While geocaching, I was slightly evil and lied to a fellow cacher.
One rare and coveted thrill is a 'First to Find': being the first person
to find a newly published cache. I missed out on a coveted scrabble
cache because I didn't have a car and didn't want to annoy my driver. If
I were of a clearer mind I'd have solved it before I left.
The cache, published yesterday, had some earlier DNFs ('did not find' logs)
from people willing to search during busy times and the dark. The cache area,
a staircrossing for pedestrians, was daylit, and as I descended the
stairs, poking at retaining walls, I saw someone below, doing something
with his phone.
He looked up at me. I was completely not dressed for stealth: bright red
sweater.
"Are you geocaching?"
"No. I've lost an earring."
"I didn't see anything."
Four steps from the level flight (I don't know what to call them:
they're not 'floors' and not 'mezzanines') on my left and south I saw a
hand-wide recess. I slipped my hand in, pulled out an Altoids tin and
tiptoed back up to the top, moving away. Then I had a one-way despairing
conversation with myself, using phone as prop, about how awful I felt
about not finding the earring, and could my love please bring a metal
detector? Coming before 5 when it gets dark?
I silently opened the Altoids tin, saw a plastic pouch containing a
small scroll. I unrolled it, preparing myself to see a 'FTF' signature.
Astonishingly, the scroll was BLANK! Except for the name of the cache
and its code and a request to print small!
Jittery and eager, I put the date, FTF, and my abbreviated geocache
name. I rolled up the scroll, inserted it in its pouch so it'd stay dry.
Then I took my slip on shoes off and tiptoed like Sylvester the Cat
downstairs, seeing the man poking into an ivied wall. I tried to be
noiseless replacing the cache in its little nook but a tiny scrape of
metal on rock threatened to betray me.
I scuttled up, padded in my sock feet to the car, put the car in reverse
a few metres, then drove away. About eight minutes later I parked
somewhere safe and texted of my dastardly deed to my spouse. He cheered
me on. Then I logged my FTF note. I then learned that the man at the
bottom must have been texting his second 'DNF log' to the geocache page.
What slices my billowing sail of triumph is that I've MET this guy, he
didn't recognize me, and we've communicated using geocaching.com's
message feature trading tips and hints. Meeting him again might be
awkward!
I told my son hours later, he was proud of me.
I think if my husband had come with me, this would have had a different
outcome. I'd have felt safer admitting I was geocaching. I don't know
what lengths people will do to get a First-To-Find. He could have
knocked me with a rock or pushed me down the stairs: there was just the
two of us. If my subterfuge is the very worst practice among geocachers,
then geocachers are great people.
I have arrived at cache sites seeing someone already there, or being
very shortly accosted by a geocacher. When I'm with someone I know, or
in a very populous area, my guard isn't as up.
