Cache Logs, In The Style Of...

[+wildlifewriter]

The House at Pooh Corner - A.A. Milne

 

Pooh and his friends were searching for a cache in the Hundred-Acre Wood. Piglet's GPS would not work properly under the trees, and he kept running in circles, round and round.

 

"Please stop that, Piglet" said Pooh "It's making me dizzy."

 

"Oh DO come on, Pooh!" said Piglet, a little out of breath. "It's this way. Or that way."

 

"I don't like Geocaching." said Eeyore, "Geocaching is stupid. There won't be ANYTHING worth finding."

 

Pooh smacked his lips: "There might be honey. I like honey."

 

"There'll only be some plastic toys and a few broken seashells," replied Eeyore mournfully, "It's always the same."

 

Just then, there was a crashing noise in the forest ahead of them. It was Tigger. "Tiggers are always the best at finding caches!" said Tigger, springing away again. "Watch me get FTF on this one!"

 

And with a final BOING, he landed right in the middle of some nettles with a crunching sound. The friends gathered round and looked at the remains of what Tigger had found.

 

"Bother." said Eeyore.

 

"I'm hungry." said Pooh.

 

"Should be archived." said Piglet.

 

And they all went home.

[+naffita]

The cache description warned of snakes and a previous log mentioned spiders, I made this log in the style of Stanley Holloway's 'Albert and the Lion'

 

We went to this snake pit and cache, full of spiders as big as your hand

The boss said You can go find it, cos this is as near as I stand.

Well, I poked me hand into the hidey hole, expecting the worst let me say

But the snakes had all gone missing and the big spiders had all run away

I saw not one snake for me trouble, the spiders were piddling and small

So no one got bitten or spidered, in fact, nothing to laugh at at all.

 

[+Simply Paul]

Log in the style of my writing hero, Jeremy Clarkson. He's a journalistic messiah. I mean, just look at his initials.

 

Very sincere, faux-serious typeface: Have you ever wondered what would happen to a cache if you dropped it onto a caravan from a crane? Of course you haven't. Neither have I. But what if the caravan was on fire? What then?

 

We took over a remote Lincolnshire airfield for a morning and do you think I can squeeze another rhetorical question into a sentence that really doesn't need one? Well, do you?

 

It was about now that my GPS ran out of batteries, I ran out of searching talent and my vocabulary ran spectacularly out of clichés.

 

Hammond, you're a micro-cache loving dwarf, and don't you forget it. And you, the floppy-haired one. You wouldn't know a good cache if it jumped up and introduce itself as a good cache in a plumy accent. Get on your homosexualist motorcycle and get me a pint of something that'll put hairs on my hairs.

 

So, we unleashed The Stig and he burnt rubber, cooked the clutch and generally made a nuisance of himself while he listened to Johnny Cache (geddit?) and bounced off every tree in the wood in search of the Tupperware. He's good. I mean, he's really good.

 

dadgum him if he didn't find it under a pile of sticks. I bet they were French sticks. Those bloody French...etc.

 

Took nothing, left skidmarks, burnt logbook by dropping the cache onto a burning caravan, crashing into it with a bus, shooting it with a tank, flinging it at a burning Volvo 340 with a medieval siege catapult and then, oh I don't know, feeding it to a shark?

 

No one say bald-spot. That's uncool. This however (holds up a smouldering blob of plastic) is cool. It's sub zero. Do you agree with me? If you don't you can get out because you're a fool. A blithering idiot. No, this is cool. It's an Inuits Icebox. It's liquid nitrogen. It's -aggh, burning my hand.

 

It's days like these that make me glad I left Wensbury (in the West Midlands) and took up caching. And doesn't it feel good? It does to me. I love the smell of a spurious cultural reference in the morning.

 

Thanks for this cache. No, really, THANK YOU. It makes me proud to be English that we can make caches of this quality. Shame Tupperware is owned by bloody Americans, like they know anything about making airtight food storage boxes (I have family history in this area) but that's not going to stop me getting all puffed up and talking about Churchill saying, "We will find them on the beaches. We will find them in the trenches. We will find them in the streets of every town and village..."

 

SP

[+Simply Paul]

A spin-off of my JC effort:

 

"We shall not flag nor fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall find them in France and in the seas and oceans; we shall find with growing confidence and growing strength. We shall populate our island with hidden boxes whatever the cost may be; we shall find them on beaches, sports grounds, in fields, in streets and on the hills. Often under piles of sticks. We shall never surrender to the evil foe; The DNF!"

 

SP

[+Firth of Forth]

I'd just like to say what a brilliant and very funny thread. There are obviously some very talented writers out there. It makes sense that you are all journalists when you're not caching.

[+wildlifewriter]

.. It makes sense that you are all journalists when you're not caching.

Recently, I tried to prove that Geocaching was a deductible business expense. The attempt was unsuccessful.

 

In fact, it's the first and only time I've seen the Inland Revenue use the f-word in official correspondence...

 

(Edited for vanity and profanity)

Edited November 26, 2004 by wildlifewriter

[+Simply Paul]

In fact, it's the first and only time I've seen the Inland Revenue use the f-word in official correspondence...

Fiscal-off?

 

SP

[+Firth of Forth]

Recently, I tried to prove that Geocaching was a deductible business expense. The attempt was unsuccessful.

 

No No No No No, that's not the way to do it!

 

You make sure that your business trips take you to new caching grounds, charge lawyers for the time to travel there and back, petrol, expenses etc, do a bit of work and then go caching. Works a treat!

[+wildlifewriter]

Good plan, FoF.

 

Except for the "Do a bit of work" bit.

[+wildlifewriter]

The Cache of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

 

(This turned out to be a bit longer than I intended, but it was fun doing it...Wlw)

 

Sherlock Holmes threw down his newspaper with an exclamation of disgust: "Commonplace, Watson - nothing but commonplace. Oh for a case to challenge the intellect! Are all London's criminals asleep?"

 

I made no reply, for my own copy of the paper had some interesting illustrated advertisements for ladies' foundation garments, and these commanded my full attention. Just then, Mrs Hudson entered, bearing a visiting card on her tray:

 

"There do be a gentleman to see 'ee, Muster 'olmes. In a right lather, 'e is, an I do say so..."

 

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Why are you talking in that extraordinary accent?"

 

"This was the only acting job I could get."

 

"I see. Well, let us not keep our client waiting. Show him in Mrs. Hudson, show him in..." The door opened to admit a man of medium height, much reddened in the face, and wearing a curious assemblage of outdoor clothing.

 

"Sit down, Sir and compose yourself, for you are sadly winded I fear. A glass of Dr. Watson's brandy, perhaps? Good..." Holmes glanced at the card: " Mr. Lucas O'Zade, is it not? You must tell us what brings you to Baker Street, for at present I can only say that you are of Irish ancestry, your middle name is "Casper", you live at the lower end of Mornington Crescent and you are obviously a licensed vintner by trade."

 

"Upon my word, Holmes!" I cried, "The ancestry I allow, but how could you possibly deduce these other details?"

 

"They are printed on his card." replied Holmes, impatiently. "Do be quiet Watson. Now, Mr. O'Zade - if you have quite recovered your faculties - what is the cause of this unseemly haste?"

 

"I scarcely know where to begin, Gentlemen," said our visitor "but the matter - in its essence - concerns what is commonly called Geocaching..."

 

"Geocaching?" Holmes looked thoughtful, "I recall an item in last week's Times by some fellow calling himself "The Forester". It appeared on pages nine, ten, eleven, twelve and thirteen - a substantial monograph, without doubt." He turned to me: "This Geocaching', Watson, seems to be a kind of recreational activity, popular among the lower orders, ne'er-do-wells and social misfits. Am I correct, Sir?"

 

"Quite correct, Mr. Holmes," replied O'Zade "and it serves to keep us out of the gin shops and gaming-houses. Better a man should be out-of-doors for a cache, than at home beating his wife, they do say. Not but that my own wife doesn't appreciate the occasional spank, by Jove - when I think of her pert little..."

 

" - and you are the owner of one of these Geocaches?" interrupted Holmes, hastily.

 

"I am indeed - or rather, WAS the owner - for I must tell you, Mr. Holmes, that my cache has been stolen! Stolen this last day, or my name's not Luke O'Zade!. Of course, I reported the theft to Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard, but he told me to 'b***er off' - beggin' your pardon, Gents - and that Geocaching was 'a waste of Police time.' So now I have come to you, as my last hope."

 

"And I shall do everything in my power to help you." Holmes was now alert, like a dog on the scent: "But tell me, where was this.. item, placed, when it went missing?"

 

"In Epping Forest, on the South side of the road."

 

"Where exactly? It is of the utmost importance."

 

"Oruvaq gur guveq fghzc ba gur yrsg, naq bire n ovg." said O'Zade, and grinned: "In our secret language, which is to say - behind the third stump on the left, and over a bit."

 

"I know the exact spot!" Holmes snapped his fingers and our client looked startled. "Er... the ground there is a distinctive reddish clay, which is found nowhere else. There are specks of it on your left boot."

 

"That is paint, Mr. Holmes - on account of I was doing the dado rails in a nice pale vermilion, last week."

 

"It is of no consequence. Well, Mr. O'Zade, I shall take your case, and you may rest assured that it is as good as solved - for I believe that we may already know the identity of the culprit. When my investigations are completed, I shall be in touch. Mrs. Hudson will show you out. Good day to you, Sir..."

 

When our visitor had departed, I was none the wiser: "You have over-reached yourself this time, Holmes. How can the stolen cache be found, with almost no information to go on?"

 

"It's really quite elementary, Watson. You remember when I went out yesterday, in disguise?"

 

"Yes. You were dressed as a sailor with a blonde wig, if I recall."

 

"No, No - the OTHER time." Holmes moved, cat-like, towards a table by the window. "The fact is, I made my way to Epping Forest, last night - where I found THIS..." With a flourish, he produced a small translucent box, adorned with green labels in a curious script.

 

"This is the stolen cache? But Holmes, one assumes that you were supposed to replace it in the original position - not bring it back here?"

 

"Ah, there you are mistaken, Watson, for there's more to this case than you imagine..." A foreboding gripped my heart at these words. "... in this 'Geocaching' phenomenon I detect the work of the Napoleon of Crime himself - Professor Moriarty!"

 

"Calm yourself Holmes, I beg..."

 

"It's Moriarty who has planned the whole thing! Don't you see, Watson - don't you see? He has done this to divert my attention from his nefarious activities. It's all of a piece - the newspaper article - who do you suppose this mysterious 'Lactodorum' is - Moriarty again, I tell you!" Flecks of spittle appeared at the corner of his mouth: "The game's afoot, Watson! Fetch your trusty service revolver, and we'll catch the villain this time, for certain."

 

"Of course we will, old friend," I said soothingly, as I reached for my medicine bag, "Just take your nice little tablets, as we agreed, and everything will be all right."

 

This was the worst attack yet, and the treatment was having little effect. Perhaps a stronger dose, from now on...

[+Eckington]

"And it came to pass that in those days a Pharisee was on the road from Beth to Gimmel.

 

"And the needle said to him to go down to the river.

 

"But the Pharisee was not blessed by the power and he saith,"Thou art a false needle," and did pass by on the other side and thus did write of a DNF."

 

 

.....sorry John

[+2202]

Dan Wilson's log for Britains highest Geocache in the style of William Burroughs of 'Soft Machine', 'A Naked Lunch', 'Junkie' fame and also quoted as saying Language is a virus..."

 

Well I think Pid has summed up our adventures pretty well we began at about 9 and it took around 4-5 hours to reach the summit I wasn't sure what to expect at first we were greeted with good firm stone paths which took us to around 3000ft the walk was not particularly steep it is a slope but a not a bad one the distance is what hurts the legs the most imagine climbing an average slope for 4 miles where every step has to be carefully conducted because the ground is very uneven at around 3000ft the snow kicked in and we began to find it difficult to proceed we stopped for a cup of tea then carried on the wind to this point had been harsh when facing but ok when not from here on in it was strong the whole way within long the snow had the ground totally covered and the path had vanished we stopped for another cuppa at around 4000ft by a pile of rocks all views had now gone as the mist appeared and covered the mountain top visibility was down to around 5 metres I would be pushing on ahead I would be called back by Pid and Will because they could not see me only a few steps in front which was a strange experience the mountain seemed to take form in a series of steps and 2 before the summit the conditions were what I would have always pictured as arctic very strong winds snow hale rain and mist with no visibilty other than the metre in front at this point Pid asked me to turn back he was right we were all scared and in serious danger stupidly I refused and carried on they followed and after 15 minutes of sheer endurance we reached the trig point at the top we celebrated by touching the trig and then the observatory I cannot explain what things are like up there but would like to take the opportunity to warn normal climbers like ourselves not to do what we did as it could have been fatal although it was brilliant it was stupid I searched for around 15 mins for the cache before Pid and Will pointed out that the photo which I had of the location was totally different the cache must have been at least a meter under snow, so we gave up we rested for a few minutes in the refuge in the observatory before being helped down by more experienced climbers I had made the top in just trainers tracksuit and jumper so I was well chuffed thanks go to Postie for allowing this log cheers for getting me up here memories which will last a life time oh and I will be back to find the cache itself in better weather the Pic posted is me at around 3000-3500ft Will has the pic of me at the trig which I will post ASAP cheers Dan.

[+wildlifewriter]

Dan Wilson's log for Britains highest Geocache in the style of William Burroughs of 'Soft Machine', 'A Naked Lunch', 'Junkie' fame and also quoted as saying Language is a virus..."  (snip remainder)

 

Summarily disqualified.

 

This is merely Dan's original log, with all the punctuation edited out.

 

It's a common misconception among amateurs that the "Stream of Consciousness" style is just ordinary writing, minus most of the full stops.

 

A quick glance through Joyce, Woolf or Kerouac will soon show that there's a bit more to it than that...

[+2202]

Paul, the point was not to ape Burroughs verbatim, but to introduce the bizarre concept of a cache log written up in that style. I would imagine that a majority of cachers would not have heard of Burroughs but might have un knowingly touched him through watching ‘Blade Runner’ (a not exact link but there just the same) or through the music of Soft Machine (my introduction in the 60’s, or Steely Dan etal).

 

Having done a quick cut paste shunt on Dan’s original log, (see below) it does however bring to vivid life their epic journey up Nevis which the original log in chronological order only hinted at.

In other words, a complete nightmare!

 

Well I think Pid has summed up our adventures pretty well! at this point Pid asked me to turn back we stopped for another cuppa at around 4000ft by a pile of rocks the cache must have been at least a meter under snow, so we gave up all views had now gone as the mist appeared and covered the mountain top the mountain seemed to take form in a series of steps and 2 before the summit the conditions were what I would have always pictured as arctic we stopped for a cup of tea then carried on I had made the top in just trainers tracksuit and jumper so I was well chuffed the wind to this point had been harsh when facing but ok when not thanks go to Postie for allowing this log at first we were greeted with good firm stone paths which took us to around 3000ft stupidly the Pic posted is me at around 3000-3500ft I refused and carried on, they followed and after 15 minutes of sheer endurance we reached the trig point cheers for getting me up here memories which will last a life time oh and I will be back to find the cache itself in better weather within long the snow had the ground totally covered and the path had vanished from here on in it was strong the whole way visibility was down to around 5 metres at the top we celebrated by touching the trig and then the observatory we began at about 9 and it took around 4-5 hours to reach the summit although it was brilliant it was stupid at around 3000ft the snow kicked in and we began to find it difficult to proceed he was right we were all scared and in serious danger imagine climbing an average slope for 4 miles where every step has to be carefully conducted because the ground is very uneven we rested for a few minutes in the refuge in the observatory before being helped down by more experienced climbers the walk was not particularly steep it is a slope but a not a bad one the distance is what hurts the legs the most I wasn't sure what to expect very strong winds snow hale rain and mist with no visibility other than the metre in front cheers Dan I searched for around 15 mins for the cache before Pid and Will pointed out that the photo which I had of the location was totally different I cannot explain what things are like up there but would like to take the opportunity to warn normal climbers like ourselves not to do what we did as it could have been fatal I would be pushing on ahead I would be called back by Pid and Will because they could not see me only a few steps in front which was a strange experience. Will has the pic of me at the trig which I will post A.S.A.P. the Pic posted is me at around 3000-3500ft.

 

15 all!

[+JollyJax]

The cache description warned of snakes and a previous log mentioned spiders, I made this log in the style of Stanley Holloway's 'Albert and the Lion'

 

Teeny Weeney point of order here ... The Lion and Albert was writen by Edgar Marriott and only performed by Stanley Holloway.

 

Useless Factoid No: 37

 

I'll go back to my corner now

[+Simply Paul]

Edgar Marriott? I thought he started a chain of hotels? Busy bloke, obviously...

 

Something in the style of Lewis Carrol:

 

'Twas Garmin, and the slidey co-ords did illud and play in the shade.

All smugly were the first-oo-finders, and the did-not-finders did grabe.

 

"Beware the satellite lock my son, the dogs that bite, the thorns which catch.

Beware the Lady-bird and shun the fromious Andysnatch."

 

He took his vorpal GPS in hand; Long time the irksome cache he sort,

so rested he, by the obvious tree, and stood a while in thought.

 

And, as in uffish thought he stood, the satellite lock, with arrows of flame came wiffling through the Tulgy Wood and burbled as it came!

 

One tow, one two, and through and through the vorpel handset lead him snicker-snack.

He found the cache like that, full of tat, so he went gulumphing back.

 

"And hast thou found the geocache? Oh come to my arms my beamish boy!

Oh frabjious day, calloo, callay!" He chortled in his joy.

 

'Twas Garmin, and the slidey co-ords did illud and play in the shade.

All smugly were the first-oo-finders, and the did-not-finders did grabe.

 

SP

Edited November 28, 2004 by Simply Paul

[+2202]

And I suppose Jabbarwocky's little furry friends come out of the Mouth of Hell?

[+wildlifewriter]

The Caching of the Shrew - William Shakespeare

 

Dramatis Personae:

ROMEO, A young nobleman

OZADE, His faithful retainer

LACTODORUM, The Duke of Venice

CLARKSON, A peripatetic scribe

ROOKIO,

DONNACHIO,

KLAUSIO, Hibernian geocachers much given to drink

 

Scene XIV: A forest outside the city. Enter ROMEO & OZADE

 

 

Romeo : I'faith these multis are the very pants

that hasteneth us from one place to t'other.

Nor yet hath we but found a single item in

this cursed wood - if wood it be and not some

web of witchcraft.

 

Ozade: Marry Sir, if curse it be then my poor garmin yet is cursed of all,

Beneath these leaves no sight of sky has he,

nor pointer steady on the chosen route.

Thy woven doublet's sore with bramble torn

and falling down yon bank thy knees were skin't,

I beg thee Sir - wilt not decrypt the hint?

 

Rom: Would that I could'st for now I would be hence,

but yet I know not where the meaning lies. 'Tis but

a single character, after the manner of those ancient Greeks...

 

(Enter CLARKSON): Could it be an Alpha, Romeo?

 

Romeo: The devil dadgum thee black, thou cream-faced loon!

 

Clarkson: Suiteth yourselves. But soft - here comes a motley indeed! (Exits)

 

(Enter ROOKIO et al, singing)

"... do the Shake 'n Vac and putteth the freshness back..."

 

Ozade: Good travellers, where is thy haste this evening. Doth cache, perhance?

 

Donnachio: Not we! Our batteries are spent this hour and more,

So now we seek some welcome hostlery, to there repose

and get ourselves a Guinness, ere they close.

 

Klausio: 'Tis a sore trial indeed, bejaysus, that the stout be within

and we without!

 

Rookio: Forsooth and begob, we are without stout indeed!

 

Kla: 'Twere better far, if the Guinness were in us!

 

(Enter LACTODORUM, in his robes of office)

That's enough second-rate Elizabethan humour. Move along there.

 

Romeo: Lo, in this drear and fearful wood I lie bereft

Wherein no cache nor clue-thing can be found,

As evening falls, all creatures steal away, and in

their leafy bowers rest awhile,

No marker leaps to meet my weary gaze, nor...

 

Lac: He does go on a bit, doesn't he?

 

Oza: Nay, noble Sir - 'tis his soliloquy.

 

Rom: ... nor even a BAFTA last year for

Learning all this stuff. Fie on't!

And sod this for a game of halberdiers. If

The cache cannot be found, then all must end in tears.

 

Lac: Which cache are you looking for, anyway?

 

Oza: 'Tis GCL4C7 - behold I have the sheets here printed nice

By Master Caxton's wondrous new procedure - but naught in colour for

That hasn't been invented, yet.

 

LAC: Oh, that one's been archived since last week - it

was destroyed by a Tigger at the beginning of this thread... (Exeunt)