As Cynthia has pointed out…to get a signed copy you MUST check the “signed copy” button on the order form.
You can also order by calling the bookstore 505 988-4226 and of course you can pick one up in person if you are at the book store.
Submitted October 2017
A few days ago I had the opportunity to meet Forrest at the Collected Works Book Store in Santa Fe. He popped into the store occasionally, unannounced, this week so he could pre-sign all the new books before they were shipped out to the readers. I sat at the table quietly watching as Forrest signed book after book after book. It was a truly organized event between him and the guy who worked there. A carton of 20 books would be carried to the chair beside Forrest where the guy would open the box, set a stack of books on the table to Forrest’s rightside where he could easily slide them one at a time in front of him. Then the signed books would be placed neatly inside the same carton and moved to the back of the store to get ready to be shipped out. Before I knew it, Forrest looked at me and said he was done. I was impressed… he had signed 80 books in what seemed like just a few minutes.
He asked me if I’d like to chat over cups of hot chocolate… yes, I said. From there we drove to Downtown Subscription where they serve the best mugs of hot chocolate in Santa Fe. It was crowded but we found a small empty table in the midst of the mob. During the course of our conversation Forrest suggested I write a review of his new book and send it to Dal to post. I was flattered he asked me and I agreed to do it.
Remember this story, originally titled “Eunice, LA” and posted on Dal’s blog as Scrapbook One Hundred Sixty Nine in March 2017? Many of us know it as the Bingo story. Like many other stories in this new book, slight changes have been made between the original scrapbooks posted on the blog and the revised stories in Once Upon A While. This one really caught my eye…
If you notice, the text / title on this page says RAINY NIGHT BLESSINGS but the chapter title at the top of each page of this chapter says RAINY DAY BLESSINGS. Is this difference in words (between NIGHT and DAY) an accidental mistake or an intentional hint to us searchers? Is this why Forrest told me to mention this picture? I don’t know…
I am not the naturally gifted writer that Forrest is, or Douglas Preston, or Jenny Kile, or Dal. My review of this book is the way I talk… fragmented thoughts along the line of Fenn treasure searchers, not like the prose of the literary masters. There are 184 scrapbooks, 27 Vignettes, and 3 Passages written by Forrest and posted on Dal’s blog. 39 of these were included in this new book Once Upon A While. Even if you’ve read and memorized most of these, I highly recommend you buy or borrow a copy of this book and revisit each of these 39 stories. Forrest added “MY TWO SENSE” at the end of each chapter (with a post mark stamp), often punctuating the story with his wit, humor, and anecdotes, as well as a few updates.
One of those updates is on page 171 in The Bullet Comes Home. I don’t want to spoil the ending so won’t reveal the additional text included in this chapter. But it made me sad… I had the privilege of sitting in The Bullet a couple years ago while Forrest sat in the driver’s seat and explained the details of the mechanics of the car, or lack of mechanics, I should say. Now it’s just a bittersweet moment in my memory. As Forrest so wisely puts it “Once you leave home you can never move back.”
If I still haven’t piqued your interest in this new book, I gotta mention the drawings… all by Forrest and mostly stick figures. He thinks he’s not a good artist.. I think he’s exceptional and each drawing adds to the stories. Notice his turquoise belt buckle on each of the stick figures that are him throughout the book. I thought that alone was clever..
And lastly, in my opinion, this book is visually stunning. I love color… color pictures, color stick drawings, and color backgrounds with the bleeds to the edges. Just leafing through the pages should make a person want to look at each page and eventually read the text. And whoever came up with the idea of putting the page numbers in large font in the center of the margins? For any of you who have ever written a book, or magazine, or maybe a yearbook years ago, you have to appreciate the creative style Susan, Lou, and Forrest captured here. This is one of his best!
Over $1 million worth of gold, jewels, and jade is hiding in the Rocky Mountains. Close to one hundred thousand searchers are looking for Forrest Fenn’s treasure, but they are all at an extreme disadvantage—they don’t have this guide!
When Forrest Fenn, an eighty-year-old millionaire, first announced that he had hidden his fortune in the Rocky Mountains, author Rob Johnson became obsessed with finding the treasure site. Ever since Fenn’s proclamation in 2010, hundreds of thousands of treasure hunters have joined the search. Johnson focused on the riddles and clues that could give away the treasure’s location. Unable to continue searching for the treasure on his own, he is now publishing his research for the benefit of anyone as passionate about Fenn’s fortune as he is.
Johnson’s guide includes the following:
With Johnson’s help, you could be the one to finally put the clues together and solve Fenn’s mystery!
About the author:
Rob Johnson is an adventurer who has spent four years looking for Forrest Fenn’s treasure. He has over six thousand pages of research and documentation about its location. Owing to family illness and other responsibilities, Johnson currently cannot continue the physical search. He is leaving it to you to pick up where he left off.
Reasonable Doubt is a crime and legal thriller inspired in part by the true story of Forrest Fenn and his famous treasure. Author Rick Fuller looks at what could happen when greed meets an iconic treasure hunt.
Heaving the backpack to the ground, Richard Frost sat on a log to catch his breath. Time was short, but he was exhausted and desperately needed a break. He took a great gasping breath that caught in his lungs. Coughing strenuously, he leaned forward, covering his mouth with his gloved hand, a habit ingrained in socially accepted standards, though there was nobody around to take offense. Getting the coughing under control, he looked down at the palm of the glove and paused for a moment staring at the blood splattered on it. Shaking his head, he wiped the glove in a patch of snow, spitting to clear his mouth before opening his water bottle and drinking the last drops.
He took just another moment, enjoying the solitude, the quiet and the beauty of the natural world surrounding him. This is what had sustained him throughout his life, what had allowed him to work so hard for so many years. Knowing the wilderness was always waiting had let him push through the long weeks, looking forward to the one day each week he always set aside to spend in the woods. He was sorry his life was coming to an end like this, but glad he’d found a small path to immortality in the backpack at his feet.
Standing at last, he suffered through one more coughing spell, saying a quick prayer that it was the last or that the next would hold off at least for a couple of hours. He still had a lot of work to do and darkness was fast approaching.
He grabbed the backpack and gingerly picked his way down the embankment to the place he’d chosen so carefully. He’d spent months looking for just the right spot. The conditions he’d set as the standard while searching for the perfect location had required a lot of thought. He had no idea how long it would be before someone came looking for this cache, and it probably needed to survive years, quite possibly decades.
He opened the backpack and then leaned into the concealed cavity, dragging out the titanium box, grunting under its significant weight. He felt another coughing spell coming on and he paused while he fought it down. The spells had recently become serious enough that he’d passed out on two occasions, unable to control his breathing, blood spraying in the air as he fell to the ground; a recurrence of that now would be disastrous.
After a brief moment his lungs began to work smoothly and he said a silent prayer of thanks. The danger averted, he swallowed down the small amount of blood that had bubbled up from his ravaged lungs and then returned his attention to the box. He opened it and smiled at the sight; he’d worked hard his entire life and he never tired of looking at the fruits of that labor. He turned to the backpack and, reaching in, removed seven small objects, one at a time. Though small, the objects were heavier than they appeared to be. Each item was perfectly shaped, manufactured to be exact in size and weight.
He added the seven items to the box that already contained thirteen identical objects he had packed up on two earlier trips. He then pulled three small sacks from the backpack. The sacks were made of oilskin which he hoped would protect them for many, many years. He made sure they were closed securely and then piled them in around the twenty heavy objects, pushing the sacks down with his hands so the lid would be able to close securely. It was surprising even to him, a man used to dealing with items such as this, how small a box was required. Someday in the future, somebody would be surprised at how heavy such a small box could be.
Before he closed the lid, he removed a piece of paper from the backpack, the paper laminated and enclosed in a Ziploc bag. He placed it on top of the items in the chest, smiling at the thought of someone reading the words sometime in the future.
There was no point in locking the box, none at all actually, but old habits die hard, and Richard found himself fighting the urge to snap the padlock onto the reinforced clasp. He’d wanted the complex, secure lock when he originally had the box made, but it wasn’t needed anymore. He would have given the padlock a symbolic toss into the lake but, being a lover of nature and a hater of those who would despoil it in any way, he turned and dropped the lock into the backpack instead. He would pack it out, along with any other evidence of his presence, just as he’d done his entire life.
He turned back to the box and, leaning down, put his entire body into it, shoving it back into the place he’d discovered, the place that would keep it safe for as long as necessary.
Moving all of the logs and sticks back exactly as he’d found them, he stood and surveyed the scene. There were definite signs that someone had been here…footprints and drag marks, vegetation crushed, a rock unearthed, but he wasn’t worried about that. It was getting dark and it would snow tonight, covering all signs of his visit.
Richard Frost picked up the nearly empty backpack and slung it over his shoulders. This part of his life’s journey was nearly over. He’d never see this place again, so he took just a moment to enjoy one last look around before he began working his way back to the path that led to his car.
The distance wasn’t far but, in his weakened condition, it had taken him the entire day to make the three trips needed to carry it all here. He smiled to himself as he remembered a time when he would have carried a load like that in just one trip. He missed the days of his youth when nothing had seemed impossible and the world lay at his feet.
Richard worked his way down the slope, finding the trail and following it to his car, arriving right at dark. A few snowflakes began to fall as he unlocked the door. He got in and drove away and didn’t allow himself the luxury of one final look back. The deed was done, the past was the past, and the future belonged to somebody else.
Reasonable Doubt is available for your Kindle at Amazon:
Following is an excerpt from the new novel, The Chroma, by Ansley Rey.
In this New Age Western, The Chroma, a headstrong, young woman, Rain, struggles to overcome her victimized past and become the legend that nature, her true Indian blood and the Hopi Prophesy foretold.
Rain speeds across the Southwest with a wild crew of treasure seekers in search of Forrest Fenn’s real life buried treasure.
Chased by the Feds in our world and alien scavengers from another, the redheaded massage therapist is on the lam and on the hunt to reawaken the fabled Light Warriors!
Andy shut and locked the door.
He looked her over as she un-pinned her hair from the wig.
Long red, wavy hair tumbled out.
He smelled a wave of her scent.
Fresh, sweaty, full of danger,
wind, flowers and secret places.
“What do you have,” he snapped.
Too aware of her.
“Be nice, agent man, or I turn around,” she snapped back.
“Alright, I am sorry, things are stressful lately, I miss you. Can I see them?” He grabbed for her.
Rain, angry now, gave his hand a quick but hard backhanded pop.
“Mind your manners.”
“I thought you missed me,” he sulked.
“Do you want to see or not?” she demanded.
His interest was peaked.
She was not there for sex.
“Reagan, show me.” He used her real name and his best agent voice.
“Nah, I already mailed it back to Forrest already, anyway.”
Took a minute to just stare at her.
“Yes, I found it.”
“Yeah, whatever, now what do you really want, I am busy,” Andy said.
Rain reached into her pocket. It was small, easy to conceal. A gold double Eagle.
“For you.” She tossed it to him.
He caught it.
His mouth hung open.
He said nothing.
The room still.
The Chroma, by Ansley Rey is available at Amazon Books.
Gho$t Adventures by Richard McDonald
Before you get caught up in yet another Forrest Fenn story, you need to be aware that I am not a writer and this book is more childishly written more so than Forrest Fenn claims his book “The Thrill of the Chase “ to be. With this being said, I am just another searcher that feels the need to tell his story, the story of my adventures and the search for hidden treasure. The entire solution that follows is my accumulation of information collected throughout my search for Forrest Fenn’s hidden treasure. This information has been gathered by many hours of research conducted by myself through multiple resources found throughout the internet and my multiple scouting trips to the location. This solution is not complete with all information gathered from the clues but is enough to prove the location to be the solution. This location was originally discovered by my own efforts and with the use of Forrest Fenn’s poem and videos. I later used other resources to try to narrow the search area down to a specific spot. I have included many screenshots of various websites to help give a more visual type solution. Sometimes it’s just better to show someone, rather than trying to explain. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I found the gold, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t. I just don’t want to provide that type of knowlege…
A TREASURE MORE THAN GOLD by Ritt Jordan
A Treasure More Than Gold – Ritt Jordan
This book is about my involvement in the Thrill of the Chase treasure hunt. It is only one possible solution to Forrest Fenn’s poem, but I believe it is one of the most understandable and complete solves to this great puzzle.
I define a “straight forward” solve in detail. The found clues are contiguous and will lead you from where warm waters halt to the final clue that leads to the possible location of the treasure chest. I tell of the many highs and lows during my numerous trips to the area of where the poem leads.
It offers a comprehensive new look into the thrill of the chase, the treasure hunt, and the puzzle. I tell all, the word that is “Key”, the “Keyword”, and I explain how I found them. There are various pictures that take you directly to this secret site.
I know many of you have your own stories of your searches and have posted them here on Dal’s blog. I have read all of them and found them to be very interesting and entertaining. I would have posted mine here also, but thought it would be too large to keep someone’s attention for such a long time. Also, I wanted to attract new searchers into the chase.
Here is what a couple of editorial reviewers have to say about my book:
“A Treasure More Than Gold by Ritt Jordan is an account of how the author was enticed into the “thrill of the chase,” somewhere in the Rocky Mountains north of Santa Fe, NM. An ancient cast bronze, and a hidden treasure chest. To find it, one must first read the poem by Forrest Fenn containing nine clues that will lead to its location. Being bitten by the bug to hunt for this treasure prompted Mr. Jordan to use all available resources to him.
Using the satellite option of Google Maps, interviews, etc., he begins deciphering the poem. Ritt had to get to know how this man, ailing with cancer, lived in order to fully understand the clues. Why? Because Forrest hid the chest in a place very personal to him.
Ritt Jordan was able to get help from a few of his family members with his numerous trips to the mountains. He was not about to leave any stone unturned to solve the clues in the poem. Aerial satellite photos and pictures from his camera fill some of the pages so that the reader can relate to how he interpreted the clues. The author relates his story with a detailed account of his findings and frustrations, as well as the experiences and precious memories he got to share with his loved ones. What started out as searching for the end of a rainbow turned into something much more valuable than the actual treasure. To Ritt Jordan, the thrill of this chase was “A Treasure More Than Gold.”
-Stephen Fisher for Readers’ Favorite
“A Treasure More Than Gold is itself a treasure indeed. I had a marvelous time reading this book and found myself looking up one thing after another on Google. I had not been familiar with Forrest Fenn and his hidden treasure before I read this.
I enjoyed seeing how you worked at deciphering his clues. I was awestruck by the beauty of the area as seen in your photographs.
Yes, I agree. The value of this search is more than that of the treasure itself. The adventure itself seems so grand.” –
-Jack Magnus for Readers’ Favorite
Of course there are many treasures to be found in this chase the chest is only one of them, but it is the one that everyone is after. So I challenge you to come up with a more viable solution to the poem.
I am not saying that I have found the treasure. What I am saying is that I am content. I’ll leave it up to you to decide if this is the correct solution to where the treasure is hidden.
Good luck to everyone,
More reviews and ordering info:
I forgot where I left my memories
It’s not fair to suggest I’m eccentric because of a few things I do that are different. Being ordinary or predictable is no fun. Let’s talk about stretching the norms, and I’ll use literature as an example.
A book doesn’t have to be just another inanimate object that’s bored and forgotten on a sagging shelf? Why not give it some personality? Let me illustrate my point.
On page 114 of Ken Tankersley’s book, In Search of Ice Age Americans, he wrote about the Crook County Clovis artifacts that were found buried in red ochre. A few of us went to the remote site in Wyoming and I collected some of the pigment. To get to the exact spot we received permission to take a fence down, drive cross-country through gullies, dales, and a few sage-brush flats, so we did.
I smudged some of the ocher on page 114 adjacent to where Ken speaks of a Clovis fluted knife. Scholars might say it was a stupid waste of time and I was just weird for doing it. And to reinforce their point, twenty-two pages later I did it again
But think about how educational it will be a hundred years from now when someone reads my copy of the book. Who says we can’t influence the future?
I always make a few unique copies of the books I write.
They’re just something distinctive for me to keep for myself. This is one of them.
This is my first biography of Joseph Henry Sharp, who was born two years before the Civil War started and lived until the year Peggy and I were married. That won’t reveal my age but may explain why I don’t remember things like I used to. The book has hand marbled end-papers, and an original oil painting blatantly emblazoned upon its cover. “Smooth idea Forrest, but don’t you think it’s a little curious?”
Nicolai Fechin is one of my favorite artists. I wrote a book about him and published another. When celebrities came in our gallery or stayed in one of our guest houses I asked them to sign my Fechin book. I always wanted to schmooze, maybe go to lunch with them, or dinner, hoping some of their mojo would rub off on me. It never did, but at least I got 8 pages of autographs:
Ginger Rogers, Karen Allen, Sam Shepard, Jessica Lange, Shari Lewis & Lamb Chops, Suzanne Somers, Lillian Gish, Ray Bolger & the Scarecrow, Johnathan Winters, Joe Foss, David Rockefeller, John Connelly, Greer Garson, Gene Hackman, Georgia O’Keeffe, Martha Hyer, Hal Wallace, Steven Spielberg & ET, Jackie Kennedy, Shirley MacLaine, Tab Hunter, Cesar Romero, Sam Elliot, Katherine Ross, Byron Nelson, Steve Martin, E. G. Marshall, Dick Van Dyke, Cher, Roger Miller, Sandy Duncan, Jane Russell, Ellsworth Bunker, Larry Hagman & JR, Dinah Shore, Richard Avedon, Whitey Ford, Robin Olds, President Gerald Ford, H. R. Haldeman, Doc Severson, and a host of others, especially artists. Fun stuff.
Roaming through my book shelves is a favorite pastime on snowy days and nights, especially when I look through a book that has original documents or drawings bound in.
To assist my memory I sometimes tip mementos in a book to remind me of business deals that didn’t work, and also make silly notes that help me remember whose book it is.
OK, I’ll admit to having a few abstract philosophies, and sometimes I’m weird, but my fear is that someone might say I’m typical.