Wildfire

Only the Old Fart knows...

It’s an old writer’s cliché, but it’s true: I could never write fictional characters horrific enough to compete with my real-life neighbors and yours. I’m not referring to the occasional, hopelessly warped sociopath, but the simple maroon who lives next door. Okay, I am speaking figuratively; our literal next-door-neighbors may be altogether fine. The point being that if I were to concoct characters so selfish, so paranoid, so dim, so ugly, as the many real-life personalities I nowadays try like hell not to interact with, most of my readers would consider them too over-the-top to be real. Or perhaps I should say that, for my most of my writing career of over thirty years, I think most people would have called bullshit and thumped me on the head. Not so much these days. For the last three and a half years, the Ugly have been coming out of the woodwork in greater and greater numbers, but once our friendly neighborhood pandemic set in, the perpetually plunging bar for intelligence and/or decency actually flabbergasted me. And here I had always considered myself unflabbergastable. Ever since I came of the age sufficient to interact with other homo sapiens, I’ve been as cynical as I thought cynical came regarding human nature. Well, more fool me.

At least reading the human barometer has become relatively simple: is the specimen in question taking responsible measures to protect him or herself and others, i.e. wearing a mask, maintaining reasonable social distance, washing hands, etc. etc.? Even at my cynical best, I have given most folks some benefit of the doubt, but that’s about gone out the window. My limit has been reached and exceeded.

Yes, I know some of you believe the whole pandemic thing is, if not an outright hoax, then sheer hysteria fueled by the fear-mongering media. Well, I’ll grant you that one thing: the media does indeed thrive on fear and conflict; however, if you believe that’s solely the purview of the ubiquitous liberal media, well, you might want to take note of that big old plank protruding from your eyeball. It’s always prudent to consume the media's output with a high degree of skepticism. But bias and sensationalism, while undesirable, are not in themselves sufficient to invalidate legitimate journalism. Sure, fake news abounds, but screeching “fake news!” about everything that conflicts with a rigid, myopic world view is not the hallmark of an even marginally intelligent human specimen, much less a genuine critical thinker. Too many individuals somehow confuse universal nay-saying of media reporting with actual analytical skills. What I find mystifying, at least a little, is the willingness of almost unfathomable numbers of right-wing herd-thinkers to disbelieve scientifically vetted, and—I am going to use the dreaded word—“expert” conclusions based on the best available evidence, in favor of the spew from sources like FOX News, Breitbart, The Washington Times, and other such outlets that, at one time, would have been held in the same regard as the fucking National Enquirer. Yeah, while there are tons of reeking bullshit coming from every side, every angle, I am gonna pick on the right here because the conspiracy theories, the shameful façade of patriotism, the outright dangerous BS all too many conservatives are spewing is fucking criminal. It is solely the purview of the right to espouse disregarding safeguards regardless of the sound reasoning behind taking them.

Do you actually believe the worldwide COVID-19 outbreak is some Democrat-propagated hoax or movement devised by socialist wackos, or some such nonsense, meant to crash our economy, to discredit the Oaf of Office, to assume control of you as an individual? That a mandate to wear a mask somehow violates your inalienable rights as a FREE American? Are you gonna actually ask me how much freedom I am willing to give up for security? Are you serious? Do you wear a seatbelt? Why? Do you avoid driving drunk? Why? Do you refrain from shooting people who annoy you? Why? Do you follow any statute to avoid harming other people? Why? No one is asking you to lay down your life, to storm the beaches of Normandy under withering Nazi gunfire, to offer up anything but a little concern for your neighbor. Even if you truly feel this whole business is not all it is cracked up to be, would it not be reasonable to make even the smallest sacrifice to avoid harming someone who may be more vulnerable than you are? Does your “freedom” to be a selfish, conceited, arrogant, ignorant fuckwit supersede someone else’s right to exist with at least somewhat minimized risk? A good way to identify yourself as one of the walking brain dead is to post one of the ubiquitous memes to the effect that “You are being conditioned to believe that embracing your freedom is being selfish.” Please. PLEASE. If you consider making some small sacrifice for the greater good so much a threat to your autonomy, I shudder to think about the toxic miasma roiling around in your brain. Jesus god. Putting yourself so much above others to their peril is the very definition of selfishness.

I do believe I have heard every conceivable contortion of reasoning to justify being a petty little shit. “The whole thing is fake.” (Tell that to a few hundred thousand dead. If Muslims killed 130,000+ Americans in four months, we would have wiped out half the world.) “Masks are not effective; how does the virus know whether it is coming out or going in?” (Read up on a little science, dumb fuck. Look up the pee analogy. Look up the frosty wintertime exhalation analogy. Look up something other than COVIDIOT propaganda. Of course, the mask isn’t protecting you so much as your neighbor, and yes, it is imperfect, but Jesus Christ, it helps. If you value others, do you really need more than that?) “The death rate is too low to justify putting myself out. Wearing a mask serves no purpose but to make you feel good. People are gonna die from the flu. They are gonna die from heart disease. They are gonna die in car accidents. They are gonna die from drunk drivers.” (Of course they will. We are all going to die. Yet most of us possessing any sense of personal responsibility do not facilitate any of these things. Driving drunk is a choice. So is not wearing a mask. If someone dies because of your willful bad choice, guess what. You are culpable.) “People taking precautions against the spread of a puny little virus are living in fear. Bunch of sheep!” (My god, this one is stupid. S.T.U.P.I.D. No, it is not fear—although a wee spot of fear can be a healthy thing. Embracing a little bit of fear is how human beings tend to survive beyond childhood. But no, there is a huge difference between living in fear and showing a healthy respect for a threatening microorganism. Did you know that in wars throughout history, far more people died from microorganisms than actually being blowed up real good? Only medical science in the past century turned that around. Of course, most wingnuts are all about protecting themselves from being blowed up real good but apparently care naught for teeny bugs.)

I’ve heard deflection about the supposed hypocrisy of showing care for living, breathing people but approving of abortion. I’ve heard deflection about how the experts don’t have a clue what they are talking about because they keep saying different things. Well, do you have any idea how science works? Do you realize that, being an unprecedented thing in our lifetimes, COVID-19 has turned us all into subjects of a big old science experiment? In science, we usually do not have magic, pat answers right off the bat. Discovering the right answers usually involves weeding out a lot of wrong ones first. Intelligent people make the best decisions based on the information at hand, and when that information is invalidated or improved upon, one adjusts accordingly. I’ve heard deflection that masks are all about making it easy for lawbreakers to hide their identities. Sigh. There is always “GOD IS GONNA TAKE CARE OF ME.” (Look up Jerry Clower.) And the clincher: “I don’t like what you’re saying, and I AM NOT GOING TO BUY ANY MORE OF YOUR BOOKS.”

Oh, heavens, not that! The pain, the agony, the grief!

Now, if you do not care for my perspective, well, that is your prerogative. But to the best of my ability, I have done due diligence. My doctor tells me to wear a mask. In real life and in the virtual world, I have numerous friends and acquaintances who work in the medical field, and they tell me to wear a mask. My daughter is a researcher at Columbia University Medical Center in NYC, for God’s sake, and she tells me to wear a mask. Virtually all reputable medical professionals—in sources that are anything but biased—will tell you to wear a mask. Look, most of you do not have physical conditions that preclude you from performing this simple act of care and respect, and if you truly do, I understand. I am not railing about you. Most of you only need to wear a mask for a short spell, while you are interacting with people in public. You probably will not be in the thing long enough for that dreaded (non-existent) carbon dioxide poisoning to claim you.

Look, we all want to get beyond this mess. Really, we do. I am so fucking pissed because we have been locked down, we have been isolated, we have suffered massive economic loss. And for what? To have to start all over again because so many of you cannot abide being asked... being told... that you need to modify your behavior, if only a little bit? I cannot abide this. Compared to most of the rest of the world, we have shown ourselves as anything but models of decency, good character, and faith. We have shown ourselves to be, in large part, fucking morons.

Do you think you could maybe be a bigger person? At least when you are interacting with others? It could hardly require any more effort than I am giving, me being a somewhat misanthropic agnostic who has long thought that a good extinction event might be just what this planet needs. But I am going to make that effort. So maybe my breathing won't take your mother's life.

Idiocy on Parade

I've always said that stupidity should be painful, but now more than ever it can be deadly. The problem, of course, is that it's not just Stupid up yonder who might die (or suffer serious, long-term health complications, which are too frequently overlooked in COVID-19 coverage), but those who come in contact with Stupid. If you think the current unpleasantness is a hoax or that you've lost your freedom(!!!) or that people need to just suck it up and die for the sake of the economy, why don't you try dying. For most people, death tends to be a bit more than inconvenient, since it's forever. Sure, everyone is going to die. Some today, some unexpectedly, some in worse ways than being unable to take in a lungful of air. However, hastening it for yourself is one thing (would that Stupid go right ahead and do so); the problem is that it's not Stupid's right to make that decision for others. That is usually called murder (or manslaughter, or reckless endangerment, or any number of labels for egregious infringement of others' RIGHTS to LIFE, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness). There are penalties for such egregious behavior. Some of you forget that rights come with responsibilities. You might recall that one person's rights hit a brick wall when they infringe on the rights of others. I know some of you couldn't care less; it's more important that you're free to go to your church and gather in a group and holler to your deity to your heart's content—no matter that all that hollering might kill somebody—and proclaim how you're PRO-LIFE because you want to save the precious fetuses. Go back and think about what PRO-LIFE really means, why don't you.

If you think this unpleasantness is a hoax, go talk to my daughter or my friend Rob or any number of other folks on the front line, who are doing everything in the world to mitigate this bad business so you can go back to screaming your idiocy to the four winds with less chance of dying than you have today.

I just saw a couple of acquaintances post that they'd now lost loved ones to the virus. They don't really matter in the bigger picture, though, do they?

Busted Teeth and Bigfoot Trailin' Days

Yessir, it was raining real water out there. Dumping, as a matter of fact. So I got wet on the trail
At least Bigfoot didn't get me.

But for the threat of ultimate doom hanging over our heads during the COVID-19 pandemic, this working at home/social distancing/minimum travel thing would be downright agreeable.

Apart from occasional trips for groceries, which we've mostly managed to get via the express pickup lanes, Ms. B. and I are keeping a lot of distance between us and the rest of the world. Well, except for today. Today, I had to make a trip to the dentist for a minor emergency: last night, just before bedtime, I busted a tooth. Took a bite of cereal, and — DAMN, that sumbitch was crunchy! Oh, wait. That's not cereal. That's half a freaking molar. Yep. So, first thing this morning, I hollered at my dentist; woke her up, even. Despite being a little grumpy at the disturbance, she was able to get me in at midday, round off the jagged corners, and fill the gaping gap with some composite material. The tooth will need a full crown, but we're hoping this patch will keep me in jawbreakers until such time as her office can re-open for crowning achievements.

Map of the Bigfoot (a.k.a. Bill Craft Trail)
at the Taylor-Richardson Preserve

Three days straight I've made it out to the Bigfoot Trail (a.k.a. the Bill Craft Trail) in the Taylor-Richardson Preserve just north of Greensboro. Happily, several new geocaches have come out there over the past few days, courtesy of friends Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) and his wife Punkins19 (a.k.a. Linda). Our local reviewers have wisely spaced out these releases, timewise, so there won't be a mad rush for a slew of caches all at once. As it is, these newest are located in an area that is generally little-traveled. (It's entirely possible that Bigfoot may have thinned the herd.) On Sunday, I put in over eight miles on the trail; yesterday, about four miles; and today, about two miles. My feet have complained a little, but otherwise, it's been most invigorating.

Yesterday, after knocking off from work, I headed out to the northernmost trailhead, intent on hiking after the newest published cache. I had no sooner arrived when the bottom fell out, so for the next twenty minutes I sat in the car while the bright, clear blue sky dumped tons of water and rumbled with thunder. After a while, I said fuckity-fuggit, pulled out my umbrella, and set off down the trail. After another ten minutes or so, the rain stopped and the steam began. It is one winding trail, I can tell you. Anywhere along the way, if your GPS indicates your destination is a quarter mile away as the crow flies, you can count on hiking at least a mile. Anyhoo, I did snag another nice FTF (first-to-find) after getting a couple the day before.

I had just scrubbed up, signed the log, scrubbed the container, returned it to its hidey hole, and scrubbed my hands again when I heard a Bigfoot approaching. Oh no! But wait... That's not Bigfoot. It's just friend Night-Hawk (a.k.a. Tom). OH NO! Anyhoo, we commenced the social distancing, and some pleasant social distancing it was. Once back at the trailhead, the goats at nearby farm started hollering friendly greetings at us. One of the little guys was up on the roof of a small shed, and he made like he wanted to come visit with us, except he couldn't quite figure out how to get down.

Nice little goat taking the air near the trailhead

Today, another new cache, another trip out to the Bigfoot Trail. This time, as I much anticipated, friend Robgso (a.k.a. Old Rob), being retired and all, got out there midday to snag the FTF. No matter; a cache is a cache is a cache. This one resides near an overlook platform just above the marsh out there. Now, yesterday, Night-Hawk and I got the idea that one of the upcoming scheduled caches might just be hidden by that overlook. So, on our hike back to our respective socially distanced vehicles, we detoured to the overlook and gave it a pretty good once-over to see if we could find a container. Alas, we did not. Had we expanded our search area just a tad, we almost certainly would have found it in advance of its publication at geocaching.com. But I claimed it today, and I quite relished the opportunity to get out in those woods again. There's at least one more cache out there, just waiting for publication, so I'll have soon another trip to look forward to.

And, this evening, it's back to working on New Hampshire: Ghosts From the Skies, on which I'm making slow but steady progress. I think this is going to be one fun little entry in the Ameri-Scares series.

Stay well, you.

The woods around the marsh. Bigfoot lives around here, doncha know.

Overlookin'

A view of the marsh from the platform

Quarantine Spring

Today was the first day that really looked and felt like spring. It's gotta be the weirdest spring of my life, as it's the first and only spring in which I've had to live with a pandemic as a partner. So far, Ms. B. and I are doing fine, working from our respective homes (and I pray to god our jobs hold out, else life will be an unpretty thing), staying inside but for necessary errands and some serious exercise, of which geocaching has been a most welcome part. I've had to have some major work done to the old homestead in Martinsville, so I've spent quite a bit of time here these past few weeks. Right now, the season resembles spring as I remember it growing up — brilliant, comfortable, fragrant, peaceful. It's certainly different in that mingling with other human beings brings on a risk unlike any most of us have ever faced.

I was just reading a blog from some individual whose medical knowledge appears to be nominal, and whose callous attitude pisses me off, but there does seem to be some sense in the premise that, in order to ultimately overcome this particular Corona virus, a herd immunity must be established, and that can't happen while the world is in quarantine. In order for herd immunity to happen, more humans than not, especially those with stronger constitutions, essentially need to be the guinea pigs who are exposed to it, so that antibodies will develop to counter this specific threat. It sounds logical. Yet, I am far more inclined to listen to experts in the field — epidemiologists, medical personnel on the front lines, et. al. — and view the evidence, globally, as it presents itself. There's certainly no shortage of human beings being exposed to the virus. Look how well the unintended "experiment" worked in Italy, where massive numbers of people were exposed before the country undertook serious isolating measures. Herd immunity may happen in time (likely generations in the best-case scenario), but it strikes me as both foolish and callous to think it will happen naturally without casualties and economic damage far in excess of the current, recommended alternative measures of holding the beast at bay.

Anyway, I guess that's neither here nor there. I keep myself informed inasmuch as possible, but I am no expert in the field of epidemiology, and there's plenty of disagreement among experts as to the predicted trajectory of COVID-19. I'll take the wisdom imparted by those whose expertise in epidemiology comes from years of devoted study over some dilettante on the internet. I bring it up only because, on a strictly Darwinian level, the argument in question offers some validity.

Happily, the geocaching, while necessarily on the back-burner as of late, has at least offered a few nice opportunities for both rigorous exercise and serious seclusion in the woods. Our local geocache reviewers have wisely opted to not abandon publishing new caches altogether — at least as long as the activity is legally permitted. Rather, they are approving only geocaches that are demonstrably remote. No urban caches, none in areas likely to be overwhelmed by eager first-to-find hounds. I think that's a far more reasonable approach than shelving geocaching altogether. Woodland geocaching is far, far lower risk than going to the grocery store, or even taking a walk on streets where the human population is anything but sparse. Thus, I've made a handful of outings into the deep woods and am so much the better for it.

Just hanging around at the Bigfoot Trail

Yesterday, a new puzzle cache came out, over on the Bigfoot Trail, courtesy of friend Natalie, a.k.a. Ms. Fishdownthestair. Let it be known that Ms. FDTS has a mean streak, and while I managed to solve her puzzle with relative ease, the cache itself proved elusive. And when I say elusive, I mean I couldn't find the little fucker. In my zeal to get out to the woods, I did overlook certain info that surely would have helped me narrow down my search area. Alas! Anyway, while I was searching, friend Christopher (a.k.a. Ranger Fox) arrived on the scene. We conscientiously maintained far more than the required social distancing distance from each other, but after a couple of hours searching at and around the host — a massive, massive fallen tree — we ended up abandoning the hunt. At least I was able to get out there and actually hunt something, rather than spend ungodly amounts of time trying to solve a puzzle on my computer. I go caching to get away from the damned computer, and I can't say I don't resent it somewhat when the majority of caches coming out in the area are puzzles that require (sometimes extensive) computer time before you can get out on the trail to actually go geocaching. Fuck that noise, I say.

I see that friends Old Rob (a.k.a. Robgso), Tom (a.k.a. Skyhawk63), and Linda (a.k.a. Punkins19) managed to find that wretched little monster today, though not without considerable difficulty, as recorded in their online logs. I'll head back out there sometime this weekend, I reckon. Today, after work, I went after a couple of new caches at the Knight Brown Nature Preserve near Belews Lake. These weren't very difficult, though they did involve a decent hike on the winding trails through the preserve.

This evening, I enjoyed a superb burger from Third Bay restaurant, which is one of our favorite dining establishments in Martinsville. I was pleased to find they've remained open for carryout, and even more pleased that their business is absolutely booming during this period of wholesale business closures. I hope it remains so.

I do have quite a bit of writing and writing-related business to attend to, so... for now... I'm doing a bit better than hanging in there. Tomorrow's another day, but weathering this one, and the past few, hasn't strained anything. I take nothing for granted. I'm just taking what I can as I can. I'm actually less stressed out than usual over this past couple of weeks. I'm certain it's a result of not having to deal with so much human garbage on the highways on my ordinary commute to and from work. I like people a hell of a lot better when their paths don't cross mine so fucking often.

That said, I'm gonna keep on liking most of you. A whole lot. OK?

Mom's azaleas, which have grown along the front of the old homestead for almost all of my 60+ years

View from the front porch, toward the creek and the houses above on Sam Lions Trail

You find the weirdest shit growing in the woods sometimes.

Old Rodan in happy isolation at the Knight Brown Nature Preserve near Belews Lake

An Omen

Is that a skull I see in the image at left, or just a couple of overlapping bootprints in the remnants of the mud that washed over the front porch during the last big rain? I'm gonna say it's a skull because, well, to my morbid eye it certainly resembles one. I have quite a lot of skulls all around the house, so I reckon it can't hurt to have another. I'm inclined to leave it there, at least until it's effaced either by Mother Nature or me. I'll take it as a good omen. Or a talisman to ward away bringers of viruses. Or something.

Another day in Pandemic Seclusion Land, generally unremarkable. I worked at home, as I have for over a week now. I'm making slow but steady progress on Ameri-Scares New Hampshire: Ghosts From the Skies (for a little background on my newest entry in the series, check out "Now Brewing: New Hampshire: Ghosts From the Skies," February 10, 2020).

I've been trying to get in plenty of exercise during these, my reclusive days. Since one is allowed to go out and about for exercise, I've hit the trails several times. Happily, for the most part, they have not been choked with human beings, unlike some trails and parks I'm aware of. The geocaching has been sparse, but I did go out and maintain one of mine yesterday on the nearby Osprey Trail, which is probably my favorite of the local trails because it typically is the least-used. Ironically, it's one of the most scenic.

I've been on one of my periodic daikaiju kicks, and during the past couple of weeks have availed myself to the original Godzilla (1954), Godzilla Raids Again (a.k.a. Gigantis - The Fire Monster, 1955), King Kong vs. Godzilla (1963), Mothra vs. Godzilla (a.k.a. Godzilla vs. the Thing, 1964), Ghidrah - The Three-Headed Monster (1964), Monster Zero (1965), Rodan (1957), Varan - The Unbelievable (1958), and Atragon (1963). Mostly the Japanese versions. I'm sure I'll be watching a metric shit ton more daikaiju treats in the coming days. I've been due for one of these benders.

And now it's back to the novel. You will find me back here sometime later; perhaps tomorrow.

Niters.

Spiders, Food Lion Fails, and Zooming Through Lockdown

The Supper Club Flash Mob

As with many places around the globe, our area is pretty much in lockdown but for essential outings and such. Fortunately, at least for the time being, there are enough "essential" activities that allow one to get out of the house while remaining all but risk-free of infection. This evening, since our regular Supper Club gang couldn't physically get together, we spent a pleasant hour or so video yakking on Zoom. That turned out to be a remarkably fun treat for the lot of us. Under the circumstances, for me, a little Tempranillo went a long way.

Last night, I headed up to Martinsville to the old homestead, as there was necessary business to handle. But it was also pleasant since, for me, the seclusion there feels deeper, more profound than it does here in Greensboro. Unfortunately, I did have to stop at the neighborhood Food Lion to snag a few supplies, and...hooooey...was that ever a bad idea. Although Martinsville is not currently experiencing a major Corona virus outbreak, prudent safety measures only make sense, and it appeared that not a living soul in the store was taking this to heart. No personal buffer zones, no sanitary wipes to be found, filthy dirty grocery carts... holy shit, I probably should have just vacated the premises. As it was, I wiped down the cart with my own sanitizer supply, forced myself away from encroaching human animals, and then, once back at the house, literally bleached every container I had. Although I undertook every possible safety measure I could, I don't have a good feeling about that experience. Not at all.

Back at the homestead, I had a hankering to watch The Sound of Music, which triggers some very deep—and very pleasant—personal memories. For that reason, it's not a movie I can be objective about.  I'm pretty sure I know far more non-fans than fans of this movie. Ms. B. is not a fan. I would certainly never ask her to watch it with me. Regardless, last night, it hit the right spot at just the right time. For this, I am pleased.

After the filum, I set foot out on the back porch, and what should I encounter but a couple of the biggest, meanest-looking multi-legged critters ever to grace the homestead (and we get quite a few of them there). Fishing spiders, best as I can determine; easily a five-inch legspan on the bigger of the two. Actually, they turned out to be neighborly enough—well-tempered and reasonably polite. And they sat still long enough for me to get some decent pics and video.

I hit the road for home around 11:00 this morning, stopping in Eden at the Smith River Greenway to get in some much-needed hiking and exercise. Some while back, regular geocaching partner, Ms. Fishdownthestair, had hidden a few caches along the greenway and asked if I'd mind checking her coordinates prior to her publishing them, as she had some doubts as to their accuracy. Well, of course I did not mind, so I hiked, snagged a few Munzees along the way, and verified that the lady's coords were good. Although a good many living humans were out and about on the trail, my course largely kept me away from them. That was nice.

I did end up watching an utterly wretched horror movie called The Hallows this evening. Easily the most annoying film I've seen since The Babadook, which at least had a reasonably engaging story. I should have heeded my instinct to shut the damned thing off halfway through.

The possibility of some hiking and caching tomorrow does exist, so one can hope.

Stay safe, y'all.

Old dude enjoying some outdoor isolation

View of the Smith River from the greenway. Somewhat high water.

What Manner of Witchery Is This?

In an effort to maintain some semblance of normality during the Corona virus pandemic, a little geocaching felt in order today. In this case, rather than hunting caches, I placed one. Boy, did I place one. To claim it, prospective finders must accomplish certain feats of agility and strength (and possibly air a host of grievances).

Just over three years ago, I hung a cache way up in a tree and concocted a bit of faux folklore for its background (see "The Curse of Lillian Gadwick," February 18, 2017). Recently, that tree has succumbed to natural — or perhaps supernatural — forces, which have rendered it increasingly untenable (see photo below) as a host. So, I decided to archive the original cache and come up with a sequel. Thus we now have "The Curse of Lillian Gadwick II."

Here's the story behind the cache....

"One of Guilford County's lesser-known legends involves a woman named Lillian Gadwick (1723–1781), reputedly a practitioner of witchcraft, who resided in the area that is now Lake Townsend in northern Greensboro. The story goes that she lived alone in a cabin in the woods and was suspected of abducting and slaughtering children from the nearby community, then known as Capefair — though numerous investigations could produce no evidence of such deviltry. However, just prior to the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, a company of troops from General Cornwallis's advancing army came upon her cabin and caught her 'rendering the fat' of several young children, which she presumably intended to consume as a means of enhancing her supernatural abilities. Horrified by this unspeakable act, the troops hanged her from a tree, burned her cabin to the ground, and then departed to rejoin Cornwallis. However, the troops failed to report and, in fact, were never heard from again — except for one, who came back stark, raving mad.

The host of the original "Lillian Gadwick" hide, now feeling
a little tired. If you zoom in close, you may be able
to see the cache container hanging on a branch.

"A scout was sent to find the missing men. At the site of Lillian Gadwick's cabin, he discovered only a number of strange stick figures hanging from trees — forty-two to be precise, the same as the number of troops who had vanished. (Such 'witch symbols' have been referenced in literature and movies, such as in Karl Edward Wagner's short story 'Sticks' and in the films The Blair Witch Project and its sequel, Blair Witch.

"Little else is known about Lillian Gadwick, but she reportedly kept as a familiar a strange creature called Oren Grey, which resembled a huge possum with a grotesque human face. (The witch Keziah Mason, as recounted in H.P. Lovecraft's story, 'Dreams in the Witch House,' kept a similar creature, named Brown Jenkin). Though no such creature as Oren Grey can be proven to exist, it was said to keep itself hidden in dark, hard-to-reach wooded areas, traditionally avoiding human contact except when it accompanied the witch on her unholy expeditions to abduct local children. Certain curses cast by witches who practice dark magic can supposedly alter time and space, and there were those who said Lillian Gadwick possessed such power."

Geocachers who spot one of the 'witch symbols' may be assured they are very close to the cache. I hope the container will remain in place at least as long as its predecessor. As you may have guessed, caches that involve a certain change of altitude appeal to me. Hiding this one was damned fun too, as I ended up climbing a series of trees before I found just the right spot.

And a damned fine, scary spot it is.

A Solitary Man

What a week it's been... and the trial is basically just beginning. I must say, I never thought a pandemic such as COVID-19 would—or even could—occur in my lifetime. Such an outbreak has always seemed a thing of the distant past—well nigh impossible, given that infectious diseases, while still serious, had basically been conquered. Most of the country—the world, for that matter—is almost at a screeching halt, with whole states shut down in an effort to contain this monster. Most places are losing, at least in the short term, especially in Europe. China, where it all began, is finally beginning to recover. For us, there's no telling how long this state of affairs will prevail. Without a doubt, it will have long-lasting repercussions, locally, nationally, and globally.

For me personally, the week got off to an upsetting start, with a medical issue (not virus-related), rearing its ugly head. I've been through it before, but this time it came on with a vengeance. I ended up at the doctor on yesterday, and I'll have to go through a couple of tests yet. I think the worst is past now; at least, I hope so because I'd much rather contemplate the potentially lethal onset of the Corona virus in relative peace and comfort. Come Monday, most of us from the office will be working at home (which is a generally desirable prospect but for the fact I will be fending off cats who will be alternately excited/dismayed/annoyed by my uncustomary daytime presence). It doesn't help company morale that, in a masterfully ill-timed move by our new CEO, we're losing 30% of our already minuscule staff. It doesn't exactly fill me with confidence about weathering this national emergency with a long-held and very satisfying career intact.

I do personally know a handful of people who have been deeply impacted by the virus; a few who have actually been infected (and who have, so far, soldiered through it), and a few who have loved ones or friends who aren't necessarily looking at a positive outcome. A couple of my own family members suffer from compromised immune systems and are thus at especially high risk. Hell, I'm in the age bracket that is most likely to be seriously affected. So, yes, I am taking all recommended precautions, and so far they haven't turned life totally topsy-turvy. As I said, though, it's still very early for us here in this region, and at the rate circumstances keep evolving, all this may be obsolete by the time I finish typing it.

For this evening, I'm comfortably ensconced at the old homestead, with adequate supplies, decent food from Shun Xing Chinese restaurant, and some bourbon. Around sunset, I settled myself on the front porch with a good drink to enjoy a smidgen of mellow time while I could. I wandered around the yard a bit, took a few pics of the place where I grew up, and contemplated the Fugue Devil, which has roamed the woods behind the house since I was a little kid. At twilight, I still get a lovely little chill from the memory of that juvenile night horror, which made such a vivid, lasting impression on me. There's a distinctly Lovecraftian atmosphere about this place, even though there are neighbors not particularly far away. I find a certain peace in this isolation, at least in the short term. A peace occasionally broken by odd little noises that seem to come from everywhere and nowhere, just as I recall them from my youth.

It's so much better indulging in those old, otherworldly fears than ruminating on the shitty, depressing horror the Corona virus represents.

The view from the front porch at dusk

The Fugue Devil's woods behind the house. Still creepy after all these years.

Forever Alone?

The Corona virus (COVID-19) is the big thing now, and rightfully so, I reckon, as it's brought most of the world to a screeching halt. And here in the States, it hasn't even set in with full force yet. How it'll all play out is a mystery, and I hope we all come through it alive and without going bankrupt. Sadly, there's some doubt on this front. Social distancing—virtual isolation—is the order of the day, and while Ms. B. and I are still going into the office every day, there is a good possibility we'll soon be working from home.

In the meantime, there's nothing for it but to live life as one can while maintaining distance from as many other human beings as possible. For the most part, this bothers me not a whit, as I typically long for not being shoved in amongst the teeming population. Today, after work, a couple of geocaches awaited my attention at High Point's Piedmont Environmental Center, which boasts quite a few excellent hiking trails through many acres of woodland. PEC adjoins nearby Gibson Park and connects to it via the Bicentennial Greenway. After work today, I headed yonder to see if I might turn up those new hides. Happily, I did. I also came upon what I took to be a somewhat sad bit of tree graffiti, which you can see in the photo above. "Forever Alone," it reads, and on today of all days, while intentionally isolating myself, it seemed strangely apt.

My quarry today was two puzzle caches, which tend to be my least favorite kind, since they too often require spending considerable computer time to acquire the necessary coordinates. My whole purpose for geocaching is to get out there, not spend yet more time on the computer, which occupies massive portions of my daily life (pounding out these blogs doesn't count, since I generally enjoy writing them). The caches themselves were nice enough. But the highlight of today's hike was revisiting an old nemesis: the tree—or what remains of it—where once upon a time hung "Hung Up" (GC3D9N6) a cache I sought and saw—at achingly close range—but never managed to claim.

"Hung Up" came out in 2012. It resided at a fairly frightful altitude in a tree that appeared big and solid. I had gone out to the greenway, scoped out the tree, and managed to spy the cache—a wee little bison tube—way up in the highest branches. I didn't think too much about scurrying on up there because, well, the tree was huge, and it appeared healthy. I hadn't gone up very far, though, when I grabbed a thick branch to pull myself up, only to have it pop off in my hand. That didn't deter me from continuing to climb, but the higher I went, the more I found mushy bark and wobbly branches. All signs of what I took to be pervasive rot.

"Hung Up," not so hung up.
More like submerged.

I couldn't have been more than three to five feet from the cache, which hung on a vertical branch. I had just started for it when I heard a very distinct, very loud crackkkkk come from behind me.

It had probably taken me a full five minutes to ascend the 30 or 40 feet into that tree. It took me about two and a half seconds to get back down to the bottom.

Coming so close, only to be thwarted by fears for my personal safety, galled me like little else. I ended up logging a DNF that day, and I did go back a time or two with the idea I might actually try it again, especially after a handful of other geocachers successfully made the climb. However, some time ago, I received notification from another cacher that "Hung Up" was no longer hanging. In fact, it lay somewhere down in High Point Lake. A massive branch from the tree—the very one I had climbed—had fallen and taken the cache with it. Although this event occurred many months after my attempt, it still felt like a narrow escape. Had I, or any other geocacher, been up there when that branch fell... well, that probably would have been someone's final tree climb. While I've taken plenty of risks, some fairly extreme, to get my signature on a little piece of paper, I do try to make at least marginally responsible decisions upon weighing those risks. In the case of "Hung Up," I reckon I did.

Still, it pisses me off I never did claim that little sucker. Ah, well. It was kind of nice to revisit the scene of the crime, as it were.

And I finished up the outing with some take-out from Thai Chiang Mai. That there was a winner, was what that was.

I feelz the forever alone.

Left: the "Hung Up" tree in 2012; Right: the same tree today, missing a few crucial tree parts.
The geese did not appear overjoyed to see me.