The day started off like my favorite weekends do - with sleeping in. After that, we only had to get ready for the kids Girl Scout meeting. It was a nice relaxing morning. Cody played in the living room (Xbox I think), Amber hoarded the computer, and Emily and Carmen played with friends. All very good. Because the Girl Scout meeting was down in Du Pont, it was also very near to a geocache that we'd been told was one we had to find - the Bloated Festering Head.
This is the tale of that adventure:
I had heard about this for too long to not go after it. We had planned on dropping the kids off at Girl Scouts and heading out to conquer this cache. Girl Scouts was cancelled, but we decided to go after it anyway. Two of the kids were brave enough to give it a shot, but the oldest just wanted to hang out in the Jeep. First we found a Cache with a Porpoise and continued up the road to find the way into the marsh for BFH. Luckily, we ran into another cacher who told us that the entrance to BFH was back behind us and if we continued on, it would be much harder.
Our first try down a trail was hard, wet and muddy. After about 350 feet into the marsh, we decided it was probably not the right path and we headed back to our start point. The kids were tired, wet and cold, but we hadn't come that far to give up! I started down the next trail - which seemed clearer, but wetter. In comparison to the first trail we tried, it was a clear path! I plowed through the "trail," sometimes even getting up to a jogging pace - I wanted to be in and out before the sun went down. Water was usually up to my calf and my knees were in no danger of staying dry, but it was still about 10x easier than the first trail.
I found the Head without trouble and happily started back towards the trail-head, full of joy and proud of how easily I had found the cache. I clipped my GPS back on my hip and started back down the trail. I tromped through the water and the brush for a few minutes before the nagging feeling that I might have taken a wrong turn made me unclip the GPS and take a look.
No amount of $#!#&%$( could fairly express the stream of obscenities that escaped my lips as I saw that I had gone the wrong way at some point. I decided to try and cut across the brush back to the main trail - all the while, the words of the friendly cachers we met on the trail earlier echoed in my mind, "... make sure you take the same way back out as you did in... " After a few more minutes of bush-whacking towards what I thought was the right path, I checked my GPS again. SOAB! I discovered I had gotten turned around and was going the wrong way! %$&#$*&
I had come so far in the wrong direction, it was actually closer to head straight for the trail head than it was to go back to the Head - and it looked like the path we had originally taken (the 10x harder one), was only a hundred feet or so ahead of me. And the trail head itself, where everyone was waiting for me, was only 450 feet away. In a moment of desperation, I decided to suck it up and push through the heavy brush. That was probably a mistake. At some points, I was pushing brush down in front of me with my walking stick, and at other times I was nearly climbing trees and hacking down brush with the stick.
(even now as I type this, I'm literally pulling twigs out of my hair, my shirt, and my pants)
The lowest point of my adventure came when I saw what looked like a break in the brush and I headed for it. When I got to it, I was crushed to discover that it looked like a stream approximately 15 feet across and deep enough that my stick wouldn't reach the bottom. %$*($#@%.
I called (yelled) back to my wife, whom I knew was waiting patiently for me under the trees I could see not more than 400 feet away. So close, yet so far. When I called, she answered, her voice lifting my spirits and chasing away the despair of being lost - even in such a small marsh. Knowing I couldn't cross the stream without a swim (which my phone wouldn't survive), I backtracked a bit and tried again to cut across to the trail. It was rough going, but now that I was using the GPS, each foot closer to my objective was a breath of fresh air. I climbed trees, crushed brush, flailed and wrenched my body through branches and fought for each foot of my escape. Finally, with one last push through heavy brush, I dropped down into the familiar trail that we had first come down. Although I knew it wasn't an easy exit, I knew which way to go. After a few more minutes of "hiking," I found my family again. Whew. I was out of breath, but happy.
For me, the adventure wasn't in finding the cache, but getting back out! Next time, I'll bring the family along to the Head, so they can make sure I go back the way I came!
***
Now, we're back home, safe and found, and yes, I'm still pulling twigs out of my clothes.
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