Scrapbook Seventy Three…

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MAY 2014

 

Spring is out of hibernation in Santa Fe. Several days ago we had 2 inches of rain and yesterday the high was 72 degrees. That means life is rapidly regenerating itself. Green is the dominate color again, having just this week replaced the depressing browns and greys of winter.

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The two acres surrounding our home are covered with beautiful bluish-purple flowers. My wife says they’re weeds, and I don’t understand why. Who gets to decide what’s a weed and what’s a flower? Some things that seem simple to me can be so complicated for others. I think we should take another look at our definitions. If it’s pretty, why would anyone call it a weed? That’s a derogatory term. Besides, weeds grow much faster than flowers and that’s a plus for us gardeners. I wonder if our nursery sells weed seeds.

As with some definitions, there are many issues in this life that I don’t agree with (“with” is a preposition). Who made the rule that says I shouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition? Probably some Harvard PhD somewhere. Einstein said, “Ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put.” He had a very unique way of saying things differently. (My English teacher in high school told me that “There is no such thing as very unique. Either it’s unique or it isn’t and unique doesn’t need to be qualified.” I never liked that woman.

Spring is a time to relax and think. This morning I sat in my plastic folding chair beside our pond, sipping Grapette, while I threw floating fish-food pellets at a big largemouth bass. He likes to cruise into the shallow water and hide under the lily pads. The problem was that he totally ignored my offerings of food, and I don’t understand that either. In this very complicated world that’s just something else to worry about I guess. f

Scrapbook Seventy Two…

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MAY 2014

Once in a while I get an email that I have to read several times. I am constantly amazed at the strength and resilience of women who come nose-to-nose with tough choices. I think Ann is one woman who doesn’t need an Equal Rights Amendment. What do you think about this exchange? f

—————–

Hi Forrest,
    It’s been a while since I bugged you with something.  I was wondering if you could send my sister Ann an email.  Cutting to the chase, she has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She and her doctors are confident that everything will be okay. However, a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery are in order.  One of the first things she said to me after her diagnosis was that she won’t be able to search for your treasure this summer.  She’s afraid that she will be in no shape to do any serious hiking and is bummed out about the whole situation.  A short, “Hang in there” type note would lift her spirits and make her very happy if you have a minute to send one.
Thanks, Chris

——————-

From: Forrest
To: Ann
Chris gave me your address and said you were going out of the chase for a few weeks. Bummer. You may not know that I had cancer, lost a kidney, and was given a 20 percent chance to live. That was 26 years ago and medicines are so much better today. I should have waited.
Hope you can get out in the trees again soon and look for the treasure. You are young and beautiful and have a lot going for you. Please keep me in the loop on your progress. Maybe we can meet sometime and jabber about hidden treasures. Let me know if there is something I can do for you because I’m in your corner. f

——————-

From: Ann
To: Forrest
Mr. Fenn, 
Oh My Goodness!!  Thank you SO much for your kind words of encouragement!!   I feel honored you emailed me!   I think you and my brother, Chris, would be best friends if you lived near each other.     From reading your books, I can tell he is a lot like you.  

I got the book Thrill of the Chase for his son Daniel’s birthday last year….. and I told Daniel  “if anyone can figure this out it will be your Dad…..  and if you two go treasure hunting, you have to take me along.”   Well Daniel didn’t come with us but Chris, my husband Tom and I went and we had a  BLAST!   It was a little disappointing when the treasure wasn’t where it was supposed to be, &#9786 , but we had a great time and I have to say, Chris and I are closer and talk more than we used to.     

I am very disappointed this breast cancer junk is getting in my way of treasure hunting this summer.  Maybe I will be able to go along, out West, but a am not very confident that I will be back to “my healthy self” enough to be able participate in “the hiking” part this summer.   We will just have to see.  

I did find an arrowhead on May 2nd, my biggest and best one yet.  I attached a picture.  It measures 5 and 1/4 inches long.  I found it down in the creek behind our house.  We had 2 big “Gully Washers” in the week prior, so I knew the creek would be “turned over” from all that rain.

Thanks again for the email, it made me smile and giggle.

 One of your Treasure Hunting fans,   Ann

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Scrapbook Seventy One…

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MAY 2014

Fifty percent of the people were put on this planet so that we could enjoy the other fifty percent. This family personifies the latter group in its positive best. It is for them, and others like them, that I wrote my books, and hid the treasure.ff

 

Dear Mr. Fenn,

My name is Margaret and I am writing to thank you. Because of you and your poem my sons and I have been spending more time together in the wild.

I grew up in a family of 7 and we barely had enough money to make ends meet. But my father always took us out camping, hiking and exploring. I love that he instilled a love of the outdoors in his children. Over the years, I made it outside less and less.

About a year and half ago I stumbled across your poem and my son asked what I was reading, so I read it to him. He was intrigued. We talked about it a bit and although we didn’t have the resources to search for the treasure, he has since taken to treasure hunting everywhere.

 

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I would love to introduce you to my oldest son, Charles. He turned 5 on May 15th. For his birthday party I gave him the choice of a party at Chuck E Cheese like all his friends or a camping trip with family.

He picked the latter with no hesitation! He spent hours in the woods looking for treasures with his cousins! He actually carried 2 bags around. One for special things he found and another to pick up trash left by others.

Earlier this spring we took a trip to a local hot spring here in Utah.
Shortly after we began to research other springs close by that we might be able to visit someday. I was reading some excerpts from online to him and we came across a blog where the author said something about coming to a gate across the road that was locked so he had to turn around. And that it turned out to be (search area removed by editor) in Colorado.

Charles turned to me and laughed, he said ‘where warm waters halt.’ I could not believe he remembered that since it had been quite a while since we discussed your poem. We started researching the area a bit and are falling in love with the area around there. Charles wants to visit the Anasazi Heritage Center down by the reservoir and see all the ruins of the old pueblos. I don’t know when we will be able to make it there, but we will keep reading and planning while we explore the wilderness here in our backyard.

This boy amazes me. The way his mind works at such a young age seems so unique to me. Although, through all my reading, I have yet to find anyone who interprets the clue that way. I can’t help but be intrigued by the thoughts of a child.  And I truly wanted to let you know how grateful I am for you. Because we found your poem, I was reminded about all the adventures of my youth and have been able to begin to expose my boys to the same.  I’m pretty sure that we will never come close to finding your treasure, but how amazing it is to be able to share the excitement of the chase with my son.
If we ever do make it to the area he thinks it may be we will follow his path and look. Even if someone has found it elsewhere before then. Maybe by that time my other son Arlo, who is one and a half, will be old enough to share the thrill with us.

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Next step is to get a copy of your books to read together. We are saving up and hope to have them soon!

Thank you for taking the time to read this. And thank you again for the wonderful gift you have given my family and countless others! You are a special person and the world needs more like you!

Cheers,
Margaret

“There is no such thing as poor weather when it comes to being outdoors.”
Only poor preparation.”

Scrapbook Seventy…

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MAY 2014

I wrote this poem in 5 minutes to counter Dal’s malicious Garmin malplacement of the treasure. There are as many hints in this poem as there are dents in Esmeralda, who still glides the tartop after 294,000 miles. Dal must be on something and I don’t think its Sarsaparilla.

Don’t tell me Dal in whispers hushed,
Of golden hoards and treasures lush,
And broken trails and bushes crushed,
Or shattered dreams lost in the rush.

But say it true and not a fib,
And make it plain without the glib,
I’ll set my spinnaker and jib,
And go directly for the scrib,
(I don’t know what scrib means but it rhymes and that’s all I care about)

———-

 

Forrest is referring to my story called The Tewa Connection…

Found here

 

Scrapbook Sixty Nine…

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MAY 2014

Occasionally I get an email from a searcher who presents a different twist
to the story. I always get permission before forwarding it to Dal to post.
This is one of those. Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not hinting that
the treasure is hidden on top of a rock with a bear guarding it. f

Forrest,

A serious question on Spring hiking that could save my life. Last year we
hiked Beaver creek in the soft spring snow for 13 miles and it was
miserable. Especially with the bears out there and hungry and all. I’m not
sure what was worse, the fatigue from that soft snow or my worry about being
out there all night with those grizzess.
Can bears climb rocks? If I get stuck out all night when we go next time, I
might try and sleep on some rocks to hide from them. But if they eat me,
then it’s your fault for hiding the chest in a place with mean bears all
around!  Next time can you pick a nice forest with small little creatures
that don’t eat people?

Phyllis

Scrapbook Sixty Eight…

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MAY 2014

Many searchers have thought that warm waters halt at a dam because water being released through flues near the bottom of the dam is much colder than water on the surface of the lake. I have discussed around that subject with several people in the last few days and am concerned that not all searchers are aware of what has been said. So to level the playing field to give everyone an equal chance I will say now that WWWH is not related to any dam.  ff

Scrapbook Sixty Seven…

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MAY 2014

 

Good evening Mr. Fenn,
I hope all is well for you and would like to share that my fiancé and I will be spending our honeymoon camping in our favorite spot this summer for a couple weeks then we intend to explore and possibly hunt for the remainder though we intend to get sidetracked and lost whenever possible. So glad to have the sunny days returning and thank you for your response. While I do not come to you for help in seeking your treasure–that part you have left to each seeker’s own talents and time. After having read so many people’s comments and while there are many who are in it for the “thrill of the chase” and the fun, there are still many of the others from the crazies who claim that you want to steal souls to those who accuse you of lying and still others who try to use your good-intentions to take advantage of others and I was reminded of a Shel Silverstein poem:

WHAT’S IN THE SACK
by Shel Silverstein

What’s in the sack? What’s in the sack?
Is it some mushrooms or is it the moon?
Is it love letters or downy goosefeathers?
Or maybe the world’s most enormous balloon?

What’s in the sack? That’s all they ask me.
Could it be popcorn or marbles or books?
Is it two years’ worth of your dirt laundry,
Or the biggest ol’ meatball that’s ever been cooked?

Does anyone ask me, “Hey, when is your birthday?”
“Can you play Monopoly?” “Do you like beans?”
“What is the capital of Yugoslavia?”
Or “Who embroidered that rose on your jeans?”

No, what’s in the sack? That’s all they care about.
Is it a rock or a rolled-up giraffe?
Is it pickles or nickels or busted bicycles?
And if we guess it, will you give us half?

Do they ask where I’ve been, or how long I’ll be stayin’,
Where I’ll be goin’, or when I’ll be back,
Or “How do?” or “What’s new?” or “Hey, why are you blue?”
No, all they keep asking is, “What’s in the sack?”
“What’s in the sack?” I’m blowin’ my stack
At the next one who asks me, “What’s in the sack?”
What?
Oh no. Not you, too!

I do believe that you wanted to add some mystery and sense of adventure in the actual World that is ever growing too focused on electronics and immediate gratification. So I would like to ask that should you respond to my email, it be with a memory or joke or riddle or anything that you would like to share other than answering a question about the trove. 
 
My fiancé and I live in Colorado and though I work in the technology field, I love nothing more than to ramble the mountains with him and explore . The treasure has sometimes added a little new color to these trips, but wandering and seeing new sites and places has always brought our most memorable times. For us, you have added another part to the many treasures we already find out in the mountains, but for those who did not already have that appreciation, you have awakened it!

One Tin Soldier
by Original Caste

Listen, children, to a story
That was written long ago,
‘Bout a kingdom on a mountain
And the valley-folk below.



On the mountain was a treasure
Buried deep beneath the stone,
And the valley-people swore
They’d have it for their very own.

So the people of the valley
Sent a message up the hill,
Asking for the buried treasure,
Tons of gold for which they’d kill.



Came an answer from the kingdom,
“With our brothers we will share
All the secrets of our mountain,
All the riches buried there.”

Now the valley cried with anger,
“Mount your horses! Draw your sword!
“
And they killed the mountain-people,
So they won their just reward.

Now they stood beside the treasure,
On the mountain, dark and red.
Turned the stone and looked beneath it…
“Peace on Earth” was all it said.

Go ahead and hate your neighbor,
Go ahead and cheat a friend.
Do it in the name of Heaven,
You can justify it in the end.

There won’t be any trumpets blowing
Come the judgement day,
On the bloody morning after….
One tin soldier rides away.

It is mostly the thought of treasure and the mountains and the “Go in peace” that makes this song pop into my head every time and again, in the case that you are unfamiliar with the song, I thought I would share.

Finally, I will share the zygote of the thought that I am on with your treasure poem but not to seek confirmation or hints–just to share. If you do respond, I really do not want you to think that I am clue-seeking and I am having fun even if I am possibly way off in left field 🙂  so while I am sharing, if I am completely wrong then you can have a good chuckle, but do not steer me please…I would like to make the trips and if I do not know I am wrong, then there will still be the fun of possibility!

My family is from the far southern part of this State (Colorado) and while I never have been to my tiny family town of Antonito, I have always intended to see my Gammu’s (grandma) origins and have read much about the whole South/Southwest portion of the State. I am familiar with the history of the Ute Indians and Chief Ouray including his lone entombment in a secret cave. While not born of the tribe that he later led, he did become one of the Uncompahgre Utes–loosely translated to “warm waters”. “Not far but too far to walk” could be a train which led through the whole area. There are many canyons, rivers and streams in area, that I would like to visit a few times first to see which leads where. “Put in below the house of Brown” has meant several things to me at different times, everything from the giant bat cave at Valley View to a Bear cave or trout pond or Beaver dam, but I would like to look a little more at the area and especially the small brown adobe home built up the canyon by Ouray. The last large event that to the Utes being forced off their Colorado lands and onto the reservations in Utah, was the Meeker “Massacre” a little ways further up from Ouray, CO. And now some of the rivers have been damned “no paddle” though I thought perhaps a play on words too (i.e. paddle = oar = ore?) Along the top of the reservoir is an old mining area including bridge that is collapsing.

As the boom fizzled down, these “tired” (as in weary) tracks then had train cars build from cars! “tired” (as in wheels)–even if wrong, I liked the possible double-entendre.  There are several references in the area to wise, but I thought this too might be a play on the Weisbaden Hot Springs spa that were built over the small hut built by Ouray. This blaze, I thought could be another double, both blaze as in marker/trail and as fire/light in a point right up the road that is called “Look Out Point” marked by a huge sign (featuring both a bear and a trout by the way) and looks out on Red Mountain so-called because it looks like it is on fire with the sun at certain angles. The “..tarry scant with marvel gaze” could both refer to hurrying up (if the sun is setting) and also the large tar pit in the area. I thought that this might all be leading to the secret cave where Ouray’s body lay hidden for 45 years until he was ceremoniously buried next to his wife in Ignacio, CO and he was then and now known as the peacemaker.

There were a few items that I also wanted to state I am pretty sure that people are perhaps being too presumptuous with (but I am still awaiting a copy of your book and so I could be wrong):
* That you carried all 42 lbs. at once
* That it must be buried –even though you say not
* That the box and not perhaps the spot/place is hidden

I was introduced to your poem last year by my fiancé and while we did a little wandering and research (Wise Mountain, Mount Meeker, looking for forest fens, etc.) and it was not until I was floating dozing at a hot spring that the thought of the brown bats caves occurred to me and I began to wonder again. I need to further develop my idea but I feel like I could be on a very strong goose-chase!
 
So, again I would like to thank you for allowing others to be a kid again and say that we will remember you.

Sincerely,
Tomacita

Scrapbook Sixty Six…

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MAY 2014

Dear Mr. Fenn,

Greetings!  I Hope you are well these days.  I have enjoyed reading many of your little anecdotes throughout this adventure, so I thought that I would share one with you.  I hope that you have some time to read it, and that you find it amusing.

A few weeks ago, I returned from a wonderful trip to the Caribbean.  We took the RC cruise ship “Jewel of the Seas” up the Eastern passageway, through St. Johns (VI), Antigua, Martinique, and St. Croix, among other ports-of-call.  It was breathtaking, and I feel fortunate to have been able to take a trip like that.

On the way there, a funny thing happened every time I went through security at the airports, and when boarding the ship. Each time I sent my black Colorado Rockies backpack through the xray “tunnel”, the security agents would pull me aside and carefully go through the contents of my bag.  Aside from the tangle of headphones, kids books and snacks, I couldn’t think of what could be in the bag that would be causing such a commotion.  Eventually, the TSA agents would look at me, then back into the bag, back at me again, and finally they would hand me the bag and send me on my way.  Of course I would rummage through the pack each time, trying to find what had caught their attention and could find nothing! I was perplexed at what could be causing such a commotion, but got busy with everything else and forgot about it for the whole week, while we enjoyed our cruise.

A week later, while sadly packing up to head home, I discovered the culprit! In the very bottom of the backpack, hidden in the darkness, was a little memento I had kept from my first trip looking for your treasure chest.  It was an old rusty railroad spike, about 6 ” in length.  I’m sure you know the kind.

 

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I felt a little bad taking it at the time, but there had been many more lying around, so I didn’t think this one would be missed.  It had followed me on all 3 trips to the same exact spot I was shooting for, where I believed that the chest was hidden.  I had to smile as I held the heavy little piece of iron in my hand, rolling it around.  I really had thought I was right, on that last trip to my “spot”.  Could’ve bet my life on it!  But I had to have been wrong, because I know you would have never hidden the chest on private property, right under the nose of a nice rancher who was unwittingly keeping guard over it.  So I decided the moment that I drove away that I must have been wrong after all – as amazing as a solution I had to your puzzle, I had failed.

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And so I had given up on the chase and decided to move on.  That reminds me – I always wondered why you called it the thrill of the “chase” and not the “race”.  A race implies an actual end point, and chase.. well not so much.

Anyway, back to the railroad spike.  So I’m standing there holding this spike, wondering what to do with it.  My chase was over, and I didn’t feel like being stopped by security every time on the way back, so the solution was clear.  I stepped out on the balcony as the ship passed quietly through the waters, and took a deep breath of the warm, salty air.  Then, doing my best Peyton Manning impression, I threw the spike as far as I could into the sea.  It slipped beneath the waves without a sound, and that was it.  And that, Mr. Fenn is where my quest ended- not on some dusty railroad track in New Mexico, but in the Eastern Caribbean.  The rusty spike is now sitting at the bottom of the ocean, thousands of miles away. I can’t help but wonder if maybe thousands of years from now, some diver will discover it.  Can you imagine his (or her) surprise?  What the hell is this doing here, he would surely ask!  But more than likely, no one will ever find it. It will sit there at the bottom of the ocean for eternity.  And the only ones that knew it was there at all will be long gone.

So that’s my little story, and I hope I didn’t take up to much of your time.  I really loved the chase – it was truly a high point of my life.  I do feel that what you did was a good thing, getting people out there and spending time with their families.  Thank you again for that.  And if someone does find the chest – where I thought it was – then at least I will have the satisfaction of knowing I was right.

Sincerely,

Mike B

—————

Michael,
That is such a great story, and somewhat unusual. It was for people like you that I wrote the book and hid the treasure.
Forrest Fenn

 

 

 

Scrapbook Sixty Five…

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APRIL 2014

This was posted by Dal not by Forrest

Fellow searcher and friend of this blog, Renelle Jacobsen is the subject of a story about her fight against cancer in “A Woman’s Health” magazine.

renelle01You might remember that last winter the searchers on this blog contributed over $23,000 for fellow searcher and cancer victim, Renelle Jacobsen. The fund raising took place in the form of a raffle for one of Forrest’s handmade bronze jars. In the jar, Forrest placed goodies he collected like arrowheads and beads and bones and also a beautiful handmade necklace he crafted from objects in his collection. In the end Forrest not only donated the prize but also wrote a check for $5,000 to Renelle upping the total sent to $28,000 and some change. Money to help her through her expensive and prolonged battle against cancer.

Renelle is one of a growing number of people who are living longer-term with metastatic cancer—cancer that has spread from the original site to one or more distant sites in the body. Metastatic cancer is generally considered incurable; but, as cancer treatment continues to evolve, more and more patients are living longer with metastatic disease.

“You have to figure out what keeps you going,” she explains. “It is important to have as much of a life as you can. If you can’t have it outside your house, then figure out how to have it inside your house.”

Renelle’s hunt for Fenn’s treasure has been one way she has continued to live a full life—sifting through clues and trying to deduce where to look next for the bounty. The thrill of the hunt keeps her going, especially on hard days.

If you’d like to know more about the raffle look here:

If you’d like to know more about Renelle, click here:

If you’d like to read the entire story from “A Woman’s Health” magazine, click here:

Scrapbook Sixty Four…

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APRIL 2014

 

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My name is Joseph Archuleta and I am in the fourth grade at Chamisa elementary school in Los Alamos New Mexico.  My assignment was to research someone who is famous that lived in or did something special in the state of New Mexico.  I chose Forrest Fenn my dad and I got his book The Thrill of the Chase a couple of years ago and got very excited about the buried treasure.  We read the book in just a couple of nights because it was such an easy read and so fascinating.  I chose Mr. Fenn and I studied about him and his life.  I had to be a wax figure today at school and when people would put a ticket in my bowl I would come to life and give a speech about Mr. Fenn. I made a poster and used pictures from the web and also one he sent me by email.  I got lots of compliments on my speech and poster and my cowboy hat and jean jacket that I wore.  Thank you Mr. Finn for writing such an exciting book and sharing your life story with us I really had fun learning about your life I especially liked the stories of you and your brother Skippy.

Joseph Archuleta