Camoflauged cache

Living in the North Country, I am often told by outsiders how there is absolutely nothing to do here. These are typically statements by students I meet who hail from the city and fail to amuse themselves. But I’ve found that the North Country has much to offer to outdoor enthusiasts, even treasure-hunters.

We don’t wear eye patches. We don’t have peg legs. And we don’t say, “Argh!” Instead of a pistol and shot, we are armed with a GPS and pieces of swag. We don’t plunder so much as barter, but we are still looking for treasure.

I was recently introduced to a little sport—I suppose it’s really more of a hobby—called geocaching. Essentially, people take a GPS and romp around in the wilderness, using coordinates that will lead them to treasure, called a “cache.” These are small containers, filled with a log to mark who discovers the cache and when, and there is often times “swag”—known to pirates as “booty.”

The tokens are small, simple things left behind by past geochachers. The rule is that if you take something, you must leave something in its place.

Geocaching is a world-wide hobby

I set out for one in the town of Plattsburgh with a few friends. We typed our coordinates into our GPS and set out on our journey. Our guidance system led us through swampy terrain and rocky hills, and we are certain we went in circles. After an hour, and sheepishly passing by several “posted” or “no trespassing” signs, we decided we weren’t going to find our cache. Hint: it helps if you have a GPS device that is not intended for use in your car.

Defeated, my friends and I decided to take a break and go out to lunch. Afterwards we were back on the hunt and in search of a new cache, located less than a mile away from where we (supposedly) were supposed to have found the first one. This time we got lucky.

My, well, our first cache was hidden inside a hollow log at the base of a steep precipice. It was a small plastic

Some caches contain swag, and if a piece is taken, another should be left in its place

Tupperware container with a blue lid, holding several loose papers with names of adventure-seekers who claimed the container before us. It was filled with swag, including a small green bouncy ball, a cross, a marble, a few rocks, and other trinkets.

I didn’t take anything from this cache. Though it was little more than a plastic box with old notes and invaluable objects, it was gratifying to leave our names, waiting to be discovered by whomever follows the same path. 

I propose the following to those who still believe there is nothing fun to do outside of a big city: go to the geocaching Web site, grab some coordinates, and put that GPS to work. Argh!