Lyra

quote:Originally posted by tmcgowan:Well at least the government won't be able to lock onto the chip they inbedded in my brain! TMC's out innocently caching, gets a good satellite lock, and troops off to the cache. Suddenly, as the distance-to-waypoint dwindles to 35 feet, a big purple laser beam slashes out of the sky and fries a nearby tree. "Whew!" TMC thinks out loud, "Good thing 21 & 22 are sick! Otherwise, I'd be toast. Now, where's that confounded cache?" Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Absolutely! When my mom died in 1992, I bought out my brother's share of our old home (couldn't bear to see the place go since I grew up there). My mom was a HUGE pack rat, and unfortunately, I "inherited" all of the crap that she'd accumulated over the 30+ years living there. Most of it is nice stuff, but stuff I don't have any interest in keeping. Here it is ten years later and we STILL haven't brought ourselves to the realization that it would be a good thing to take about a week and go through all the trinkets in desk drawers, in the basement, in cabinets, etc. When I discovered Geocaching, I found a great outlet to slowly unload these items. Most of them are definitely "trade-up" items. I've started a sort of organized process of loading up my backpack with her things whenever I go out cache hunting and fitting as much into each cache I find as will fit. After about another thirty years or so, I figure all the stuff will be gone and I'll quit caching in favor of golf or something. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

I used to use an e-Trex Yellow that I owned when I first discovered Geocaching, but have since upgraded to a Legend. I haven't had this problem with the Legend, but I found that the Yellow not only gave inacurate pointer directions in heavy cover (sometimes as much as 100-150 feet from the actual cache site), but it would also give inaccurate distances. When I exhausted the me-being-the-search-engine thing by looking in all of the obvious hiding places, I'd look at the actual coordinates where the GPSr says I am. I'd then walk due north until the coords on the GPSr match the first set of coords for the cache, then walk due east or west until the second set of coords match. On one cache in particular, I was skunked my first time out, when the GPSr said I was within 50 feet (clue was not really much help, as it was vague enough to describe the area I was in). When I went back a few weeks later and did the coordinate matching, I found the cache and it was at least 200 feet from where I had been looking the first time. Another method I employed when I had the Yellow was triangulating. When I found myself scratching my head and completely baffled, I'd back off about 200 to 300 feet and get a good satellite lock, walk toward the area until I had a pretty straight pointer and then pick a landmark that I thought was pretty close to the cache. Then I'd do the same thing at roughly 90 degrees from the first straight line to the cache and the intersection of the two straight lines to the cache would usually put me a lot closer than the GPSr itself could. I haven't had much of a problem with the Legend, though. On one cache that skunked me the first tiem, the Yellow had me about 200 feet from the actual cache location. Went back with the Legend and it led me straight to it. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Add me to the list of people watching the webcam! Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Watch "Home Alone" and try a few of Macauley Culkin's tricks. Also, I'd leave two quarters on the floor inside the door, then fill the next can of soda in each of the drink machines with urine, just in case they get thirsty during their plundering. All kidding aside, though, do you have any idea how they gained access to cut the wires in the first place? Any sign of forced entry? If not, it may suggest an "inside job" or, at the least, that someone may have a copied key to one of the doors. You're obviously more high-tech than I am. I'd just camp out with a six pack, bag of Doritos and the trusty Mossberg 590DA Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

quote:Originally posted by Smitherington:I was going to be in Ecuador so I was going to be at the equator. I bought the GPSr so I could stand on the equator and make a waypoint that indicated 0 degrees n/s. Two years later I discovered geocaching. Too bad this cache didn't exist when you were in Ecuador! Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

a;lsdfkja;sldkfj Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

First I need to test my avatar Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Hey! The Yellow Jacket is my college mascot! Leave 'em alone! Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

When you make the b-day present a multicache with the final leg being an offset with triangulation involved, then maybe it might be a good idea to take a little time off for golf or something. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

The senior monk, as a display of peity to the younger monks in his monestary, announces that he's going to sequester himself in his study and translate a great portion of the Bible from its original Aramaic. He shuts the door and no one sees him for three or four weeks. One day, one of the younger monks passes by his study and hears the elder monk weeping through the door. The younger monk knocks on the door, but only hears more weeping in response. He knocks again, with the same result. Finally, he opens the door and sees the senior monk crying over the original text of the bible. The younger monk asks, "What's the matter, Father?" The older monk looks up, and through his tears says, "It was CELEBRATE!" Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Somebody famous is geocaching! I'm gonna make up a new travel bug and sent it on its way to get Will's autograph! Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Post the first hint in the Hint area so it can be decrypted online. Post the encrypted second hint within the body of the cache description. Unfortunately, that means you have to encrypt it by hand, unless you've downloaded an ROT-13 decryption program. Check out this cache for an example. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

I was a bit confused by the reference, but now I see. He's my demon. I understand, now. In one of the summaries that the Google search pulled up, I found this: "Lyra has to complete a complex and challenging quest on which the survival of not just one but a multiplicity of worlds depends." Kinda adds a little significance to my geocaching screen name, huh? Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Just out of curiosity, why did you have your GPSr on inside the store? Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

quote:Originally posted by LarsThorwald: By the way, your girlfriend's name doesn't happen to be Lyra, does it? I'm not Pantalaimon's girlfriend. I don't even live near him (I'm in VA, he's in MASS). Oh yeah, I'm also a guy. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Could be that someone placed it, then forgot about it. That happened with one near me, aptly named The Forgotten Cache I'd post something on the regional forums before claiming it to see if someone's memory will be jogged and they sheepishly step forward and admit they're losing their mind. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Did somebody call me? Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Ability to turn lead into gold. Or beer. One or the other. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

axshyuyj0ip'[ That's what it looks like when you drop a cat on a computer keyboard. Just thought you'd like to know. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

How strong a signal can you get on the plane? Any tips (besides the obvious of sticking it up in the window) as to maximize signal strength? Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Three ropes were walking down the street one stifling hot day. One of them suggests that they go get a beer. The other two, thinking it was a great idea, replied, "Hey! That's a great idea!" They go into a pub and sit down. "Bartender, three beers please." The bartender eyes them warily and asks, "Are you guys ropes?" "Yes," they answer. "I'm sorry," says the bartender, "We don't serve ropes here. You're going to have to go somewhere else." Befuddled by their treatment, the ropes go into a different bar and order three beers. The bartender looks at them closely and asks, "You guys are ropes, aren't you?" "Yes," they reply. "You're going to have to go elsewhere." says the bartender, "We don't serve your kind here." Dismayed, they leave. As they're walking out, one of the ropes says, "Guys, I've got an idea. It may sound strange, but if we tie ourselves into a big knot and fray all of our ends, maybe we can get a beer." The others agree and they tie themselves into a big knot, then fray all their loose ends. They go into yet another bar and order three beers. The bartender looks at them curiously for a minute, then asks, "Are you guys ropes?" They reply, "No. We're a frayed knot!" Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

Pine. That subtle smell wafting up the mountain lifted on the gentle breeze that God himself has made especially for me, a mere mortal. The sun has crested the yardarm and I'm snuggled in my soft leather armchair, basking in the radiant heat. A solo droplet of water sneaks its random way down the frosted glacier of my beer mug. I'm caught up in what is bound to be another fruitless season for my beloved Washington Redskins. I sit and ponder the curse that being a sports fan has foist upon me. No one can be happy being a Redskins fan. Nor an Orioles fan, or a UVa fan, for that matter. I think back to the time I took a trip to New Orleans to see UVa play Tennessee in the Sugar Bowl. I should have known that the Cavs were doomed when the omen of a speeding ticket within ten minutes of leaving for the Big Easy from Richmond, Virginia entered my driver's side window. Yet, I plodded onward. Yes, the Cavs were up by a couple of touchdowns at halftime, but they saw fit to lose it in the final minutes. Yet I have the glow and accomplishment of having suffered such humiliations and learned from the experience. My affection for sports is characterized by sadness, but I have the comfort that, from sadness comes knowledge. The winter droplet has now completed its solitary ski run down the side of my beer mug and plowed itself into a suicidal puddle on my knee. It's watery blood spreads out in a dark spot on my jeans. The Redskins are down by three touchdowns and it's appearing inevitable that, rather than making some effort to save face and make the score more palatable to those who have taken the Redskin loyalty oath, they are generously granting their opponent...the exact team escapes my at this time, clouded in the frequency of this type of game...at least one, and possibly two more touchdowns. I look from my suicidal skier knee to my other. Perched atop it is my pride and joy, my 18 month old daughter, Margaret. She smiles as she pulls the dog's tail and the dog lets out a solitary squeal that makes it sound like she needs a little squirt of WD-40. Yes, there she sits. My little offspring. Innocently torturing the innocent. I think of her birth and how remarkably small she was, and how much stuff was born into this world with her. This thought rings some bell of significance in my head, a feeling that my thoughts have come full circle, but I just can't figure out how. Puzzling. I envision more detail of her birth...how I was there telling her Mommy to push...push...push! Then I remember seeing my baby born, then I remember seeing tile and realizing it was the floor. The smell! That's the connection! Pine! They must have used some kind of pine scented cleanser to clean the floor of the stuff with which the previous baby was born! Thankful that they cleaned up before I fainted, I relish yet another learning defeat...that of new fatherhood. We named her Margaret, after my father-in-law's mother. She would have been tickled to know that her first great-grandchild was named after her. Alas, she passed away five years before my daughter's birth. Still, I envision her as I last saw her, sitting at her kitchen table complaining about all the lesbians who have moved into her small town, but laughing at the fact that future generations will carry her name forward. I think about how long it has been since I last visited her little town nestled just far enough from Richmond to be hidden. I wonder about what has happened there since. Are the lesbians running the town now? Do the old long-time residents still gather at Spanky's store and talk about politics and the economy with the seriousness that their discussion could resolve the world's problems? Does anyone still remember when I threw up in the graveyard after the lesbians' keg party? I glance at the closet. My Geocaching backpack hands idly from the coat rack like the last leaf of fall refusing to take the downward plunge. An idea hits me. I wonder if there are any Geocaches around Nana's little town. Surely there are! It's near a large city and there are numerous wildlife management areas around the town. I get up and grind myself out another beer. I log onto my new-found hobby's website and enter a search. There it is! One relatively new cache hidden along the banks of the James River! I check my batteries and they're fresh. I sniff my daughter's hind-quarters and determine that she's in need of a diaper change. I call to my wife, finishing the newspaper crossword puzzle at the dining room table and inform her of her daughter's offense and my need to reduce my stress level by driving over a hundred miles to her deceased grandmother's hometown. She waffles a bit at this proposition, especially since my daugther has just ingested the better part of a crayon. I announce my intentions, with the greatest of hope, by asking my wife, "pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!" I point out the statisics for heart attacks among middle aged members of my profession and manage to squeeze out a tear. As it begins its own suicidal trip down my cheek, she finally relents. "Okay, I'll take care of the baby for the next five hours. You go have fun Geocaching!" A sudden explosion happens as my Geocaching backpack is snatched from its hanging and I disappear, seeming magically, through the front wall of our house. My wife is amazed by the powdered brick cloud that hovers around the Lyra-shaped hole in the wall. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

I wanna be you, boatguy! Always wear proper caching safety equipment!

I've always thought that if Boeing made their airplanes out of rubber, it would be funny when a plane crashed. It would just go "BOOOEEEIINGGGG" and then bounce back up in the sky. Maybe it's just me. Carry on. Always wear proper caching safety equipment!