the impossible poem

After checking the weather patterns…. Snow is falling at 11,000ft. The limitation to the hunt was 10,200. I’ve made the decision to call an end to the hunt on October 1st. It will no longer end on October 14. The loot will be retrieved by a trusted member of the community and video will be taken at the spot. The solve will then be released on the following weeks stream.

I congratulate the over 2,200 people who have come to this blog in hopes of solving the impossible.

As I sit beside my secret spot…. I find myself staring at the sky. It’s the sounds that remind you this isn’t a postcard. However, today I chose to water down the sound with the music from a river runs through it. I watched little jj whittle some wood, carving out a new best friend for his hikes to find treasure around this special area. He’s hooked.

I think Forrest Fenn searchers in particular have Mr Redford’s voice in our heads: “I am haunted by waters”. I think I understand what it finally means. The mountains really do call to us. They beckon us with every cascading creek along a rocky shore. The views invite us; we know they exist, if only in our imagination. There are few- yet very real places- where imagination loses to whatever force is in charge of the universe. My spot is one of those places.

What causes a little boy to have the urge to take a stick and poke the stream? What intrigues him about the force of nature meeting the force of man? Curiosity I suppose. But curiosity killed the cat. And cats have nine lives. I have no idea where I’m going with this …

The impossible poem has been relaunched and we are now two days in. It will end on October 14th if no one finds the loot. I have been keeping an eye on my secret spot. After about a year, many think they know where it is. I guess there’s only one way to find out.

Throughout the last year I have been interacting with searchers and have enjoyed every single conversation. This hunt renewed my faith that searchers at their core are just starved for adventure. Hopefully my hunt has brought back a little thrill since “The Chase” ended (?). I invite you to bring the kids, bring the friends, bring the significant other. Enjoy my secret spot with someone you love. And maybe pay it forward. It’s been a pleasure. And yes…. There will be more to come.

Good luck searchers. 3d bronzes beautiful box of 3 generations of flies…. Is once again findable. Go get that loot

Well, I’m 39 today and that just makes me giggle. Oh, not because I find the aging process funny or anything. Just that there comes a time….. maybe it’s an age…..

For The Impossible Poem, the end is ever drawing nigh. It has been a blast interacting with searchers for the last 10 months or so. Since this blog was started, we have had 4,414 views and 1,356 unique visitors.   I congratulate all 1,356 people for taking a glimpse into the impossible. 

Some may be aware and some not- I created a Forrest Fenn discord a little over a year ago. That community has swelled to about 800 users. On the discord, I have a channel for the impossible poem (feel free to find the link over at the Finding Fenn’s Gold Reddit). Over the last 10 months or so I have offered anyone whose birthday it is three questions that I have to answer honestly. Considering today, April 14th , is my birthday….. I suppose I’ll conclude the final scrapbook by asking myself three questions about The Impossible Poem. It seems like the fair way to do it.

Question One: What is, if anything, the significance of the numbers on 3D Bronze’s chest for the impossible loot?

Answer: I have a feeling, if someone were to find the loot, they would then understand the significance of at least one of those numbers….. if they haven’t already.

Question Two: How can I help myself find infinity between the fives?

Answer: Use your eyes.

Question Three: Can I make the final choice from home?

Answer: No….. But you should know what to do before you get there. 

I hope you appreciate my honesty and candor with myself. And because it’s such a special day, why not a bonus question?

Question 4: Why did you do this, Ben? Was it always planned this way?

Answer:  First off, Ben….. That’s two questions. Secondly,  I do think one bleeds into the other.  I did this because those flies meant everything to me, and I only earned them by winning a poker tournament. That’s not enough. We are a community that fell in love with an audacious old man who did an audacious thing (one that I STILL don’t think we understand yet).

The real answer though….. I fear death.  I think about it constantly. Too much. It ‘s quite paralyzing at times. Crippling. I don’t want to die at my spot. I want to live life there. I want you to live life there too. The first time I sat down there and truly listened, I understood that we are all our own pilots. And we make our own destinations. The emotional thrill that comes from the search is irreplaceable. And as long as we keep searching, the promise of other discoveries always becomes fulfilled. 

It’s a foot race now. I can confirm we have more than one searcher within five hundred and five feet of the loot’s hidey spot. I am monitoring this year’s snowpack for flooding issues. On May 1, I will put out a notification on when to expect the loot to be re hidden. I want to make sure it’s as safe as we can make this. IF flooding makes this hunt impossible to start in May, I will push back the end time accordingly.

It has been my privilege to play a small role in keeping something of the chase alive. These are not my fishing flies yet. They will belong to the person who finds them. But if no one does, they’re all mine.  Alexander the Great once said “There is nothing impossible to they who will try”.

Good luck….. and to the lead searchers, let’s share ‘just one’ when all is said and done.

The quotes in this scrapbook, are to the best recollection a 38-year-old man’s memory can muster. Forgive this sinner.

When I met Forrest Fenn in July of 2009, I was what some would call a ‘young whipper snapper’. My professors loved to hate me. In class, I was the guy in the back row, knee deep in a LOST message board, instead of hearing the regurgitated lecture from the text we allegedly read the night before. When I spoke up, it was only to ask the questions everyone else would not. “Can you explain the water erosion being discovered at the base of the Sphinx and how that does not match the timeline provided of 2400bc(ish)?”. “Ben, why do you ask these things” was the typical response I would get.

When I stood there next to who I would later learn is Forrest Fenn, I noticed right away that he had a guarded intrigue by my declarative stance on the politics of archaeology. “You’re not gonna last long in that racket”. When he learned I received a perfect 6/6 on my GRE essay, and I was choosing not to go to grad school, his body language shifted, and I could tell this old man wanted a story from me. “So, what are y’all digging up there?” Funny story- I replied back.

I breezed through telling this silver haired fox about finding intact Mimbres pottery and being allowed to excavate it myself (it took almost 4.5 days). And then gave him the main course. I told Forrest about halfway through digging my pit house, I smashed what I thought was more pottery with my ax. I looked immediately down and saw teeth. I knew I was up shit creek. The dig immediately halted, and we had to bring in the local shaman to do a reburial ceremony.

The man’s eyes lit up. “Ben, you broke a native American’s skull?” I nodded while sipping my beer and he giggled. I told him some of the more recent misfortunes I faced after this breaking of the skull. (A series of unfortunate events occurred, which maybe I’ll one day talk about.) He didn’t give me an inclination one way or the other if I was “cursed”. But when he learned that I initially avoided the shaman’s reburial ceremony, he said to me “You’re in for it now, son.”

“So, what’s next for you, Ben?” he asked as I was already finishing beer 1. “No idea, wrap this dig up, graduate, and then find my way in the world.” Forrest sat his half drank water on the bar top and shifted his body language towards me and only me. “Well, I have something you might find, and you seem like just the kind of guy who can. I buried a treasure in the Rockies and I’m gonna dare the world to find it.” Yes, past tense, buried- as in already did the deed. Looking back, did he already hide it? I don’t think so. I think he was testing the market at this point in time. He knew I was with a team of archaeologists; with professors, I would come to learn, knew who he was and weren’t too fond of. It was at that moment in the conversation where I told myself ” Ok old man, whatever you say”. I’m pretty sure it came out as something like: “Wow that’s so cool”. For the record I get very mad at myself for my lack of eloquence with someone I wouldn’t even begin to understand until a decade later.

Something about that Forrest reminded me of my sixth-grade teacher. Don’t ask me what it was. But Mr. Chase was the only person who ever made me care about succeeding in school. He was my chess teacher as well. And taught me the art of sacrifice. That “sometimes you have to lose the queen in order to get her back and win with surprise. Always make yourself unpredictable to your enemies.” I don’t know where Mr. Chase is now, but I’m sure I’m one of many students who still remember him to this day. I know Forrest has had that same effect on all of us.

In all my emails and DM’s on discord from searchers trying to solve the impossible poem, there is something no one is thinking of. I think Forrest would enjoy the double omega I have tried to craft. I say tried, because we will find out if I accomplished the task on Aug 22, 2023. Forrest dared us; I’m challenging you.

The number 22 has a certain esoteric aura around itself. But I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s pretty: two numbers identical to one another, next to the eachother. It’s simple- The number two at its very essence is about a partnership. That partnership can be as grand as love or as rudimentary as a bee to a flower. Or even something you’re umbilically attached to. And it’s mysterious- who ever allowed such powerful entities to be side by side.

In the woo woo world, hearing the number 22 can mean that you’re on the path of spiritual enlightenment. It delves into the partnership that you have with your guardian angel (or whatever you choose to call it). In essence, the number 22 has a connotation to it that you’re on the right path. I once saw five 22’s in a row on a blackjack table- where was my angel then???

I don’t subscribe to all that woo woo stuff. But too many times, have I found myself missing the simple signs that were right in front of me. So I often wonder, am I wrong about the woo woo? Did I miss my 22? If you’d ask my fiancé Ashley, she’d live, love and die by it. I wonder who my guardian angel would side with- or if they’d even show up to answer the question. They’d probably say I found my 22 in Ashley herself.

For the here and now, for you all, 22 means something much different. It means the end of the twenty-22 chase for the flies. On October 22- the fly hunt will be closed for the winter season. (After interacting and getting thoughts from members in the discord) I will be retrieving the loot from their hidey spot very soon. This disincentive should work as a non endorsement of searching Colorado in the winter time.

I will be returning the loot to their precise original location sometime in the month of May, twenty twenty three. And I’ll be restarting the chase for the loot around the same time. The caveat I have for this is as follows: starting May the first, I will accept (once again) photos of the final spot the poem takes you to as proof of a solve. Beginning the first of June, I will revert back to only accepting the recovery of the loot. Of note: this is not to increase difficulty. It is to dissuade winter searching. Keep those engines off til spring.

But all is not lost my friends. We still have sixteen official days of searching, for someone to solve the impossible before I recover “it”. While I of course doubt this is even feasible for you all to try, you still have time.

I’m left thinking about the power of patience. A couple of things my old pappy would say to me were:

Ben, time allows for your brain to catch up with your heart.

Ben, patience is the world’s way of making sure you are ready.

Ben, it’s not that we wait. It’s what we do while we must wait that matters.

Nobody has solved the impossible poem. And as it stands- you all now have until August 22nd of twenty twenty three to course correct. That’s three hundred and twenty days left. Good luck

I was going to keep this topic on our discord (which I won’t promote. If you wanna join us, figure out how to find us), but I was once told- immortality is only as real as someone who remembers you. My grandmother Judy personifies that quote.

A mother of two, Jeff and Kim, she was a golfer, a Bible enthusiast, and a gambler. I call her a gambler… cause that’s what she was. If she were still around, she’d probably debate that point with me. But I knew her. She only played games she knew she could outsmart- that’s not gambling. And I bet that distinction kept her as best friends with Jesus. She knew how to cover all the outs.

The image above is the only picture available of her online that I could find. I was going to add more but then I was reminded of Forrest Fenn. My grandmother was born 5 years after him, and after all my research into Forrest, I can tell you they’re the same kindred spirit. However I think my gram would mop the floor with fenn in cards. They’d probably both laugh at the idea of one picture available in 2022. The thing is… the catch that I just understood, was something that has now changed me.

I spent hours upon hours upon hours of research into Forrest. Every statement he ever made- I have scrutinized to oblivion. I quite literally, need to know what his truth was. However, beside my Arizona fire, I ask myself- why the fuck didn’t I do this with my own kin?

Judy passed away on Friday, May 10, 2019. It doesn’t matter what claimed her life. What matters is that she did the claiming. She made hers… friggen hers. And without ever knowing it, she taught me how to play poker. How to read people, how to hide my tells, and most importantly – how to win like someone who already has done it. I get the sense she taught my father the same things.

My grandmother loved golf. I remember visiting her house every summer, and arriving at a luxurious condo up against some golf course she loves to try and teach me on (She also tried to teach me the piano too- didn’t take). My father spread her ashes in Nebraska, where she grew up- in a place she loved like nothing else. Near the 9th hole. We had to sneak onto the golf course to forever make sure she was where she wanted to be. We regret nothing.

Looking for the answer to Fenn’s poem felt impossible. From the first time I read it- to the most recent. I followed his orders… Memorize the poem, and go back to the book with the words of the poem in mind. so what the heck went wrong? Why couldn’t I find the “thing”.

I’m not sure if anything went wrong if I’m being frank. Fate led me to Allen k. He and I (fresh off not finding the chest) dissected the book “hahaha by db cooper”. We still followed Forrest’s instructions, just not for ttotc. We did something different than anyone I’ve spoken to. We used the scrapbooks instead. Something I refused to use for the thrill of the chase. And we used those scrapbooks for something not thrill of the chase related. My gut told me Forrest had figured a way to answer searcher questions- without them realizing what he was truly honestly answering. In 2020, I started to wonder if he somehow added a second chest, or a second story… that he could then honestly use as answers to questions without searchers ever being the wiser.

As many of you know, that led Allen and me to 9 mile bay. Within the area of Nixon, Nv. Where Clark Gable filmed his final movie. And caught a world record brown trout. Oh hey by the way- here’s a photo of me as a little boy. Not understanding what was to come

Arriving at 9 mile bay was exhilarating. I don’t mean driving there. Aside from a brief trip through Yosemite and some very strangely placed Fenn related spots (June lake- I mean come on), the drive was boring. What I mean is finding it through the 7 clues hidden within “hahaha by db cooper”. This was a strange book mostly about car chases and court room drama. It actually had very little to do with the hijacking. Yet we saw the picture the author intended… the answer to the authors challenge to find his loot. We both ended up at 9mile bay independently. And Allen gave us the precise location from what we both determined was the final clue. It was time to go botg.

Allen had his spot. And I had a spot about 30 feet away. Directly in between both, was the burnt chevelle. Curious. By no means is it indicative of … well… anything. (Aside from Allen and I laughing at the car chase motif as we inspected this burnt up 1970 chevelle) Allen, however, couldn’t let go of the view his spot created. I agreed. And Eric Sloane would be proud.

My spot was less fun. But we knew that going into it. I felt I had something of a man made area working. A bright white object on the map. Something that looked like it deserved a visit simply from the methodology that forced us to view this specific spot “within 5 miles of db coopers landing zone”. Seeing it person only confirmed one thing- woulda made a cool nook.

Alas – as you can tell… snow was on the ground. No metal detectors were used on this land. It was a fun tease… We would not be dismayed. There’s always work to be done on a hunt that isn’t over (otherwise known as unsolved). Even if it takes 25 days.

I’ll admit. Finding a burnt up 70 chevelle precisely at the spot we think “hahaha by db cooper” led us to…was dope. However, it doesn’t mean shit from shinola. Instead- it’s all about “the one who can best adjust”. And we did that. Lo and behold… it took us to a big ole F.

Partaking in the thrill of the chase got butts off seats. There’s no doubt to that whatsoever. Forrest asked if there were an Indiana Jones ore two out there that could solve his hunt. Well, part of being Indiana Jones is what you don’t see in a 3 act movie. The foundation of a real hunt begins and ends with research. Research brings indy to his spot. And knowlege allows him to finish the job. The person who thinks they’ve solved my poem should get botg like Forrest Gump running for Alabama.

However, research can only take one so far. I kinda feel like – no matter where his chest was hidden- Forrest wanted the thrill to continue from the armchair to the dirt. Enter stage left: the impossible poem.

I chose the title of the poem for a reason. One of them being: fenn didn’t choose one at the end of the day. But don’t stop there. Everything about that poem is intentional. There is no subterfuge in that poem, if you follow its precise directions.

The weekend of July 15 is fast approaching. I congratulate all the folks who have attempted to solve this so far. We’re over 1000 unique visitors to this blog. As of Sunday July 17, photos will no longer be accepted as proof of solve- as the loot will be placed in the area I wanted a photo of. (Except for our friends across either shore) But here’s the thing, nothing changes. happy hunting