Another Day on the Geocaching Trail

Since my good friend and longtime geocaching partner, Scott (a.k.a. Diefenbaker) and his wife departed Asheboro, NC, for a new domicile on the NC coast a few months ago, day-long geocaching outings, particularly those involving trail hikes, have been few and far between. Still, from time to time, nice opportunities arise, and today, friend Tom (a.k.a. Skyhawk63), from Browns Summit, NC, had business in Martinsville and asked if I'd care to join him afterward on a caching trip northward — first to the town of Rocky Mount and then to the Lovely Valley Loop Trail near Smith Mountain Lake. Fifteen caches that neither of us had found awaited our efforts, one of which had yet to be found, so shoot yeah, I jumped at the chance.

 

It was hot, muggy, and buggy, but we enjoyed the hell out of spending time together and wandering about the woods to sign pieces of paper inside hidden containers. We found a wide variety of hide types; claimed the almost-coveted first-to-find honors on the unfound cache; spied what appeared to be an old, haunted church in the woods; and put in about five miles' worth of fancy footwork. Alas, I came home with three ticks and a slew of chigger bites, but them's the risks, and hopefully, neither of us will suffer any maladies as a result. I love the outdoors, but sometimes Mother Nature is a bitch. Over the years, I've had enough bug bites from woodland excursions for probably a dozen people, and so far, so good...

Yep, a mighty fine day overall, and I hope Mr. Skyhawk and I can hit the woods again in the very near future. Sometimes, you just gotta.

L: Our first-to-find scribble on the otherwise pristine logsheet; R: Where's that confounded cache?

I say, is that an old, haunted church in the woods?

Return to the Ghost Ship

Early last month, I ventured up to Smith Mountain Lake to hunt a mean little geocache called "Ghost Ship" GCATXK3 — unsuccessfully, alas. (You may read my sad chronicle here.) Last night, Varunner7, a local geocacher whom friend Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott) and I had met briefly a few months ago, messaged me to inquire whether I might like to join her, her husband (known as baylorbearpaul), and their three youngsters today at the Ghost Ship for a hunt. Well, how could I resist?

Puzzle Detective popping up from below while Ms. Varunner7
prepares to delve into the dark depths

Fortunately, this morning's temperature promised to start out appreciably cooler than on my last attempt, when I damn near roasted in the cramped innards of that craft (which is a military mobile bridge ferry, used to construct bridges for combat vehicles). So, I set out armed with my best flashlight, my raggediest clothes, and a small bucket of coffee, hoping to avenge my prior failure. Strength in numbers, and all that. I was the first to arrive at the site, so I made my way aboard the ghost ship and set about searching. Only a couple of minutes later, the rest of the crew showed up, so we soon had a half dozen pairs of eyes scouring every surface of the old bridge ferry. Then, unexpectedly, another pair of geocachers arrived on the scene — Puzzle Detective and GeoTeetah — which I figured might at least give us enough numbers to put the cache at a tactical disadvantage.

After about 20 minutes on the hunt, my flashlight beam fell on a spot I had given a cursory look during my previous visit, but apparently not from the optimum angle. This time, I was able to see what I needed to see: the distinctive geocaching logo on a well-hidden container. Success at last! And a nice, shared first-to-find, which made us all quite happy, I think.

I was so focused on the find that I didn't take a single photo. Happily, Paul took a number of shots and was kind enough to let me post them here. A helluva satisfying morning, even if I did get behind every slow putz on the Virginia backroads both coming and going (it's about a 90-minute drive each way, so putzes irk me). On the way home, I rewarded myself with a very unhealthy smoky pepper cheese steak sub at our local Jersey Mike's. I probably should have gone for something less lethal, since Brugger and I had a couple of magnificent smoked brisket sandwiches with fries last night at Martinsville's classic car and food truck rodeo, but sometimes you just gotta go for the flavor.

At the controls

"Dammit, I got an owie on me arm!"

The boat people

Ghost Ship

I had a hell of an adventure this morning at a new geocache called "Ghost Ship" at Smith Mountain Lake... though, sadly, I never found the cache. It's rated 4 out of 5 difficulty, so I knew it was gonna be a tough hunt.

The morning started out with a big ol' black bear running across the road in front of me. I guess I'm glad I didn't see it again after that, for it was not at all of meager girth.

Getting to where the cache is supposed to be hidden (the boat's ghostly interior) required some acrobatic feats, and I think it's safe to say I've rarely ever partied with so many — thankfully lethargic — wasps in such a confined space.

After over an hour of intense searching in there, the blazing sun began to turn the Ghost Ship into a Ghost Oven, and I finally vacated the premises before I became a Ghost Geocacher. I think I can count on one hand — maybe even one finger — the number of times have I emerged from a cache hunt so sweaty and filthy dirty.

Had I found this cache, I would have awarded it a favorite point for the exciting morning adventure, but since I didn't... I can't. Alas!

Next time...

 

I did find a couple of other caches up that way to make the trip worthwhile, and on the way home, I had lunch at The Checkered Pig, one of our local BBQ joints. It topped off what turned out to be a very fun outing, despite bombing out at my primary target.

A target-rich environment!

Glad I brought my flashlight.

Forward view

L: The reason it's called "Ghost Ship?" R: Hot, filthy-dirty, sweaty, half-dead old dude

Geocaching Smith Mountain Lake to Alta Vista

Smith Mountain Lake Dam

Last week, I needed a geocaching fix in the worst way, and the nearest concentration left for me to claim was at Smith Mountain Lake, about an hour northeast of here. The caches resided along numerous different channels and inlets with no direct access between them, which meant a not-so-short trip. But on Friday morning, I headed out bright and early and commenced to driving and hunting and hunting and driving. I ended up at various points around the southern legs of the lake, including Smith River Dam, which I'd never seen, and it turned out to be pretty impressive. Plus there was a nice cache there. And a big honking turbine. I also found a cool little graveyard out in the middle of nowhere.

A big honking turbine

A cool little graveyard out in the middle of nowhere

Water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

For lunch, I discovered an awesome bar & grill at Magnum Point Marina, where I had a killer BBQ sandwich, fries, and a very good beer (a local bourbon barrel brew). The almost day-long trip didn't put that many new cache finds under my belt, but I got my caching fix. Mainly, it flung a craving on me, and I still had a few caches not far away lurking on the map.

So today, I headed back up to the eastern end of Smith Mountain Lake, grabbed the lone cache in that area I needed, and then hit the road for the little town of Alta Vista, not far to the north. Here, I managed to find another handful, a couple of which turned out to be pretty challenging (one because I decided to see if I could park closer to it than the recommended location; it worked out fine, but it bumped the terrain difficulty rating up a few points). I survived it well enough, but it kinda wore this old man out.

Those two trips cleaned out another relatively nearby area, so... as is the nature of this activity... I'll be needing to travel farther and farther to get my geocaching fixes. Happily, it's worth every bit of it for the experiences and the exercise.

Lunchtime views from the Magnum Point Marina Bar & Grill

The library in downtown Alta Vista

Smith Mountain Lake Adventures

It's been a pretty good while since I've headed out on a solo geocaching adventure, and since today's weather looked about as perfect as perfect gets for such a thing, I set out for Smith Mountain Lake State Park, about an hour north of home. Several years ago, Ms. B. and I picnicked, hiked, cached, and generally made merry at the park, and I haven't been back since.

On the way, I stopped to go after an Adventure Lab cache at the Booker T. Washington National Monument park, which Brugger and I had also visited for some gecoaching back in the dark ages. It's a lovely location, its story both sad and uplifting, and I'm glad to see the park so well maintained. My favorite moment was walking past a pig pen, where a big old pig was lounging in some mud. I said, "Hallo, Pig!" and the pig raised its head and gave me a big loud snort in response. After that... alas... it appeared to have no further interest in conversing.

Once at the lake, I set out hiking, grabbed caches, and discovered several of the most difficult paths I could have ever taken to get from Point A to Point B. Bear in mind, I do this very reliably, hence my perpetual admonition to any fellow hikers to follow me at their own risk. Some of the wiser ones, such as friends Scott and Natalie, have taken this advice to heart and almost always go their own ways when we come to challenging terrain. Oh, ye of little faith!

 

Once I snagged all the caches I needed this go-round at the park (which means I've completed all the active caches currently in the park), I stopped for a late lunch at a little pizzeria/bar & grill called Alessandro's, not far from the lake. A decent burger, and great service. To finish out the caching day, I hit the little burg of Moneta, just a few miles away, and knocked out all the caches there (five of them).

 

To head home, I threaded my way down every little back road between Smith Mountain Lake and Martinsville. Very scenic, though to be out in the middle of nowhere, there sure was a lot traffic, made worse by numerous very poor drivers who could have gone twice their velocity and still come up shy of the speed limit. People, you are harshing my mellow. Otherwise, though, a lovely day of it.

Damn right, I'll take it. The way I see it, mellow days are to be treasured.

My loquacious pig friend at the Booker T. Washington National Monument park

Some Country for Old Men

Ancient wall along one of the lake trails

A couple of friends found along the way

Dammit, I knew I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque!

Smith Mountain Lake Madness

Well, it was only madness in that there was a shit ton of geocaching going on. I was up and at 'em fairly early this morning. Gassed up the car, gassed up me with a big honking bucket of coffee, and off I went. I stopped off in Rocky Mount to snag a quick park & grab hide, and then I threaded my way through Franklin County on a spidery network of back roads toward the big lake.

It felt rather like summer out there, with temperatures in the mid 70s. There were a good many people out and about, at least in places, but for the most part, I was able to hunt caches in both woodland and populated settings unimpeded. I did find a few cool hides — from the mooning dwarf shown above to a gaggle of giant beetles and a big honking spider. I came home with 14 finds and one DNF (did not find). I could hardly have asked for a better day to get out on my own, indulge in my outdoor passion, and decompress in beautiful surroundings.

There's a group going after my new night cache tomorrow evening, which makes me happy. I may tag along or something such, if circumstances permit.

The Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance, with the Peaks of Otter partly visible on the far right.

A lovely day at Smith Mountain Lake

Bugs!

Oblivious

It's how some of the best (and worst) horror stories begin: you're in the sticks, driving a series of windy mountain roads, sometimes sans pavement, in a vehicle of considerable age and thus questionable reliability (but it is a workhorse of a Buick, thank Yog); you've got no phone or internet service, which in fiction may be a cliché but in reality is still an all-too-common situation, especially when you're as far out in said sticks as we were; and, thanks to the absence of either technological or paper navigational aides—and the fact you're relying on fawlty memory because you didn't really plot this course in as much detail as might be prudent—you're not entirely sure you're on the right road.

Not to mention it's going on Halloween.

That was the situation in which Brugger and I found ourselves on our little excursion to Smith Mountain Lake the other day ("Heavens, What a Noise! and Others," Oct. 22, 2017). When I mentioned taking "the most scenic and circuitous route possible," I did not elaborate on just how scenic and circuitous it actually was. When we studied our maps before leaving Martinsville, we figured it to be a direct enough route, although I did say "I really hope we have service when we get up there," since there were several turns onto roads for which "secondary" is too generous a term. In places, we went miles without seeing a sign of human habitation, and when we did, they were anything but inviting. They were, to quote HPL, "dwellings wearing a surprisingly uniform aspect of age, squalor, and dilapidation."

And I had left my firearms in my other pants.

Now, while I did profess to Ms. B. an ardent desire for our carriage to maintain its good health, at no time did I feel we might be entering a danger zone, a place where, should our automobile give up its ghost, we might vanish from the face of the earth without a trace. As far as I know, no one typically thinks like that. It was all beautiful, atmospheric, serene. The surroundings might be unfamiliar; they might even be a little disturbing in their isolation and ghostly aspect. Yet we often fuss at people on the movie screen because they don't take note of their isolation; their lack of potential assistance; the ubiquitous signs of something menacing around us; for crying out loud, what about that ominous music? (For what it's worth, I listen to ominous music all the time.)

The thing is, neither you nor I know up front that we might be the ill-fated characters of an exquisitely rendered horror story.

But we might be. 

We might be.

Next time, perhaps....

Heavens, What a Noise! and Others

Photo by Sarah Smith

An unexpectedly long weekend, the company of a nice lady, first-to-finds on a couple of geocaches, lots of wine, an old dude making a bunch of racket, too many hamburgers, a migraine, a 40th high school reunion, and worn-out feet.

I knew it was going to be a whirlwind weekend before it started, but it ended up one of the most special weekends I've had in a long time.

Mum's automatic garage door had broken a couple of weeks ago, and I ended up having to take Friday off work to go to Martinsville and be there when the repairman came. I'd had trouble working with a company there in Martinsville, so a special hats off to Overhead Door Company of Greensboro, NC, who came promptly and fixed the door with no problem—a great relief to me after the ordeal I'd been through trying to get the work done.

A couple of weeks back, I had attempted to find a puzzle cache at Fairy Stone Park—"GinGin Learns About Fairy Stone State Park" (GC7CB40)—but the container had gone missing even before the listing was published. The cache owner disabled it and promised to have the cache back up and running in a few days. After the garage work was done on Friday morning, I decided to take a chance that the container was back in place and rode up to Fairy Stone again. This time, I was rewarded with a quick first-to-find, which was especially satisfying since I had devoted such a long time searching in vain on my previous trip there.

And Friday evening, it was off to the Songwriters' Showcase event at the Daily Grind in uptown Martinsville. Ms. Brugger came up after work from Greensboro and met me there, just in time to tear into a couple of DG's cheddar & bacon burgers, which, I swearz, may be the most fantastic burgers anywhere, certainly better than the burgers of highest repute here in Greensboro. There weren't many musicians on hand this time, so that meant we select few got to play more than the usual number of sets. Since the Martinsville High School Class of 1977 was having its 40th reunion this weekend, a number of old classmates were in town, and a couple stopped by to hear the racket (and as near as I can tell, they're still talking to me—thank you, Sarah Smith and Marcus Hall!). I was informed that a couple of other classmates of some musical renown—Mssrs. Rick Godbee and Rich Lawrence—would be playing guitar at Forest Park Country Club, where I spent much of my checkered youth. The hosts were kind enough to permit me to crash the party, and once again the old guitar came out and assaulted the sensibilities of quite a few classmates as well as some other innocent bystanders. I'm not sure this could have been any more fun.

Over the course of the evening, Ms. B. and I had enjoyed a spot of wine, but as we had eaten an early supper, by near midnight, we were feeling uncharacteristically ravenous. So, casting aside all feelings of guilt and/or good sense, we hauled ourselves up to the Burger King drive-thru and snagged a couple more burgers...plus french fries. And just for good measure, we went the short distance to the nearest trailhead of The Dick & Willie Rail Trail, on which I frequently hike/bike/geocache, to tear into these goodies whilst parked in our vehicle. Yes, for a couple of damn near elderly souls who are trying to make at least token efforts in the healthy eating department, this was evil and decadent and probably overkill in the burger department, but by Yog, it was good. Take that, heart health!

Furthering our decadent adventure, on Saturday morning, we returned to The Daily Grind for breakfast, where we ordered the much-needed coffee and a couple of egg & cheese breakfast croissants (mine featuring a guest appearance by sausage). To our surprise, these bastards were bigger than our heads, and we marveled at the horror of them, but we ate them, every bit of them, and they were good. Dammit.

And I'd do it again.

The next phase of our day's plan, however, was a bit more cardiac-friendly. After breakfast, we drove—by the most scenic and circuitous route possible—up to Smith Mountain Lake State Park, for some hiking and geocaching, where we put in several miles in everything from moderate to rugged terrain over the course of the day. I made an unexpected first-to-find at a relatively new cache—"The Turtle of Turtle Island" (GC7D0M7)—and found a number of well-conceived, entertaining hides, featuring props such as a deer skull hanging in a tree, a giant wolf spider, a snake, and a turtle. We also found a very old, charming little graveyard out in the woods, which especially caught Ms. B.'s fancy, since she goes for that kind of thing.

On the drive home, I had a horrified moment as a portion of my vision dropped out of existence—the telltale evidence of migraine setting in. Of all times, of all nights! Rather surprisingly, and much to my relief, no prismatic aura set in, and when the headache hit a short time later, it was so mild I barely noticed it. Thankfully, it did not affect the events of the evening, and by eight-ish in the PM, all traces of the migraine had passed.

Old Rodan on Turtle Island at Smith Mountain Lake State Park

Ms. B. hanging out with some dead folk

My love is in league with the freeway.

Big old cache guardian

The McCray sisters and Rick Godbee
(photo by Sarah Smith)

The next phase of the weekend: The Martinsville High School Class of 1977 Reunion. The event took place at Chatmoss Country Club, where I also spent a respectable portion of my checkered youth, not to mention some time as a scarcely less-checkered adult. Classmates Timmy Pharr, Pam Mann Wren, Karen McCray & Sharon McCray Godbee, and several others put together the event and managed the music programming, for which I, and no doubt the rest of our class, are most grateful. We had a good turnout, though some number of old friends were unable to attend for various reasons, the saddest of them being health issues. And over the years, we've lost more than what seems our share of classmates, so there's a certain sense of the bittersweet in these gatherings. Regardless, those who came seemed genuinely pleased to have made this pilgrimage, as I certainly was. And how pleasing to see so many people looking so well, so healthy—and so goddamn suave!

Who do you think this is there?

Once again, my guitar and I made an appearance, this time for three songs—two originals ("My Loves Goes On," "Today Is for You") and one cover ("Hold On" by Ian Gomm)—and lord knows how, I once again escaped without suffering retribution from an aggrieved audience. This may be due, at least in part, to the fact the sound didn't carry all that well to the far corners of the sizable room, and thus those who weren't directly in the line of fire escaped the full impact of the assault. My performance, such as it was, opened for a beautiful set of songs by the ever-talented McCray sisters and Rick Godbee. And then there was joyous dancing (at least from some, not necessarily the old dude) and general merry-making with tunes blasting from DJ Tim Pharr's sound system.

I've not missed any of our class reunions, and I don't know if anyone else felt the same, but there seemed a stronger sense of camaraderie among all our classmates this time around—I suppose because we are getting older and have a deeper understanding of true friendship, and a deepening appreciation of our times here, accentuated by the sadness of seeing the images of so many of our friends who have passed away, some quite recently.

I loved, loved the event last night.

And while there, Ms. B. and I, as on the previous evening, enjoyed a number of nice drinks, but still fell short in the nutritious food department, so after we warmly parted ways with my old friends and classmates, we sought out something to fill the empty crevices in our respective physiques. This time, it turned out to be Applebees, one of the very few establishments open until the slightly later hours of the evening. We polished off some surprisingly good quesadillas and dead little shrimps—not burgers this time—and then, finally, returned to Mum's to retire for the night.

And now we are back to our respective homes, among our respective cats, all irate about humans who have the audacity to not be at their beck and call day in and day out.

To every member of the Martinsville High School Class of 1977, my love goes on.

Black Friday Smith Mountain Lake Adventures

It's a pity Ms. B. and I never get out and about finding cool places to hike, picnic, hunt geocaches, drink margaritas, etc., etc. Oh, wait. I guess we sometimes do....

A ridiculously warm November day. Mid 70s in the higher elevations. It confuses a body. But it made for an excellent day for Kimberly and I to visit Smith Mountain Lake State Park, Virginia. There were a few caches a long the way, of course, which I snagged; then we hit the park and found a beautiful little cove where we had a our picnic lunch (leftover turkey from T-day). Then it was some serious hiking after a number of caches on the various trails. One of the hunts led us to the "Moody" wall, an ancient bulwark from the early 19th century that extends along one of the peninsulas. We also came upon some stone ruins (see the old man in the photo at left), the history of which we didn't discover but which certainly set the mind of a certain horror writer all a-buzzing. At the end of the day, we came out several caches richer, a hair smarter, and a little pooped.

Margarita time!

Back to Martinsville—or technically Collinsville—and El Ranchito Mexican Restaurant, where the night's special just happened to be monster margaritas. The drinks turned out to be bigger than our dinners, which were no tiny turkeys themselves. I gotta tell you, their chori pollo—with plenty of extra habanero sauce—is superb.

Afterward, we visited the bar at El Norteno Mexican restaurant just because the margarita spirit had come upon us. We each knocked back another just for good measure, and that was all she wrote for us. A fine Black Friday for us, thank you very much, and—praise ye ghods—the only Walmart we visited was to snag a cache.

One of the scenic coves at Smith Mountain Lake State Park

Brugger hanging out on the "Moody House" wall, a bulwark from the early 1800s

Little thirst-quencher at El Ranchito