In which the story flashbacks four months; history of a cache series revealed; watchful eyes alerted.
Nestled against the Blue Ridge Mountains, a chain of peaks that make up part of the Appalachian Mountains, sits the town of Brysonville. It is a typical small town in North Carolina, and has everything a small town needs: gas stations, general stores, artisan shops, hardware stores, a library, police precincts, fire stations, town halls, and the all American classic small town diner.
In Brysonville that diner was Flo’s.
Flo’s Diner was the unsung social nucleus for many of the townsfolk. Old men gathered there every morning to discuss the important matters of the day. Young families ate lunch there on Saturdays. Old couples took advantage of the 4pm blue plate special. Teenagers hung out there in the evenings. If you lived in Brysonville you inevitably found yourself eating at Flo’s.
Flo’s Diner was also a frequent stop for visitors to the town.
A dark red Toyota Tacoma wound its way down the main street of Brysonville, and pulled into a parking space outside of Flo’s. The truck had heavy duty suspension, and a winch on the front. Mud was on the tires, and splattered from the wheel wells in a radial pattern. Clearly this truck spent a lot of time off the main roads. In one corner of the back window was a decal that looked like a cross between a barcode and an insect. There were 6 seemingly random numbers and letters underneath it. On the other corner of the back window sat the words “I’d rather be caching.”
A man hopped out of the truck. He had a dark brown beard, short hair, and blue eyes. He was wearing a blue plaid shirt, light brown cargo pants, and a sturdy pair of well worn leather hiking boots. On his belt was a leatherman multi tool. On his head a brown Tilley Hat.
The man walked into Flo’s, and looked around. Another man waved him over to his table by the counter. The man walked over and sat down.
“Mornin’ Dave”, the seated man greeted the newcomer. “How ya doing today?”
“Oh, pretty good, “ Dave said. The man he was meeting was a tall thin man clean shaven, light brown hair, and brown eyes. His name was Tim Finnigan.
“Mornin’ Dave”, the seated man greeted the newcomer. “How ya doing today?”
“Oh, pretty good, “ Dave said. The man he was meeting was a tall thin man clean shaven, light brown hair, and brown eyes. His name was Tim Finnigan.
Dave and Tim were both geocachers, and their friendship grew over their mutual love of hiding puzzle and gadget caches, and going for long hikes in the mountains. Dave had been caching since 2008 and goes by the caching name Bear-Zinga. Tim started caching way back in 2002, and adopted the caching name Huckleberry Tim.
The waitress appeared at the table to refresh Tim’s coffee, and to take Dave’s order. Without looking at the menu he ordered the Big Breakfast: two eggs, scrambled, two slices of bacon, two slices of toast with butter and grape jelly, and a coffee with two cream. Dave lived in the next town over, so he wasn’t a regular, but he had came here often enough, to meet Tim and other cachers, that he knew the menu by heart.
“So tell me about this cache idea you’ve been hinting at,” Tim asked. “What is the theme going to be?”
“So tell me about this cache idea you’ve been hinting at,” Tim asked. “What is the theme going to be?”
“Well, when I was researching some of the towns history down at the library, I came across an intriguing story about a fellow by the name of Seamus Dawson who mined gold up in the Smokies in the 1800s.” Tom gave a detailed account of the history of Seamus Dawson, the tragic split with his partner, his self-exile, and the tragedy surrounding both his partner and his wife.
“That all sounds interesting, right? “ Dave continued, “But here’s the kicker. There is a legend that goes along with this story. According to that legend, Seamus Dawson was mentally disturbed by his partners betrayal. He attacked Parker Gilmours wagon train full of gold, and disposed of the bodies and the wagons deep in the mountains. He then hid the gold in the cellar of his mansion. To top it all off he murdered his wife for being unfaithful, then lived the rest of his days as a recluse, living in his mansion with his son. That’s crazy right?”
“Yeah, that’s a fantastic story.”
“So my geocache idea is as follows. “ Dave pulled out a white piece of paper and a pen, and started sketching out his idea for Tim. “I want to hide a series of 6 caches, all themed around this legend. One for the mining town Seamus built to support his operation, one for Parkers murder, one for Victorias infidelity, one for Parkers mining operation, one to highlight Seamus’s discovery of the gold, and one to highlight a waterfall in the area.”
“Why the waterfall?“ Tim asked, puzzled, since a waterfall didn’t appear in any of the stories.
“Oh, I just like the waterfall, and I want to bring people there.” Dave admitted sheepishly. “My puzzle idea needs six caches, and it seemed like a good idea.”
Tim smiled and laughed. As a long time geocacher he understood that one of the joys of geocaching was discovering new and interesting places that one would not discover on their own, and such places were more than enough reason to place a geocache nearby.
“So there is more. Each of these six caches will contain a code. The finders need to find all of these caches to obtain the codes. They then need to locate a seventh cache which will contain a puzzle key. With the key and the clues, they can determine the coordinates for the final, which will be - get this - in what remains of the foundations of Seamus Dawson’s actual house up on top of Burkes Peak. What do you think?”
“That sounds amazing!” Tim said. “How can I help?”
“Well, I need some ideas for the puzzles and multi-caches that I am going to use for the six caches” Dave replied. Soon the pair were deep in conversation discussing various ideas.
They barely noticed an old man with a grizzly grey beard and an old leather hat enter the diner and sit at the counter next to their table. The old man ordered some breakfast, and sat there drinking a coffee and reading a newspaper.
The two friends, deep in conversation, started referring to the caches as if they were the actual events. The final was referred to as simply “the gold.”
The two friends, deep in conversation, started referring to the caches as if they were the actual events. The final was referred to as simply “the gold.”
“So there is a big question surrounding Seamus’s attack on Parker Gilmour, and how he moved all the gold.” Dave was trying to work out the story line for that specific cache. “How did Dawson execute the attack, and where did he hide the evidence?”
They didn’t notice the old man tense up at the mention of Dawson and gold.
“We’ll also need to figure out the exact location of the cellar, and where the treasure should be located.”
They didn’t notice the old man tense up at the mention of Dawson and gold.
“We’ll also need to figure out the exact location of the cellar, and where the treasure should be located.”
The old man was listening intently now. He pulled out a notepad and nonchalantly started taking notes.
“Have you considered using a Wherigo cache to solve the Parker Gilmour attack?” Tim asked.
Wherigo’s are a unique geocache type. Cachers load a wherigo file called a cartridge into their smart phone, and open it with a special app. When the cacher gets to the first coordinates, the app starts to tell a story. To advance the story, cachers have to move to different locations. The stories can be quite complex and can be a good way to tell a detailed story like the murder, of Parker Gilmour.
Wherigo’s are a unique geocache type. Cachers load a wherigo file called a cartridge into their smart phone, and open it with a special app. When the cacher gets to the first coordinates, the app starts to tell a story. To advance the story, cachers have to move to different locations. The stories can be quite complex and can be a good way to tell a detailed story like the murder, of Parker Gilmour.
“No, but that is an awesome idea!”
The duo discussed ideas for the cache for another hour and a half. They discussed ideas for field puzzles, for gadget caches, for the final puzzle. They tossed around ideas for story lines for the Wherigo adventure. They also discussed locations to place all of these geocaches.
The boys used a lot of geocaching terminology that does not mean a great deal to non-geocachers (who are referred to as “muggles”), however to anyone listening in on the conversation one thing would be crystal clear: there was gold hidden in the Great Smoky Mountains, and these two had every intention of locating it. At least that is the impression one would get if one had their back turned to the duo, but were eavesdropping on the conversation happening several feet away at the next table.
Finally Dave had to get home to do some chores, so with a hearty handshake and a promise to keeping discussing ideas for this complex geocache series, Dave stood up, dropped some cash on the table to cover his bill, and headed out the door.
Dave got into his truck and drove away.
Neither he, nor Tim, noticed the old man with the grizzly beard follow Dave out of the diner, nor did they see the old man write Dave’s license plate number in an old notebook.
The boys used a lot of geocaching terminology that does not mean a great deal to non-geocachers (who are referred to as “muggles”), however to anyone listening in on the conversation one thing would be crystal clear: there was gold hidden in the Great Smoky Mountains, and these two had every intention of locating it. At least that is the impression one would get if one had their back turned to the duo, but were eavesdropping on the conversation happening several feet away at the next table.
Finally Dave had to get home to do some chores, so with a hearty handshake and a promise to keeping discussing ideas for this complex geocache series, Dave stood up, dropped some cash on the table to cover his bill, and headed out the door.
Dave got into his truck and drove away.
Neither he, nor Tim, noticed the old man with the grizzly beard follow Dave out of the diner, nor did they see the old man write Dave’s license plate number in an old notebook.
The old man wandered off down the street, and disappeared around the corner.
----
The old man decided that he had to keep a closer eye on the two guys who were talking about gold in the diner. He made it a point to become a regular at the diner.
That quickly paid off as two weeks later the pair were back in the diner, and talked some more about the gold. The old man tried to strategically place himself in the diner so he could overhear the conversation. There were a lot of words he didn’t understand, but he got the gist of it: They were preparing a quest to steal his gold.
During one of these conversations at the diner, he overheard Dave telling Tim that most of the cash was in place, and he just had to make one more run up to Turkey Peak, which he was planning on doing the next day, to drop off the cash container.
That quickly paid off as two weeks later the pair were back in the diner, and talked some more about the gold. The old man tried to strategically place himself in the diner so he could overhear the conversation. There were a lot of words he didn’t understand, but he got the gist of it: They were preparing a quest to steal his gold.
During one of these conversations at the diner, he overheard Dave telling Tim that most of the cash was in place, and he just had to make one more run up to Turkey Peak, which he was planning on doing the next day, to drop off the cash container.
The old man knew where that peak was, and knew where the trail heads were. Early the next morning he bushwhacked up to the top of Turkey Peak, and waited.
It was almost noon before he spotted his target - he couldn’t remember his name… Dave maybe? - coming up the trail. He watched and waited as Dave walked over to the giant maple tree, rooted around the base of the tree for a while, had a snack, rooted around the tree again, then left the same direction he arrived.
The old man tracked Dave back to his truck. He was about to walk away, thinking that this Dave fellow was completely on the wrong track, and probably harmless, when Dave pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number, and said. “Huckleberry? Bear-Zinga here. Yeah, it’s done. The gold is ready to be found. I just need to contact the reviewer.”
It was almost noon before he spotted his target - he couldn’t remember his name… Dave maybe? - coming up the trail. He watched and waited as Dave walked over to the giant maple tree, rooted around the base of the tree for a while, had a snack, rooted around the tree again, then left the same direction he arrived.
The old man tracked Dave back to his truck. He was about to walk away, thinking that this Dave fellow was completely on the wrong track, and probably harmless, when Dave pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number, and said. “Huckleberry? Bear-Zinga here. Yeah, it’s done. The gold is ready to be found. I just need to contact the reviewer.”
Dave jumped into his truck and drove away before the old man could react.
He went back to look behind the tree, and he found a box that looked freshly hidden. Inside were a few small toys, and a notepad. There was no money to be found. He had no idea what it all meant, so he put everything back just the way he found it.
He would have to keep following Dave to find out more information.
He went back to look behind the tree, and he found a box that looked freshly hidden. Inside were a few small toys, and a notepad. There was no money to be found. He had no idea what it all meant, so he put everything back just the way he found it.
He would have to keep following Dave to find out more information.
Terribly concerned about the threat to his gold, he went back to his cabin. He thought about getting help, maybe going to the authorities, but what would he tell them? No, he had to do this alone. He could, under no circumstances, reveal his family secret.
The old man went to the diner the next weekend, but the pair did not show up. Neither did they show up the following weekend, or the weekend after that.
He was starting to think he was imagining the whole thing. He was having delusions lately, seeing things in the dark that were not really there. Then one day he overheard, almost like it came from the back of his subconscious mind, someone say “Turkey Peak.”
The old man went to the diner the next weekend, but the pair did not show up. Neither did they show up the following weekend, or the weekend after that.
He was starting to think he was imagining the whole thing. He was having delusions lately, seeing things in the dark that were not really there. Then one day he overheard, almost like it came from the back of his subconscious mind, someone say “Turkey Peak.”
He stiffened on his stool, and looked around as nonchalantly as he could. He spotted a pair of boys, just teenagers by the look of them, at a table across the diner. He moved from his normal seat at the counter to a booth closer to the boys, and looked out the window. Just another old man wanting a view of the street.
The boys never noticed him, and kept talking. Among many other things that boys talk about, they discussed their plans on hiking up to Turkey Peak to grab some cash.
The old man shot them a look, burning the image of their faces into his memory. He could not piece together everything that was happening. Like the other pair, the boys spoke a lot of words that didn’t mean anything to him. He did learn enough to know two things: His secret was in jeopardy, and he made it his mission to keep a sharp eye on these two boys.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/. Copyright 2015 by Dave DeBaeremaeker. All Rights Reserved.
