in my box of saves. They are part of my biography in a real sense because they indicate who I am and who I want to be. Of the hundreds of such objects that have punctuated my passage thus far, here are five.

In the 1940s I had a really great fishing hole on the Madison River. It was a long cast to reach the big fish and I had to place my fly precisely. A big ponderosa in my back cast was bent on seeing me fail. Over the years I had 20 flies or more snag in its limbs.
On my last visit to that spot I was saddened to see the tree had fallen. The pimento cheese sandwich I consumed while leaning against that tree didn’t seem as tasty as I remembered, and my can of Coke up righted and spilled on the ground.
A cursory search revealed one of my wooly worms still caught on a limb where it had found sanctuary for maybe sixty-five years. I snapped this twig as a tribute to that great tree and a remembrance of those special times. I don’t know why I keep these things. You tell me.

My hair, collected from a number of barber shop clippings. My plan is to make a cloth doll for my great granddaughter Arden, and stuff it with these trimmings. OK, bad idea.

Bomb shrapnel from the war in Vietnam. I wrote on the side. “Picked up in my right wing Jan 31, 1968.” Instant fuse bombs usually detonate few feet above the ground, and the blast sends fragments in all directions, including up. This piece of iron is from a bomb I dropped myself, although I was several miles from the blast when I felt it impact my wing. It’s as a souvenir to remind me of why I don’t want to do those things anymore, and why no one else should either.

This 3 ½“ seed pod belonged to a beautiful big tree that grew next to the First Baptist Church in Temple where my wife and I were married 63 years ago. The church burned to the ground due to a deed perpetrated by some deranged arsonist fiend. The pod is full of seeds and I don’t know what to do with them. They won’t grow in Santa Fe because it is 6281’ above where their mother died in the fire. I’d like to know the name of the tree, and what to do with these special seeds. Can anyone help me with these problems, please?

I made this guitar pick for Roger Miller (the King of the Road). He and Don Meredith were with me at San Lazaro Pueblo when I picked up the little obsidian knife from which it is fashioned. The two of them graced several hours singing country songs between beers, and laughing at each other. I was looking for arrowheads and picking cactus spines out of my guess what.
I reshaped and polished this graceful little thing. Roger said he used it on stage at the Grand Ole Opry, but returned it to me just before he died because, he said, it was “out of tune.” I don’t know why I keep these things. Maybe I should send it to the Guitar Pick Hall of Fame.

Where Warm Waters Halt…

green

This is for a discussion about Where Warm Waters Halt. We’ve all got ideas that didn’t work out or we are willing to share…I think we can give folks just starting out some ideas for the kinds of places that might just be the place Where Warm Waters Halt…or not!

Let the discussion begin…

dal…

Odds n Ends About Fenn’s Treasure Hunt…

pink

Please click on the comment balloon below to contribute to the discussion of  Forrest Fenn’s Treasure Hunt. Please note that many topics have their own pages. Please scroll through the blog to see all the discussion pages. There are also stories, scrapbooks, searcher’s reports general information, tips from Forrest, a rumors blog and even email responses from Forrest. So please look around and if you want to make a comment please use the most appropriate page.

Thanks…

 

dal…

What Happened to that Bag of Money?

At 1PM Santa Fe time on 2/20 we have raised $3,250 through raffle ticket sales

If you want it…it’s at Forrest’s house and he’s raffling it off for a good cause!

Interested in a raffle ticket or 10? Find out more by clicking the graphic below.

Lummifilm is collecting the raffle ticket money for convenience (they have a paypal account setup and have handled charity raffles before) but every cent of it will go to charity.

A Method to the Madness…Finding WWWH

SUBMITTED FEBRUARY 2017
by Cynthia

 

Forrest has stated many times: “Start at the beginning so figure out WWWH.” Or simply, “Start at where warm waters halt.” Followed by “WWWH is the hardest part of the poem to figure out.” Yes, Forrest…we understand. Any searcher who has placed their feet on the ground traipsing from their parked car to what they think might be a good solve for where their warm waters halt , understands. I doubt if any of us know for sure if they are one of the searchers who knowingly, or unknowingly, was within 200 feet of his treasure. I’m in that boat…and I feel like I’m sinking fast.

Like many of you wiling away the days until the snow melts, re-reading TTOTC for the hundredth time, and trying to sleep while Fenn’s poem loops through your head, I wondered if there is an easier way to find a warm water spring that is not indicated as “warm” on a map. One of the conundrums I’ve noticed since the Little Girl from India appeared on MW is that since she can solve the first two clues and WWWH is probably one of the first two clues, then doesn’t that mean “it” (the warm waters) has to be identified on her map? Here is a picture of a section of the map and spring just upstream from the Red River Fish Hatchery near Questa, New Mexico. This is my story…to prove my point, maybe.

I am a map person. I have always loved road maps. When we, my family, traveled by car over 50 years ago (as interstates were still being built), I was the kid in the back seat holding the road map, squished in the middle between a brother and sister who honestly didn’t care about maps, or where we were going. They were idiots, I thought at the time.

How can a person not care where they are going and not be anxious with anticipation of what is just around the next bend? I always kept an eye on where we were to make sure my dad didn’t miss a turn…he never did…he was born with a “compass in his nose”, so to speak, and I think, luckily, I inherited the same gene. Now my entire wall is covered in large National Forest maps, and I couldn’t wait to head north to one of them, where the springs are marked by small circles, no names attached.

Saturday, Feb 4th started off just as the weatherman predicted…sunny, blue, cloudless skies with temperatures to reach the low 60’s in Albuquerque, unseasonably warm for this time of year. Molly and I hit the road…it was time to put my theory to test. I thought it might be easiest to find a warm water spring in the winter when the creek banks are snow covered. If a spring had warm water, the snow should be melted around it, right, making it easier to spot? While researching fishing spots in New Mexico, I had read that the lower portion of the Red River is popular in the winter-time because the springs above the fish hatchery helped keep the water warmer there than in other fishing places. So by deduction, I assumed that at least one of the two springs I circled on the map had warm water.

The ride up through Santa Fe, Espanola, and Taos was uneventful. It was the weekend and, despite the beautiful day, there was little traffic. I had been to the Red River Fish Hatchery 4 years ago. I smiled as I remembered my first honest to goodness boots-on-the ground search…. I was such a rookie back then. I thought I had nailed Fenn’s location and the poem would be pretty easy to follow to the loot! (I hope you all are smiling as you read this.) Boy, was I ever wrong!

Today’s search was different…I wasn’t in a quest to find Fenn’s trove but to find the little circle on my map marking a spring. I was searching for where the warm waters halt…


I parked at the far end of the hatchery, hoping no one would notice the empty truck sitting there unattended, with no one visibly walking amongst the various tanks of fish. Molly strolled freely while I snapped a few photos. Then I grabbed her leash and steered her to the path along the privacy fence, containing the off-limit properties to folks like me. We moved rapidly along the path of footprints in the snow, quiet, stealth-like, hoping no one would notice us.

The end of the path led to this property, a private residence surrounded by more fence. It looked like a lovely vacation home, or week-end retreat. A sign said “Beware of dog”. I laughed, and whistled…I wanted to see the dog. None showed up.

The narrow path now opened up into an old road. It was still partly snow covered, and where the snow had melted, the slick mud made the walking messy. But, when you are a Fenn treasure hunter, the condition of the trail does not matter. I dismissed the thought of Molly’s muddy feet and my disgustingly muddy hiking boots inside the clean truck later. We were on a mission…I couldn’t let it matter.

Within 10 mins or so we came upon a footbridge crossing the river. The snow looked quite deep on the other bank where most of its days were spent in quiet shade. There didn’t appear to be a path upstream on that side…we’d check it out on the way back.

In another 5 minutes or so I could see a spot of tiny green leaves peeking through the brush along the river. I knew it had to be the warm spring.

We carefully made our way down the short embankment to the green vegetation growing in the water there. The water trickling from the mouth of the spring was tepid, not nearly as warm as I had anticipated. But it was warmer than the river water…does this count? I didn’t know.

I poked around in the spring’s brush while Molly poked around the edge of the river. I was sort of disappointed but felt I proved a point, sort of. The snow had already mostly melted on the sunny side of the river, but the green vegetation growing in the tepid water did help identify the “warm” spring before I got to it, and I didn’t really need to touch the water to know it was “warm”. But mostly this supports my theory that the place where the warm waters halt can be marked on Little Indy’s map, but still not be identified as such. I mean, yes, you know it’s a spring, but there are a gazillion springs in the Rocky Mountains north of Santa Fe, so you have to solve the poem to identify where the right one lies; hence Forrest saying, “WWWH is the hardest part of the poem to figure out.” Capiche?

After a few more photos of the spring, we headed back to check out the footbridge before hitting the parking lot. Along the way, I noticed a few things I wanted to mention to someone…(please don’t mention this to other searchers, insert smiley face here.)

Look at this next picture. Notice how the sunny side of the river is desert-like with its rocky, sagebrush covered terrain, but the shady side has more trees and is more mountain- like. Is this why Forrest sometimes says “walk out into the desert…” and other times says ”in the mountains…”? This place looked like both.

And although I don’t think this particular section of the canyon is where Fenn’s treasure chest is hidden, I think it is “like” the place where it “could” be hidden. The spring was maybe, at the most, a half mile from the parking lot at the hatchery. Look at the path…easy, not dangerous. Take your kids and let them play in the water. No wild animals to eat them, you, or your dog. This is CNF land…so not private property as long as you don’t jump that fence. No one pointing a gun in your face because you are trespassing on their land. The road to the hatchery is open all year long since fishermen fish the river year round. (Remember, Fenn originally thought he was going to die where he hid the chest. Would he limit it to a seasonal place…one where the roads were closed due to snow for 4 months a year?) And, it’s not a busy place crawling with people, but there might be an occasional passer-by, especially if it was summer.

If any readers are freaking out now because I gave away their solve, relax. This particular stretch of canyon was written about and searched to death 4 or 5 years ago. I didn’t discover it … some earlier searchers used the tailing ponds and Pope Lake as their solutions. I prefer using an actual warm spring as my warm water. But, IMO, this is not the right one.

By the time we reached the truck, it was after 1:00 but still enough daylight to drive into the town of Red River and continue our exploration of the river itself. As I approached the Moly Mine on Rt38, I stared at the movement ahead… Holy smokes, after dozens of times driving through this area, I was finally going to see the mountain sheep. I parked along my side of the highway, turned off the engine, and watched, and took photos, and watched some more. I was in awe… Molly was not. After a quick glance, she curled up in the passenger seat and took a nap.

I hated leaving the sheep but had an agenda I wanted to finish. So on we went…into the town of Red River, a sleepy little old western ski town, a dot on the northern stretch of the Enchanted Circle.

I made our usual stop at the City Park, a dog-friendly place with dog-friendly accessories, namely poop bags and a trash can to put them in. Molly wandered aimlessly whereever her nose took her, dragging her leash behind her with nose on the ground on the scent of those noisy squirrels. Molly LOVES squirrels…coming here is a treat…we do not have squirrels at home. I used this time to call Michelle and see if she’d look on the Red River city webcam to

see if she could see us. She saw the truck and we discovered there is about a 20 second delay. Why does any of this matter? It doesn’t…but with Michelle directing me to point to align my arm in a direct path to the web camera, I found where it is located. On a pole above the Town Hall building. See the arrows pointing to it in the second picture below. (Slurbs, that black arrow is for you, my dear friend…I want all color-blind searchers to see what I see!)

We continued east on Main Street at the far end of town, going straight where the main road Hwy 38 bore off to the left. Even though this stretch followed the Red River, there was soon so much snow, I knew we would not be hiking to find any more warm water springs.

We did continue to the end of Rt 578, and I stopped to take an occasional picture or 12. I was amazed at the snow depth where the plows made snow banks along the pavement that were 8 feet high. It was a beautiful valley, even more so this day with the snow-covered terrain.

On the way back through Red River, we stopped at the Dairy Bar for a bite to eat. Then mosied on home the 3 hours or so it takes to make the drive.

If you’d like to see more pictures of our day, click on this link:

If you looked at the pictures, you can see the snow is really deep when you approach the end of Rt 578. This is where so many good trailheads begin, trails we used to backpack up to Lost Lake, Horseshoe Lake, Middle Fork Lake, Wheeler Peak the long way many years ago, trails that take fishermen to their special places. Might there be warm water springs along any of these trails or forks of the Red? I don’t know…there aren’t any tiny circles on my map. Will I hike these trails, walk along these streams, search for Fenn’s treasure here? Probably. Will I wait until May when the snow has melted from the last shady spot on these trails? Hardly! I will pack my snow shoes the next trip!

Cheers!
Cynthia and Molly…

Forrest Gets Mail From a Middle School Class

 

Thank you Karen,

I will try to answer the questions for your students. I received about 30 emails and was a little overwhelmed. That’s why I didn’t respond to more than I did. My answers follow the student’s questions and are in bold type.

I can see by the first question that your students probably are not asking what they want answered. I will answer the questions as presented and not judge them. I will also leave your students with a poem. It is not a reflection on anyone, or the questions, but something for them to think about.

Today as I went up the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there. He wasn’t there again today, oh how I wish he’d go away.

 

Can you describe the first and last time you visited your secret fishing spot?
Yes, I went in my car both times and the sun was shining.

Also you said gold. In the canyon we are guessing the sunset make the rock look like gold is this significant to the place where you hid the treasure.
I am sure the rock would think so.

Does the 4 line in each stanza have a significance to when you hid the treasure.
No

Would you please give us a list of all your friends/superiors in the Vietnam war?
There are several hundred. Would you like the names alphabetical?

Could you also tell was time of year you hid the treasure?
Yes, it was summer.

We have a guess about where the treasure is hidden, and we were wondering if you could give us some feedback on it.
Yes, I think I could.

We believe that the treasure is hidden near agua fria peak, New Mexico.
I think that is very interesting.

Our group also thinks if it is not hidden there, then it might be hidden some where near Cimarron canyon.
The canyon is very long so if you go searching there please be prepared.

Our final guess is that the treasure may be along road 156 in Wyoming. Thank you for taking time out of your day to help us in our class!
You cannot solve the problem by starting in the middle of the poem. You should start with the first clue and then solve the other eight in order.

What is your favorite thing about the place where you hid the treasure?
It is in a place that is dear to me.

When was the first time you went to the place where you hid the treasure?
I don’t want to answer that question. It is more of a clue than I want to give.

What is your favorite outside activity?
Fishing

When was the last time you went to the place with the treasure was hidden?
A few years ago.

Did you name the poem The Thrill of the Chase?
No. I forgot to name it.

Were you close to your father?
I think I was closer in my memory of him than in practice.

Does Bighorn Canyon,WY ring any bells in your past?
Or does Black Canyon,CO ring any bells?
What do you mean by “ringing bells”

What is the emphasis of “where warm waters halt”?
I don’t understand the question.

What does “warm” mean to you?
It means being comfortable.

Where did you mostly go during your lifetime?
Europe, Asia, South America, and the United States.

When did you find this spot to bury the treasure like year?
I have not said that I buried it, and I don’t want to reveal when I discovered the spot. It is too much of a clue.

Does a blaze mean the treasure?
Not in my dictionary.

Why did you hide the treasure where you hid it?
I love the way you worded that question. I think you are going to be a science fiction writer. The answer is in my book, TTOTC.

What inspired your passion for art?
I have no passion for art. It was only a business to me.

Who was your biggest influence growing up?
My father and my football coach.

Why did you choose the specific riches in the treasure?
Because I needed them to put in the treasure chest.

Have you ever revisited the place you hid it?
No

How did the Vietnam War affect you?
It made me more forgiving, more considerate, and more aware that we need to leave other people alone.

What time of year did you hid the treasure?
Summer

Is there is specific reason that halt and walk are the only words that do not follow the  rhyme scheme?
Yes, I was limited by my ability.

What is your favorite place to be? or river?
In my home in Santa Fe.

Where was your favorite place? Why?
Why don’t you ask me how deep is a hole? I cannot single out one to be my favorite.

Why did you marry?
Because I was able to find a woman who was much better than me, and then spent 63 years hoping she wouldn’t find out.

What is “too far to walk” to you?
It is the name of a book I wrote.

Who were your partners in the Air Force?
I had no partners sir.

When you wrote the poem, were you thinking about fishing
No, I was thinking about the poem.

What was your favorite Hike/Trail Yellowstone.?
Trails are not favorites of mine. I always hiked off trails. Why go where everyone else had gone. The rangers didn’t like that, but I did and I was the one doing it. Do you see my logic?

Did it lead to the top of a waterfall?
Some did but most didn’t.

Where did you catch the Fish that you still have a memory.
In Alaska.

If so, why do you remember that memory?
Because a 900 pound bear also wanted it. Guess who won?

What type of fish did you like fishing for?
Trout, bass, perch and catfish.

What Is Blaze?
Anything that stands out.

How hard was it to write the poem and not give the location away?
It was not hard at all. I just had to stay focused.

In the poem, Thrill of The Chase when you talk about “Not far, but too far to walk” and “Take it in the canyon down,” is it referring to a waterfall.
You guys seem to be hung up on waterfalls. Don’t try to change my poem to fit your ideas.

We were also wondering if you could tell us anything about “The home of the Brown.
No

“Do you “check” on the treasure every once in awhile to see if it is still in tact.
Do you mean as opposed to being torn apart? I feel sure it is still intact.

And does anyone know for sure where it is, for example, your wife, or closest friend?
No one knows where it is but me.

We are looking into places in New Mexico and we are curious if we are in the right direction.
Go back to the poem and start with the first clue.

When was the last time you have been to where the treasure is hidden?
A few years ago.