I think I am the epitome of your other implications. I really worked for this one, so it is fitting that it is number 500 for me. Of course 90 percent of the work was needless because I am obsessed with experiencing the birth process again and again and again. Even when I was practically STANDING on it, did I find it then? Noooo... I had to make sure I left my DNA in every tiny pocket and crevice within 60 feet of the OBVIOUS signs. This is about the dirtiest I have ever gotten on a hunt and when my dear wife saw me, she would not even come close to congratulate me. Made me stripe down in the garage! How humiliating; so much for my rendition of Hannibal's triumphant entry. On the brighter side, I have pretty much come to terms with a life long (to date) trepidation of arachnoid life forms. Gee, thanks CCCA!
When I finally found the dad-burned box, I let out a yell which I then decided to include in the log book. If you want to know what kind of yell it was, you’re gonna have to find the cache. If you listen carefully, you can still hear it echoing through the rocky caverns beneath you. It even resonates faintly in the boulders if you put your ear close to them like Tonto… err… I mean Chingachgook.
I rescued the TB that was cowering in the corner of the box. I left nothing but a few smudges of blue paint.
Now I really don’t want to fuss about details, but I think that the next cacher to go up there should take a Bob Friendly Cache meter with them and test the hide spot. I think it might actually qualify if you hold it upside down and twist clockwise. You might need to force it a bit, but I really think it could be Bob Friendly with a bit of coaxing.
Thanks for all the fun… yes, it was fun. The Chiropractor said it will be a few days until the lacerations in my neck and back heal, but till then, Advil is my constant companion.