The cache is not at the posted coordinates. If you try to go there, you’ll get very wet (and probably confused).
Building with Lego quickly became a treasured family tradition, starting when our boys were just little. It wasn’t long before birthdays and Christmases turned into epic building marathons, where we assembled shiny new sets alongside dusty old favourites. New creations popped up faster than we could find places to put them, and soon our shelves, tables, and windowsills were overflowing with bricks. As the years stacked up (quite literally), it took longer and longer to take things apart—so eventually, we just... didn’t. Rather than dismantle them, we let the models stay proudly on display, turning our home into a colourful, blocky monument to decades of building. Years later, after months spent cataloging every last set and piece, we realized we’d amassed a truly enormous collection—30 years in the making and still growing.
The minifigs were always the kids’ favourite part. They loved swapping heads, torsos, legs, helmets, capes, and accessories, creating wild mash-ups and imaginary characters with chaotic charm. I, however, was a bit of a traditionalist—firmly believing minifigs should remain just as the Lego designers intended. Then, one day after hiding a traditional geocache, I came home to write up the listing when my GPSr glitched out and erased the final coordinates before I could save them. Frustrated, I looked over at the recently sorted minifigs and noticed something strange—they were standing in neatly organized rows, almost like they were trying to communicate. Had they seen the coordinates before they vanished? Were they trying to help me recover them? I couldn’t crack the code myself, so I turned it into a puzzle cache and preserved their curious formation for you to solve. The minifigs may be tiny, but they might just be your biggest allies. Good luck!
What are they trying to say?!?
