Delighted to see that hockeywrec earned FTF honours;
congratulations to her, her friend - and her "friend" too!!
Once you have enjoyed that "AHA!" moment with this one, please keep your counsel and let others experience that enjoyment too!
“Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;
Let us journey to a lonely land I know.
There's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,
And the Wild is calling, calling . . . let us go”
The preceding four lines come from “The Call of the Wild” by Robert W. Service published first in The Spell of the Yukon and Other Verses. His life ended long before geocaching came into existence but do you not think he would have enjoyed it - especially some of those extreme locations?
Robert Service was born in 1874 in what was then Lancashire, England. He spent his childhood in Scotland and came to Canada - to Yukon - in 1894 where he was an employee of the Canadian Bank of Commerce for eight years. It was here that he began to write "verse" - he never claimed to be a poet - and became famous almost overnight particularly with the publishing of such works as the one which follows.
He was a war correspondent during the Balkan Wars and also served during WWI from which campaigns he amassed material used to write many of his verses. Service married in Europe and lived there for most of the rest of his life. However, he returned to North America for a time during WWII after which he returned to Europe to live out his life; he died in France in 1958.
Here is one of his most famous works with some eighty-four letters somewhat altered so that they stand out. Utilizing them in the proper way will take you to the true location of this cache. But do read the poem aloud - to a group if possible; the rhymes and rhythm are delightful!
The Cremation of Sam McGee
There are strange thinGs done in the midnight sun
By the men whO moil for gold;
The ARctic trails have their secret tales
ThAt would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights Have seen queer sights,
But tHe queerest they ever did see
Was that nIght on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam MCGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
WhY he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He Was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
ThouGh he'd often say iN his homely way that 'he'd sooner live in hell'.
On a Christmas Day we wEre mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of yoUr cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd cLose, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn'T much fuN, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And thAt very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were Fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and 'Cap,' saYs he, 'I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking tHat you won't refuse my last request.'
Well, hE seemed so Low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
'It's the cursed cold, and iT's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'taint being dead - It's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear thAt, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains.'
A pal's last need is a thing tO heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on At the streak Of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crOuched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfalL a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breAth in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a Corpse halF hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleiGh, and it seemed to say: 'You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised truE, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains.'
Now a promise madE is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to coMe, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In thE long, long night, By the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
HowlEd out their woes to the homeless snows - O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet cLay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And oN I went, thoUgh the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was baD, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hatEful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the margE of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It waS jammed in the ice, buT I saw in a trice it was called the 'Alice May.'
And I Looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then 'Here,' said I, With a sudden cry, 'is my cre-ma-tor-eum.'
Some Planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flaMes just soared, and the furnace roared - such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burRowed a hole in The glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I Made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens sCowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hoT sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke In an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in The snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the sTars came ouT and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was Sick with dread, but I bravely said: 'I'll just take a peep inside.
I gueSs he's cookEd, and it's time I looked then the door I opened wide.
And there Sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smiLe you could see a mile, and he said: 'Please close that door.
It's fIne in here, but I gReatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm -
SincE I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm.'
There are strange things Done in the midnight sun
By thE men who moIl for gold;
The ARctic trails have their secret tales
That woulD make your blood run cold;
The NorThern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the qUeerest they ever did see
Was that night on the maRge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Some Notes
- The cache is not, of course, at the posted co-ordinates.
- Please watch your step carefully as you approach the cache location.
- Please bring your own writing instrument.
- It was hard to decide on a DR; how quickly will you find the key?
- Over 600 plus trials, the numbers of the GZ co-ordinates hardly varied.
- Please be aware of where you are and conduct yourselves accordingly.
- Please feel free to check your answer below.