Our ongoing quest to translate, colate and codify our family
history has often left us with more questions than answers. This
particular tale is but one example:
One of our long lost relatives, Dùghall Riffster, lived his life
as a simple farmer, (simple being the operative word),
toiling in the turnip fields to provide food for his family. His
homestead once stood at the posted coordinates.
Dùghall woke one morning to a curious site in his turnip field.
A strange, giant circular shape had been mashed into his crop. We
believe this is the first documented crop circle incident in
history. Dùghall, like most Riffsters, was not noted for his keen
intelect, and as such, this formation left him more angry than
afraid.
Over the next few days, several more circles appeared on his
farm, further enraging the imbecilic, bumbling twit. The best
answer Dùghall could come up with to explain these circles, was
that someone with incredibly large, perfectly round feet was
sneaking into his fields at night, to steal his turnips.
Dùghall mustered up what little courage he had, (due largly
in part to having consumed several pints of Guinness), and
armed himself with his trusty targe and sghian dubh, donned his
Ghillie suit, and hid amongst his crops, hoping to ambush the
turnip thieves.
The rest of the tale gets a bit sketchy at this point, so we'll
relate it to you, as it was passed down to us, and you can
interpret it as you see fit.
Dùghall spent many a cold night huddled amongst his turnips with
naught but the contempt of his family to show for his efforts.
Then, one blustery evening, just as he was about to give up, a
brilliant light filled the sky. "Mo Chreach!", he
exclaimed, throwing down his little wooden shield and dagger.
Dùghall decided that honor and valor were quite over rated, thank
you very much, and began running away, (something Riffsters
excell at), when the light enveloped him.
Concious thought ended at that point. Dùghall was found several
days later, reeking of Guinness, with his clothes on backwards,
mumbling incoherently about "Spase Kreetures", "Cling
Ohns" and something called "Eh-Gnal Proh-Bing". Stuffed
into the waistband of his kilt was this note, which I'll post for
your perusal.
In order to find this cache, you'll need to translate the note.
There are two ways to accomplish this task:
- Search Dùghall's home coordinates for a camo'ed decon kit,
containing a translation of this note. Using this method makes this
cache a fairly simple two stage multi.
- Use the information available in this cache page, combined with
the magic of the Internet, and translate the note from the comfort
of your home, similar to a single stage puzzle.
Please regard the suggested parking, as entry into the preserve
by any other location is illegal.
Good Luck!