IMPORTANT NEW Info on November 2nd Book Signing…

Please, for the moment and until we get through this book event just put the following information on your blog.. Do not have any other information about book sales up, please.
Thanks for understanding! Lou
Just this for the time being, please..

 

Anyone wanting a seat at the event must send a request for ticket/s either by:

  • Email to CWBookEvents@gmail.com with your name and phone number, requests will be processed in the order received and confirmed by return telephone call.
  • Or you may call the store at (505) 988-4226 and talk to Dorothy or Darrell between 9am-5pm daily. If not available, they will return your call promptly.

Poetry Page XIV…

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The chase certainly has inspired some great poetry…

Here is page xiv for poetry about the chase, Forrest or any other Thrill of the Chase related topic. I am hoping poets will create new poetry and place it on this page.

If you would like to peruse the  verse on the first page of poetry click HERE.

Second page is HERE

Third page is HERE

Fourth page is HERE

Fifth Page is HERE

Sixth Page is HERE

Seventh Page is HERE

Eighth Page is HERE

Ninth Page is HERE

Tenth Page is HERE

Eleventh Page is HERE

Twelfth Page is HERE

Thirteenth Page is HERE

Thanks

dal…

A New Contest…

Forrest’s new book is nearly upon us…

We have a new contest to help celebrate the occasion!

STICK DRAWING Contest

If Forrest can do it so can we. Make a stick figure drawing that depicts “Forrest Hiding Indulgence”. Make it simple. Make it black ink on white paper.

Winner gets a signed, first edition copy of Forrest’s newest memoir, Once Upon A While.

RULES:
One entry per person
Must be submitted via email
Must be on the topic of “Forrest Hiding Indulgence”
Must be black figures on white background
Entries can be drawn digitally and submitted
or
Drawn manually on paper and scanned or photographed and submitted
Entries must be emailed to:
dal@lummifilm.com
With the subject line “Contest”
Include your blog name so we can credit it properly for all to see
Entries must be received by dal before the contest closes
Contest closes 11pm (Santa Fe time), Saturday, October 21st, 2017

JUDGING
Entries will be posted on a page linked at the bottom of this page.
Entries will be judged based on originality, imagination and fun factor.
Judges will be selected by the time judges are needed.
Judging will occur as soon as practical after the contest ends.

HAVE FUN!!!

Page One Entries

Page Two Entries

Page Three Entries

Page Four Entries

Page Five Entries

Page Six Entries

Page Seven Entries

Page Eight Entries

Page Nine Entries

 

Home of Brown…

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This is for a discussion about “the home of Brown” in Forrest’s poem.

Got an HOB that didn’t work out…or maybe you need an HOB for a certain area…or perhaps you have an idea that needs some fleshing out..

This is the place to discuss all things HOB…

dal…

Meet Up With Forrest on November 2nd….

September 2017

 

 

Forrest will shortly have a new book out. It’s titled “Once Upon a While”. It will be a paperback and sell for $24.95.

Author, and Forrest’s friend, Doug Preston wrote the following Forward for the new book. (republished here with permission from Forrest and Doug)

———————————–

Treasure of Another Kind
By Douglas Preston

I first met Forrest Fenn in the Dragon Room of the Pink Adobe in the late 1980s, where he habitually occupied a table in the corner, which featured a rotating cast of eclectic Santa Feans, including John Ehrlichman, Larry Hagman, Clifford Irving, Ali MacGraw, and Rosalea Murphy. I joined the table as a young, unknown, and struggling writer, wondering how the mistake had been made inviting me among all these famous people. But Forrest Fenn was an outstanding lunch companion, telling story after story that kept the table enthralled, and we instantly hit it off. That was the beginning of my friendship with Forrest, who is one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. Here is a man who came from a small town in Texas, barely graduated from high school, spent 20 years in the Air Force as a fighter pilot, flew 328 combat missions in Vietnam over a period of 348 days, survived being shot down twice, and was awarded a raft of medals; he then retired, moved to Santa Fe, and built a world-famous gallery that put Santa Fe on the art-world map; he ran the gallery for 18 years with his wife Peggy and together they raised a wonderful family. Along the way he also published 10 books (this is the 11th), acquired and partially excavated a 5,000 room prehistoric Indian pueblo, and amassed a peerless collection of Native American antiquities and art.

I knew I was a friend of Forrest’s when, in the early 1990s, he invited me into his vault. This walk-in fortified room, hidden in the back of a closet, was filled with extraordinary treasures—Pre-Columbian gold artifacts, Indian peace medals, a Ghost Dance shirt, the greatest collection of Clovis points in existence, and (later) Sitting Bull’s celebrated peace pipe. Forrest had been a dealer in art and antiquities for years, with many superb objects passing through his hands. These were the things he had kept, the best of the best. Forrest liked artifacts that told stories, and each one had a rich and fabulous history.

In that first visit to the vault, Forrest wanted to show me something quite specific. He explained that he had been diagnosed with cancer. Although it was in remission, the prognosis was not good. He did not, he said, wish to linger in weakness and pain, and he especially did not want to put his family through a long and difficult ordeal as he wasted away from cancer. The honorable and dignified solution for all concerned, he told me, was to end it quickly and cleanly, by suicide.

But Forrest is a complicated human being, and with him nothing is simple. He had worked out a plan to end his life that would, he hoped, give something back to the world and encourage people to explore the outdoors he loved, while at the same time generating high interest, if not consternation. Forrest was never one to shy away from causing a stir.

On the right side of the vault, on a sturdy shelf, sat a bronze casket of ancient workmanship that he had recently acquired. Gene Thaw, the noted collector, had identified it as a rare Romanesque lock-box dating back to 1150 A.D. He opened the lid to reveal a dazzling heap of gold—monstrous nuggets, gold coins, Pre-Columbian gold objects—along with loose gemstones, carved necklaces, and a packet of thousand and five hundred dollar bills.

“Go ahead,” he said, “pick up a nugget.”

I reached in and picked up a massive raw nugget the size of a hen’s egg, cold and heavy. There is something atavistic about gold that thrills the imagination, and as I hefted it I felt my pulse quicken.

“That’s from the Yukon,” he said. “Nuggets that large are rare, worth three to four times their bullion value.”

He reached in and removed the bills.

“What are those? Funny money?”

“No. It’s legal United States tender”—not normally used in circulation, he said, but sometimes these large denomination notes were exchanged between banks to keep their accounts in balance. It wasn’t hard to obtain one; he simply called his bank and ordered it, and a week later it arrived. He tucked the packet back in the chest. The chest also included a vital piece of paper which he showed me: an IOU for $100,000 drawn on his bank, so that he would know the chest was found when the discoverer collected the IOU. He rummaged around in the chest and brought out a handful of gold coins—beautiful old St. Gaudens double eagle gold pieces, along with dazzling gemstones, a 17th century Spanish emerald, and a gold Inca frog.

“Lift the chest. See how heavy it is.”

I grasped it by the sides and could lift it only with difficulty. The total weight of gold and chest was more than forty pounds.

Forrest then explained what it was all about. After his cancer diagnosis, he had begun thinking of his own mortality. The doctors told him there was an eighty percent chance the cancer would return and kill him. So he had worked out a plan: when the cancer came back, he would travel to a secret place he had identified and bring with him the treasure chest. In that place he would conceal himself and the treasure, and then and there end his life. He would leave behind a poem containing clues to where he was interred with the chest. Whoever was clever enough to figure out the poem and find his grave was welcome to rob it and take the treasure for themselves.

The final clue, he said, would be where they found his car: in the parking lot of the Denver Museum of Nature and Science.

He had worked out all the logistics but one: how he could pull this off by himself, without help. He did not feel he could entrust anyone else to assist him. “Two people can keep a secret,” he said, “only if one of them is dead.” He had already written the poem, and he now brought it out and read it to me. It was similar to the poem he later published in his book, The Thrill of the Chase, but not, if I recollect, exactly the same. He tweaked it many times over the years, making it harder.

I said that there were a lot of smart people out there and I feared the poem would be deciphered quickly and the treasure found in a week. But he assured me that the poem, while absolutely reliable if the nine clues were followed in order, was extremely difficult to interpret—so tricky that he wouldn’t be surprised if it took nine hundred years before someone cracked it.

When first I heard his plan, I was astonished and amazed. I didn’t really believe it. But the more time I spent with Forrest, the more I realized he was dead serious—no pun intended. I also realized it would make a marvelous movie: the story of a wealthy man who did take it with him. I pitched the idea to Lynda Obst, a classmate of mine from Pomona College, who had become a hugely successful Hollywood producer (Flashdance, Contact, Sleepless in Seattle). She loved the idea and asked me to write a treatment. When I called Forrest to make sure this was okay and offered to share the proceeds, he gave me his blessing, generously and firmly refused to accept any money, and made me promise only to invite him to the premiere—and the Oscars, if it got that far. I wrote a treatment and sold it to Lynda Obst Productions and 20th Century Fox. While the movie was never made (option available!) I did write a novel based on the idea, called The Codex, which featured a wealthy Santa Fe art dealer and collector who is dying of cancer and decides to take his fortune with him. He buries himself and his fabulous wealth in a secret tomb at the farthest ends of the earth, and he issues a challenge to his three lazy, no-good sons: if they want their inheritance, they have to find his tomb—and rob it.

As the years went by, I visited Forrest many times and saw the treasure in his vault. He often took things out and put other things in; he removed the currency, fearing it might rot; and he swapped out some of the gems for more gold coins and ancient Chinese jade faces. He also took out the IOU, he said, “because I thought my bank might not still be there when the chest was found.” He had worked out a better way, he told me, to know when the treasure is discovered, but he has not shared that secret with me.

And then finally, one lovely summer day in August 2010, I visited him and he brought me into the vault. The chest was gone! “I finally hid it,” he said. He was about to turn eighty years old and still in excellent health with no sign of cancer, and he decided to stop waiting and hide the chest now. This way was better, because he would be around to appreciate and enjoy the ensuing hunt.

And that, as everyone knows, was the beginning of what has developed into possibly the greatest treasure hunt of the 21st century. As I write this, seven of those nine hundred years have passed, a hundred thousand people have looked for the treasure, and three have lost their lives in the search—and yet it still remains out there somewhere, secreted in a dark and wild place, waiting to be found.

This treasure story is emblematic of who Forrest is—a war hero, a man of great generosity, and a truly original human being who lives life to the fullest, does things his own way, and doesn’t worry too much about what others might think. Forrest is, above all, a creator and a teller of amazing stories. In this book he tells thirty nine of the best of those stories, all true, with a note of commentary at the end of each one. They run the gamut from the inspiring and philosophical to the amusing and fabulous. These stories are a treasure of another kind, and some of them—who knows?— may contain more clues to the location of the real treasure.

I have read these stories with enormous pleasure, interest and enlightenment, and I hope you will enjoy them too.


On November 2nd Forrest and Doug will have a book signing at Collected Works Bookstore in Santa Fe.

Lou Bruno and Susan Caldwell who designed Forrest’s last 6 books, and made them happen are the owners and designers of the new book.

I expect there will be an ordering page soon…but in the meantime the book can be ordered from lou@brunoadvertising.com

Where Warm Waters Halt…

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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…

Where Warm Waters Halt…Part Eight

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This page is now closed to new comments. To add to the discussion please go to the latest WWWH page.

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…

Those Three Words……

July 2017

by Dodo Bird

 

 

I had resigned myself to the fact that I will go to my grave without ever hearing those three words that mean so much. It is not in the cards for me, nor the stars. I was born with all the necessary parts and pieces…its a matter of inadequacy i guess. Some things are not meant to be. Its easy for me to blame my creator or gravity and everyone around me, but deep down I know I need to change. I dated an ostrich for a time. Her parents refused to accept us as a couple.
So I visit here at Dal’s blog to read others thoughts and stories of Fenn treasure hoping to find inspiration. I do believe the man hid a treasure and I’m going to find it. And with this new found wealth, I CAN change. The fact that two searchers have died looking for Fenn treasure does not phase me one bit. They believed him and so do I. After all, people dying over a belief that may or may not be true is nothing new. Many have died over the course of history believing in religions, governments and charismatic individuals. But im not going to die. Im going to be rich.And im going to buy lots of things with the money- a gym membership to lose weight, I’ll get a pedicure, a nose job. I’ll have my wings fixed and then, most importantly i’ll take flying lessons.
Sometimes I go to the airport just to watch the planes. I sit at the airport bar and meet people from all over the world. And even though im not going anywhere  I take an empty suitcase along to make it look like I am. One time my suitcase fell over and a lady picked it up for me. Realizing it was empty, she knew my game. As she stood up, righting my fallen case, a small tear pooled in her lower eyelid. I just mouthed a thank you and she paid for my next drink. Sometimes I can hear people behind me mocking…”hey look! ha ha it’s a dodo bird…at an airport! ”  im so happy they are entertained by this fact.
I just ignore them. it aint easy being a bird that cant fly.
But after I find fenn’s treasure, I’ll show em all. I’m going back to that airport. I’ll strut proudly out on the tarmac. And everyone who laughed at me will watch in amazement as I get in line with the jumbo jets on the taxiway. I’ll wait my turn, flexing my new wings with deep powerful strokes warming up creating just as much jetwash as the jumbos. and when my turn comes, I’ll stand on my tippy toes at the end of the runway with the wind in my face, nose high in the air and over the control tower loudspeaker everyone will hear those three words that mean so much…..
dodo bird!
CLEAR FOR TAKEOFF!!!

Has it Been Found?..

SUBMITTED JULY, 2017

 

In July of 2017 Perry Stone pushed out a video on YouTube claiming he had found Forrest Fenn’s treasure hiding spot…not the treasure mind you…just the spot where the treasure was hidden. The chest was not there. So of course Mr. Stone believes that the chest had been found and removed.

These are not unusual claims. I would say there have been a few dozen such claims that I am aware of since Forrest hid Indulgence. A minority have become videos that still float around on YouTube giving the impression that the chest has been found and the chase is finished.

It seems these folks have a difficult time admitting that their solution was wrong and led them to a place where the treasure chest is NOT, instead of where it is. So, rather than admit defeat they often decide that they were correct, but someone else got to the location before them and removed the chest. What is so interesting to me about these claims is that as far as I can tell no two of them are in the same location.

Today, Forrest was asked by a reporter in Denver if Mr. Stone’s claim was true. This is Forrest’s generous response:

I enjoyed Mr. Stone’s well-presented video. He is a far thinker and has a knack for analyzing. There are half a dozen other videos that were made similarly. The treasure remains where I hid it about 7 years ago. It is interesting that the film makers are so positive while leading their viewers to where the treasure chest never was. I compliment all of them and am reminded that it’s all about the thrill of the chase. f

By the way you can view Mr. Stone’s video here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQ5fWkYb708&amp