For a decade, Forrest Fenn had lived as creator, promoter, steward, and defender of perhaps the most extraordinary treasure hunt America had ever known. He lived to see its conclusion. And then, barely three months after the hunt he had brought into the world had ended, Fenn was gone.

On the morning of September 7, 2020, Fenn was found unconscious in his study, having fallen, according to the police report. He was taken to Christus St. Vincent Regional Medical Center, then released to the care of his family, who returned him to his home. There , never having regained consciousness. The first responders who arrived on the scene that morning were initially responding to a cardiac-arrest call, indicating Fenn may have had a heart attack that precipitated his fall.

His funeral arrangements were private, and searchers were kept at arm鈥檚 length. The family did eventually post a message on Fenn鈥檚 website, thanking the search community: 鈥淭o the many searchers who joined us in the thrill of the chase over the last decade, your stories, emails, and tales of the hunt sparked joy in his life and we are forever grateful for your enthusiasm.鈥澨�

The author Doug Preston hadn鈥檛 been able to be there for Fenn鈥檚 90th听birthday in late August鈥攄ue to COVID-19, the Fenn family held a car parade for friends to drive by and say hello鈥攂ut Preston had called soon after听and found his friend well.

鈥淲hatever happened to him happened to him pretty quickly. I spoke to him ten days after his birthday, maybe a week,鈥� Preston said. 鈥淗e sounded great. He didn鈥檛 sound like he was in any kind of decline at all. Now, there may have been something going on that I didn鈥檛 know about. But his mind was there. He was cheerful. His vigor was still there, in terms of his intellectual capabilities. I did not notice any decline.鈥�

Preston said he could sense a sadness in his friend鈥攁 melancholy that the treasure hunt that had defined the final stage of his life had ended.

鈥淗e just seemed disappointed that the treasure had been found. A little bit disappointed.鈥�

After Fenn鈥檚 death, an outpouring of sadness, grief, and love came from the searcher community, with tributes to Fenn on all the prominent blogs and message boards. Many searchers told stories of their interactions with Fenn, or of what the hunt had meant to them, or just publicly thanked Fenn for what he had brought into their lives.

The hunt was over, and now its architect was gone. The anonymous finder was nowhere to be found, and while that left many鈥攎yself included鈥攚ith countless questions, I thought perhaps this might bring the story of this treasure hunt to a close, at last.

I should have known better.

On September 23, just over two weeks after Fenn died, on the website Medium, a self-publishing platform that allows users to distribute essays and other written works anonymously if they choose. Titled 鈥淎 Remembrance of Forrest Fenn,鈥� it was written by The Finder,听who described himself thusly: 鈥淭he author is the finder and owner of the Forrest Fenn treasure.鈥�

In 3,000 well-crafted words, the finder penned an ode to Fenn, who听he described as his friend.

鈥淚 am the person who found Forrest鈥檚 famed treasure,鈥� he wrote. 鈥淭he moment it happened was not the triumphant Hollywood ending some surely envisioned; it just felt like I had just survived something and was fortunate to come out the other end.鈥�

In his essay, the finder revealed a great deal about the circumstances under which he had found the treasure鈥攂ut crucially, he would not divulge exactly where he had located it, and said he did not plan to. He was also careful not to let any details about his own identity slip, indicating only that he was a millennial and had student loans to pay off. Beyond that, he was an enigma.

After finishing the essay, I no longer had any doubt that there was a finder.

Much else, though, remained unresolved. The finder had teased so many things in his essay, left me and everyone else wanting more. He鈥檇 said he鈥檇 answer more questions at some point, but I didn鈥檛 particularly want to wait, or leave what he answered up to him alone.

So I contacted him.

Medium doesn鈥檛 generally allow readers to contact the author of a piece directly, which is one reason it鈥檚 good for anonymous posting. It does allow users to post public comments on a piece, and more than 100 people quickly had, most of them supportive, some of them skeptical, a few of them angry and aggressive. But I wasn鈥檛 going to just post my email in the comments where anyone could read it; that left me no guarantee that the person I might end up in contact with would be the finder.

I had one trick up my sleeve, though. There鈥檚 a little-known way to send a direct message to the author of a Medium piece: You have to flag a section of text, indicating that it contains an error or a typo. That notifies the author of the piece that something needs to be corrected in his or her work. The system doesn鈥檛 give you a lot of space, just enough to describe the problem. So I flagged a section of the essay, barely squeezed in who I was and how to contact me via email, and hoped for the best. I had no guarantee that the finder would look at the message, or that he would understand exactly why he should get in touch. But it was worth a shot.

Less than a day later, an email popped into my inbox. It was from an address whose name referred to Fenn鈥檚 treasure. The finder had replied.

He鈥檇 heard of my project, he said, and he might be willing to talk to me. But he insisted that we鈥檇 have to keep things off the record for now. And so began a month of back-and-forth correspondence, sometimes several emails a day, culminating in my revealing his identity to the world in an 国产吃瓜黑料 article in early December 2020, identifying him as Jack Stuef, a 32-year-old medical student from Michigan.

Having written the 国产吃瓜黑料 article, my inbox was suddenly flooded with searchers claiming this or that about Stuef or that his solve was fraudulent, and asking me to prove it or use my knowledge to validate their own competing solves. I still had no idea where the treasure was, and I truly didn鈥檛 want to know, but that didn鈥檛 stop searchers from claiming that I was somehow involved in some of these conspiracies. I know we live in a post-truth world now, but even as conspiracies around the 2020 election dominated life outside the hunt, the level of disbelief I encountered within the chase still shocked me. Should I have been so surprised? Conspiracy theories have plagued this hunt from the start. I鈥檇 fallen for them myself.

Still, even if there were some details I couldn鈥檛 quite square, I remained sure that Stuef was the finder, and that no grand conspiracy was at play here. How could I be so certain? Part of it was confidence in the facts we all did know. Part of it was, as had said in his fateful, final sermon, understanding that at a certain point听鈥渨e have to trust.鈥� And part of it was that I had experienced something the other searchers had not. A few months earlier, I had flown to Santa Fe one last time听and opened Forrest Fenn鈥檚 treasure chest myself.

I tightened my mask as I stepped off the plane, out onto the tarmac at Santa Fe Regional Airport听and into the cool听air. This trip had come together quickly, out of nowhere, really. One day, back when I still didn鈥檛 know who the finder was, he鈥檇 sent me a particularly unexpected email, offering something I hadn鈥檛 really asked for听but had absolutely craved.

鈥淗ey,鈥� it read. 鈥淒o you want to come see the treasure?鈥�

I pounced on the offer and got to Santa Fe as fast as I could, thrilled at the chance to be so close to something I鈥檇 dreamt about for so long.

As I left my hotel the morning after flying in and made my way toward the finder鈥檚 lawyer鈥檚 offices, the streets of Santa Fe were barren, devoid of the traffic that normally choked Cerrillos Road. It was October, usually one of the busiest times of the year in Santa Fe. In normal years, October brings , featuring hundreds of hot-air balloons and a carnival atmosphere, and enthusiasts come from around the world to experience it. My trips to see Fenn and the other searchers in 2017 and 2018 had overlapped with the festival, and so I can attest both that it鈥檚 great, and that it jams Albuquerque and Santa Fe with tourists.

Not this year, I thought as I cruised down the near empty road, my face mask sitting on the console between the two front seats. But it wasn鈥檛 just the pandemic that made Santa Fe feel strangely empty. For me, Fenn鈥檚 absence loomed larger than the lack of tourists听or people driving to work.

This was the first time since learning of this hunt that I had come to Santa Fe for a reason other than to see Fenn; I still had much I wanted to ask him, and now I鈥檇 never get the chance. It was impossible not to think of him as I drove along, passing a restaurant in the Santa Fe Railyard where we鈥檇 had lunch, going by the turnoff to get to his gallery. The reality was that I couldn鈥檛 imagine Santa Fe without him. For better or worse, he and the city he called home had become synonymous in my mind.

It had been a month now since his death. His wife, Peggy, had herself passed the week before I arrived, living just four weeks beyond her husband. Peggy and Forrest Fenn had been married almost 67听years.

How would Fenn be remembered? He had been so concerned that his father had left no mark, that Marvin Fenn had no imprint on history until his son brought him back via his words and books. Forrest Fenn clearly would not suffer that same fate. His treasure hunt had made a greater impact than Fenn could have ever imagined. Still, his passing so soon after the end of the hunt鈥攁 hunt that I believe he鈥檇 hoped would outlive him鈥攄id end the story of Fenn鈥檚 life in the eyes of the outside world. His chapter in history was interesting, compelling, complicated, flawed. A moment in time, an amazing tale. But now over. Fenn had wanted to live on through his treasure hunt, through his chest. With the chest found, I don鈥檛 know if he鈥檒l truly do that.

The chest. Now that I was mere minutes away from actually holding it in my hands, I was brimming with anticipation, feeling that little tremble that comes from adrenaline coursing through my body. Was just seeing it as good as finding the treasure? Well, no, you鈥檙e a couple million dollars poorer, but in some ways, I don鈥檛 know, maybe it was better. A chance to experience and understand this treasure, without the burden of having to own it. At least that鈥檚 what I was telling myself.

What did I really know about it? It was small, deceptively so. Prominent searcher Cynthia Meachum had built a replica and placed it out in the wilderness to underscore how near impossible it would be to identify the chest at distance if you didn鈥檛 know precisely where it was. It was ten by ten by five inches, and that鈥檚 just not very big. And it was heavy. The chest itself weighed 20听pounds, the contents weighed 22听pounds, and Fenn had needed his famed two trips to get it all to his spot.

There had been a few attempts at chronicling what was in it鈥攕ome of the best work done by Cynthia鈥檚 pal Matt DeMoss. DeMoss鈥檚 efforts had been aided by the release of both sets of conference-room pictures, which I now understood had been taken at the finder鈥檚 lawyer鈥檚 office, the one I was about to visit. Nobody except for Fenn and the finder, however, had been able to really go through the chest, pull everything out, and document the contents鈥攗ntil now. The actual chest, I knew, was the bronze Romanesque lockbox, dating from roughly 1150, with carvings along its sides and top depicting the Castle of Love,听 where maidens sit atop the castle, and knights at the base try to scale it and reach them. It was not locked, but it did include a key, and it was latched with a gargoyle of some sort. There was some type of wood, perhaps oak, serving as a lining.

Based on what he believed to be in the chest, DeMoss had compared each item to similar examples currently on sale听and guessed the low-end sale value of all the items inside at $555,487, with the high-end sale value at $1,327,450. Even if we split the difference, chances are it would sell for more than that, because these items are part of the Fenn Treasure, a factor DeMoss said he did not incorporate into his analysis.

Included in his estimates were the 265 gold coins of varying types, the gold nuggets and dust, the golden frogs, the golden mirrors, the gold nose rings, the gold necklace鈥攇old, gold, gold. There was the ancient Tairona/Sinu necklace, the Chinese carved jade faces, the turquoise bracelet that Fenn had wanted to buy back, and Fenn鈥檚 20,000-word听autobiography, in addition to a few other, smaller items of note. Then there were the 鈥渆meralds, rubies, diamonds鈥� that were often mentioned as being in the chest. Were those merely included in what was perhaps the chest鈥檚 most impressive single item, the golden dragon bracelet, which itself contained hundreds of precious stones? Or were there additional jewels to be found beyond that? Nobody knew, except for Fenn, the finder, and whoever had been there when the chest was examined. There could still be curiosities waiting, surprises to be found, answers to be had. Now I was going to be privy to them.

I鈥檇 agreed to a few conditions when the finder had offered to let me view the chest. First, we鈥檇 agreed that I would pay his attorneys鈥� hourly rates for their time, such that my seeing the chest wouldn鈥檛 actually cost the finder money鈥攑retty standard journalistic practice. He鈥檇 also stipulated that he didn鈥檛 want me to identify his attorneys鈥攖here were three representing him, two men and a woman鈥攊n any meaningful way, so that they couldn鈥檛 be tracked down by overaggressive searchers. I agreed. And then one more: the finder wanted to make sure I didn鈥檛 open the vial containing Fenn鈥檚 autobiography, which remained sealed, and that if I could read any of what was inside through the glass, I wouldn鈥檛 relay any of that information. I agreed to that听as well.

The conditions weren鈥檛 onerous, and I was eager to make this happen. As far as I knew, examining the chest was not a privilege that had been extended to anyone else鈥攁nd in that, it was not lost on me that I was getting to do something that others might not like. I hadn鈥檛 searched for a few years now, and even if it hadn鈥檛 been found, I hadn鈥檛 planned on searching again. But still, there were people far more deserving than I who would have killed to see what I was about to see. Even if the finder managed to give the chest some sort of public exhibition at some point, I assumed no one would get to go through it, touch it, experience it the way I was about to. As I parked the car, I could feel a certain weight to what I was about to do, a responsibility to do it all right, whatever that meant. That, and maybe a few pangs of guilt, for getting to enjoy what other, better searchers couldn鈥檛.

I parked near the offices, put on my mask, and walked along the sunny, empty streets toward the front door. There were COVID-related signs posted about not entering without an appointment. I was pretty sure I had one of those鈥攖hough even at that late moment, there was still the tiniest sliver of doubt in my mind. At the time, I still didn鈥檛 know who the finder really was, and hence had flown out here on a tiny plane on the offer of someone whose name I didn鈥檛 know, based on a cold-call email and little more than that. I was pretty sure, as close to certain as I could be, that this was the finder and that everything was legit, but until I was actually opening that chest myself, nothing was truly guaranteed.

So it was heartening when I swung open the large, heavy door, went into what seemed to be an impressive professional suite of law offices, gave my name at the front desk, and waited only moments before the finder鈥檚 attorney came out and introduced herself.

鈥淲e鈥檒l just go right in here,鈥� she said, pointing to a set of doors leading into a conference room, 鈥渁nd then we鈥檒l bring the chest right in.鈥�

That simple, huh?

I pushed open the doors and entered a reasonably sized room with an oblong wooden conference table covered by glass. It was instantly familiar from the two sets of pictures posted to validate the find.

鈥淚s this where you showed Fenn the chest?鈥� I asked.

鈥淚t is,鈥� she replied. 鈥淗e sat right there.鈥� She indicated听a chair at one end of the table. 鈥淵ou can sit right where he sat if you want.鈥�

I wasn鈥檛 sure if that was a little too fanboyish. But it seemed like a good place to sit anyway, so I threw my backpack down near where she鈥檇 gestured. This was perhaps the only time on the hunt when I was absolutely, definitely, unquestionably following in Fenn鈥檚 footsteps, instead of puttering around in the wilderness two states away from where he鈥檇 left his treasure. Here听I was really and truly doing just what he had done, only a few months before, when he鈥檇 gone through this chest for the first time in a decade.

From the moment I鈥檇 entered this chase, the chest had been the goal. In some ways, it was a MacGuffin, like the Maltese Falcon听or the Death Star plans鈥攊t was what this chase was about, yes, but it wasn鈥檛 really what this chase was about, y鈥檏now? Still, it mattered. Up until this moment, the chest had been purely theoretical to me. I鈥檇 never expected to find it, so I wasn鈥檛 one of those searchers who had already spent the money in it ten times over. For me听it was more about figuring out the clues, getting the answer.

Yet now that I was going to be laying eyes on it, touching it, it moved from the realm of the theoretical to the actual in a hurry.

That understanding fundamentally altered my entire view of the chase. It meant that despite whatever else he鈥檇 done, Fenn had been telling the truth about this box and what was in it: that he had hidden it somewhere out there, and the finder really and truly had obtained it听and was now letting me see and touch it. That most basic set of facts was real, and that gave me a sense of certainty about this chase, of a kind I had never really had until now. Did that improve Fenn鈥檚 standing a bit in my mind? It was a complicated question. To this point, I鈥檇 managed somewhat to separate the man from the hunt, even though it was hard to do. And knowing that he was telling the truth did mean something for the man, somewhat. It didn鈥檛 mean he was without failings, his chase without its problems. But he had done this, just the way he鈥檇 said he had. And that, in my mind, counted for something.

I started to ask if they needed me to sign anything before we began, as I stretched on the latex gloves that I鈥檇 brought for the examination. Then, just like that, the conference-room door opened and a man walked in bearing a bronze box, ten by ten by five, worn and weathered and perfect. He hurried quickly over to my side of the table as I, in true surprise, stammered something out about not expecting it all to be quite so easy.

He chuckled in reply as he walked up and casually handed me Forrest Fenn鈥檚 treasure chest.

Excerpted from ,听by Daniel Barbarisi. Copyright 漏 2021 by Daniel Barbarisi. Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

The post I Got to See Forrest Fenn鈥檚 Treasure with My Own Eyes appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

It took two months of correspondence听before the man who found Forrest Fenn鈥檚 treasure told听me his name.

We鈥檇 been emailing since September, and I honestly didn鈥檛 expect to ever know who he really was. I was fine with that; as a fellow treasure hunter, I completely understood his desire for anonymity.

Since 2017, I had been pursuing Fenn鈥檚 treasure, too, becoming a kinda-sorta searcher in order to tell the story of Fenn鈥檚 hunt in my upcoming book , to be published by Knopf in June. I鈥檇 been in the trenches, read Fenn鈥檚 over and over, ended up in places I probably shouldn鈥檛 have been, and gone to places where other people died trying to find it.

A decade ago, Fenn hid his treasure chest, containing gold and other valuables estimated to be worth at least a million dollars, somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. Not long after, he published a memoir called , which included a mysterious 24-line poem that, if solved, would lead searchers to the treasure. Fenn had suggested that the loot was secreted away at the place where he had envisioned lying down to die, back when he鈥檇 believed a 1988 cancer diagnosis was terminal. Since the hunt began in 2010, many thousands of searchers had gone out in pursuit鈥斺�攁nd the chase became an international story.

So many people had invested and sacrificed so much in pursuit of Fenn鈥檚 treasure that it was possible the finder would face threats, be they legal or physical, from people who resented them or wished them ill.

And that was exactly what was beginning to play out.

This past June, Fenn announced that the treasure had been found by a man from 鈥渂ack east鈥� who wanted to remain anonymous鈥攅ven, once we were in contact, to me. So despite exchanging dozens of emails with the finder, and discussing the details of the chest and what locating it meant to him, I never pressed him about who he was, and he never volunteered.

Last week, he told me the situation had changed. Fenn had been targeted by lawsuits both before and after the chest was found, by hunters claiming that the treasure was rightfully theirs. One of the lawsuits, filed immediately after Fenn announced the hunt was over, also targets the unknown finder as a defendant, claiming that he had stolen the plaintiff鈥檚 solve and used it to find the chest. That litigation had advanced to a procedural stage during which the finder expected his name would likely come out in court. So while he remained guarded about his solve and the location where he discovered the treasure, he now didn鈥檛 mind telling me who he really was.

And that鈥檚 when I learned that a 32-year-old Michigan native and medical student was the person who had finally solved Fenn鈥檚 poem. His name is Jack Stuef.

Stuef first heard about Fenn鈥檚 chase on Twitter in early 2018, and couldn鈥檛 believe it had escaped his notice for eight whole years. He was instantly hooked.

鈥淚鈥檝e probably thought about it for at least a couple hours a day, every day, since I learned about it,鈥� Stuef says. 鈥淓very day.鈥�

The treasure hunt immediately brought him back to his youth, when he was obsessed with a 2002 TV series called , which allowed viewers to try and solve a real-life mystery that carried a million-dollar prize. Stuef also got caught up in a book by magician David Blaine, , which combined autobiography with a treasure hunt and offered a $100,000 prize.

Over time, those teenage dreams of adventure receded, and Stuef went on to attend Georgetown University, where he served as editor in chief of the , a campus humor magazine. He graduated in December 2009 and began a career as a writer, both in humor鈥攈e worked for the Onion鈥攁nd in more traditional media. He became embroiled in a few controversies early in his career, both at Wonkette, which he left after he made what Poynter describes as and while freelancing for Buzzfeed, which after an article Stuef wrote incorrectly painted a popular internet cartoonist as a hard-line Republican. He left the media business soon after.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 think those were giant incidents,鈥� Stuef says. 鈥淚 regret them, but I don鈥檛 think about them very often. It was a long time ago now.鈥�

He soon entered a postbaccalaureate program, and then enrolled in medical school. But he disliked most everything about medicine beyond treating patients, he says, and something else captured his attention: Fenn鈥檚 chase. He was soon reading the hunter blogs to learn the basics, and he bought Fenn鈥檚 memoir, The Thrill of the Chase, before diving into as much primary source material as he could find. His method was to devour every Fenn interview, doing anything he could to hear and absorb his words directly, in an effort to better understand the man鈥檚 personality and motivations.

As the hunt took up more and more of his time, Stuef mostly kept the extent of his pursuit hidden from friends and family. He didn鈥檛 think they would understand.

鈥淚 think I got a little embarrassed by how obsessed I was with it,鈥� Stuef says. 鈥淚f I didn鈥檛 find it, I would look kind of like an idiot. And maybe I didn鈥檛 want to admit to myself what a hold it had on me.鈥�

Two years later, he had achieved what so many other searchers could not, finding and claiming Fenn鈥檚 treasure. (Stuef鈥檚 status as the finder was independently verified with the Fenn family.)听He retrieved the chest on Saturday, June 6, 2020, in Wyoming, and began the long drive down to Santa Fe to deliver it to Fenn that same day. That evening, news of the find was already beginning to come out, as Fenn believed it must. 鈥溾�榃e should let [searchers] know as soon as you have it,鈥欌�� Stuef says Fenn told him.

鈥淗is thought was that, as soon as it鈥檚 out of place, we need to let people know,鈥� Stuef says. 鈥淧eople have died. There could be issues.鈥�

Stuef asked Fenn, though, that he be allowed to remain anonymous, and they both seemed to agree that the location of the find should be kept secret.

But controversy quickly swirled, as many hunters, unsatisfied with the lack of disclosure, decided this meant that 鈥攖hat Fenn had never really hidden the treasure, or that he had unilaterally ended the hunt without a real finder. The backlash took Fenn by surprise, according to those around him. To address it, several weeks after the find, he released photos of the chest and of himself going through it after Stuef delivered it to Santa Fe, which provided enough confirmation for some. In July, Fenn suggested to Stuef that they also reveal the state where the treasure was found, in order to give further closure to some hunters. Stuef agreed.

Beyond that, though, he remained silent, and might have stayed that way for some time.

And then Forrest Fenn died.

On September 23, two weeks after Fenn passed away in his home at age 90, a post surfaced on Medium, a platform that allows users to self-publish essays and other writing, anonymously if they choose. Called 鈥�,鈥� it carried the byline 鈥淭he Finder,鈥� along with a bio that declared: 鈥淭he author is the finder and owner of the Forrest Fenn Treasure.鈥�

In 3,000 well-crafted words, the finder penned an ode to Fenn, who he described as his friend, even though he鈥檇 only known him briefly.

鈥淚 am the person who found Forrest鈥檚 famed treasure,鈥� he wrote. 鈥淭he moment听it happened was not the triumphant Hollywood ending some surely envisioned; it just felt like I had just survived something and was fortunate to come out the other end.鈥�

In his essay, the finder revealed a great deal about the circumstances under which he had discovered the treasure鈥攂ut, crucially, he would not divulge exactly where he had located it, and said he didn鈥檛 plan to. He was also careful not to let any details about his own identity slip, indicating only that he was a millennial and had student loans to pay off. Beyond that, he was an enigma.

He explained that in 2018 he had figured out the location where the longtime Santa Fe art dealer and former fighter pilot wished to die, and then spent a combined 25 days over the next two years searching the general area until he finally located the treasure. He said that, to find the solution, he鈥檇 carefully listened to things Fenn had said in interviews, finding a few crucial crumbs.

鈥淸Fenn] never made more than a couple of subtle slip-ups in front of all the dogged reporters who came to his house, and even those apparently haven鈥檛 been caught by anyone besides me,鈥� the finder wrote.

He included pictures of the chest, some of them taken in the wilderness shortly after the treasure was found, others taken at what was assumed to be a lawyer鈥檚 office, showing Fenn examining the chest.

Still, there were doubters. Many searchers refused to believe that the Medium post was written by the true finder, and suggested it was fraudulent鈥攑erhaps written by Fenn鈥檚 grandson, Shiloh Old, or by his professional writer pal, , or even by Fenn himself before his death, intended to be released posthumously.

But I didn鈥檛 think any of that.听In fact, after finishing the essay, I was pretty certain it was all real. And although the finder wrote that he would eventually answer more questions, the journalist in me didn鈥檛 particularly want to wait, or to leave what he answered up to him alone.

So I reached out.

Medium doesn鈥檛 generally allow readers to directly contact the author of a piece, which is one reason it鈥檚 good for anonymous posting. It does allow users to post public comments, and more than 100 people quickly did that, most of them supportive, some skeptical, a few angry and aggressive. But I wasn鈥檛 going to just post my email address in the comments, where anyone could read it. Doing that left me no guarantee that the person I might end up in contact with would be the finder.

I had one trick up my sleeve, though. There鈥檚 a little-known way to send a direct message to the author of a Medium story: you flag a section of text, indicating that it contains an error or typo. This notifies the author that something needs to be corrected. The system doesn鈥檛 give you a lot of space, just enough to describe the problem. So I flagged a section, barely squeezed in who I was and my email address, and hoped for the best. I had no assurances that the finder would look at the message, or that he would understand exactly why he should get in touch. But it was worth a shot.

Less than a day later, an email popped into my in-box. The finder had replied. He鈥檇 heard of my book project, he said, and he might be willing to talk to me.

And so began months of back-and-forth, sometimes involving several emails a day. It didn鈥檛 really matter that I didn鈥檛 know who the finder was for most of that time. I hung on every detail, every minor revelation he offered up about the treasure that had occupied me for so long.

Last week, after a lull in our ongoing conversation, the finder emailed again, explaining that one of the court cases surrounding the find had taken an unexpected turn, and his name was likely to come out as part of the process. So he told me who he was, and gave me permission to tell the world.

The case that prompted him to step from behind the curtain was brought by a Chicago real estate attorney named Barbara Andersen, who of the treasure had located it by hacking her texts and emails and stealing her solve. She believed the treasure was in New Mexico.

Stuef says he never met nor heard of Andersen before the suit; he denies her charges and says the treasure was nowhere near New Mexico. That has not stopped a New Mexico federal court judge from allowing the suit to proceed. Last week, Stuef learned that, as a result of Fenn鈥檚 death, the subpoena against Fenn would be transferred to his heirs and estate, which is in possession of Stuef鈥檚 information. This should allow Andersen to refile her suit, naming Stuef as a defendant.

Stuef had expected that finding the chest would bring some level of blowback, that his possession of an item desired by so many makes him a target.

鈥淚 thought that whoever found the chest would be absolutely hated, because it ends everyone鈥檚 dream,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 something of a burden. I realize I put an end to something that meant so much to so many people.鈥�

But even if he anticipated challenges to his find, being a subject of a lawsuit has been an unsettling experience.

鈥淚 always thought that, based on people suing Forrest in the past, it was something that could happen,鈥� Stuef says.

This treasure hunt has never been easy on its participants; Fenn and his family experienced a great deal of harassment from searchers who went too far during the years the hunt was active鈥攅verything from stalking to threats to . This is why Stuef hoped to remain anonymous, and why, even now, with his name known, he won鈥檛 disclose where he鈥檚 living.

Many searchers I鈥檝e talked to appreciate his desire for anonymity, and I understand it as well. But one thing many searchers have a harder time grasping is Stuef鈥檚 decision to withhold where he found the treasure, even though the chest has since been removed.

People have died looking for the chest. Others have gone bankrupt. Many more have spent countless hours in search of it, and they want some degree of resolution. On our various excursions out West, my search partner and I both found ourselves a little too obsessed at points, and it took its toll. There are real human costs to this search, and knowing the final location could offer the desired sense of closure so many are now seeking.

Stuef says he鈥檚 sympathetic to those feelings.

鈥淭his is the most difficult question to answer, because I know there鈥檚 so many people who just want to know. They worked on this for a long time. And they just want to be handed the answer. I totally understand that. But doing that, I think, is a death sentence to this special place.鈥�

Stuef fears that Fenn鈥檚 spot, if revealed, will become a pilgrimage site for Fenn devotees.

鈥淚t鈥檚 not an appropriate place to become a tourist destination. It has huge meaning to Forrest, and I don鈥檛 want to see it destroyed,鈥� Stuef says. 鈥淎nd as much as I tried not to develop an attachment to the place, eventually I did, as well. I had whole days out there looking, and I would take a nap in the afternoon every day, as I said on Medium, under the pine trees. It was very peaceful for me.鈥�

Stuef is trying to find a balance between the various entities, because he feels responsible to all of them. To the search community and its desire to know the whole truth; to himself and his sense of what is right; to nature and this peaceful spot, which he does not want to see ruined; and to Fenn. Ultimately, Stuef believes he鈥檚 being consistent with what Fenn wanted when he was alive, and honoring his legacy.

鈥淗e didn鈥檛 want to see it turned into a tourist attraction,鈥� Stuef says of the treasure site. 鈥淲e thought it was not appropriate for that to happen. He was willing to go to great lengths, very great lengths, to avoid ever having to tell the location.鈥�

Because of his stand, talking to Stuef can be maddening at times. For my book, I鈥檝e interviewed him about his solve, discussed the process he used to come up with it, and chronicled the various searches he went on as he sought the exact spot, learning fascinating tidbits in the process. For example, he鈥檚 told me that one reason it took him two years to retrieve the treasure, even after figuring out the general area in 2018, was that the 鈥渂laze鈥濃�擣enn鈥檚 all-important final clue, found out in the wilderness,听intended to let a searcher know they鈥檙e in the exact right spot鈥攈ad been damaged. He doesn鈥檛 mind being open with all of that. And yet there are still things he holds back or talks around, in order to make sure, even now, that no one can figure out the precise location.

Still, listening to Stuef talk about it, he makes it seem so attainable, so simple: that the key was really just understanding Forrest Fenn. Stuef hunted solo, never discussed his search with others, stayed away from the blogs after his initial looks at them, and tried hard not to get caught up in any groupthink. He did his utmost just to focus on Fenn鈥檚 words and primary sources, and understand those as best he could.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to ruin this treasure hunt by saying it was made for an English major, but it鈥檚 based on a close read of a text,鈥� Stuef says. 鈥淚 mean, that鈥檚 what it is. It鈥檚 having the correct interpretation of a poem. I understood him by reading his words, and listening to him talk over and over and over and over again. And seeking out anything I could get my hands on that told me who he was.鈥�

When asked if figuring out the puzzles required the use of anagrams, or GPS coordinates, or sophisticated codes of any sort, Stuef was clear in his response.

鈥淣o,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut I don鈥檛 want to say that people are stupid for thinking those things were valid, or that they were being irrational. I think Forrest designed this to be fun, and whatever people got out of it, that gave them fun, I think, to me, is rational. And they were doing it right, in that way.鈥�

The solution, Stuef says, is tied far more to understanding Fenn鈥檚 emotions, and to a close examination of the poem itself, than to puzzle-solving skills. Fenn simply didn鈥檛 care about those kinds of things. He was more interested in adventure, legacy, history, narrative.

鈥淭here was no reason to think that those things would be something he was interested in, or had any experience in,鈥� Stuef says. 鈥淚 mean, he was coming to this not from the perspective of being a huge fan of puzzles or a puzzle master. He was not a fan of armchair treasure hunts. His point of reference was pirates! His purpose was not to create a great puzzle and show everyone how smart and slick he was. His purpose was this weird idea to entomb himself. And to create a historic legend. None of that supports armchair solutions. And he was open about that.鈥�

So far, ownership of the chest has not made Stuef a rich man. He has not sold it yet, has not even had it appraised, but the expected windfall has allowed him to quit worrying about repaying his student loans for medical school. With that in mind, he has decided to leave the profession before becoming a practicing doctor, and may move into equities investing next.

鈥淚 was kind of in this sunk-cost-fallacy dead end with that, where I didn鈥檛 want to quit, because I didn鈥檛 know what else to do,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 know how to pay off my loans if I didn鈥檛 become a doctor. [The chest] was kind of my lifeline.鈥�

Once the time is right, he still plans to sell the chest. When he does, he will try to honor a 鈥渇inal wish鈥� of Fenn鈥檚: to have the chest end up in a specific place where searchers can view it, though he declined to say exactly where.

鈥淏efore he died, he was going to try to help me with getting a certain party to buy it,鈥� Stuef says. 鈥淎nd I think his hope was that it would be able to be displayed. 鈥� And so that鈥檚 my first step. After that, I think I would probably try and sell to the public.鈥�

If it gets that far, he鈥檚 unsure whether it would be best to sell it as a complete package, or to break it up, allowing individual searchers to own a piece of Fenn鈥檚 treasure.

鈥淚鈥檇 guess we kind of try and test the market in some way to see what it would sell for all together, because there鈥檚 a good chance it鈥檚 worth more all together, as the Fenn treasure,鈥� Stuef says. 鈥淏ut, you know, it鈥檚 possible. There are a lot of searchers out there who would want maybe one item in there, they couldn鈥檛 afford the whole thing, but it would mean a lot to them to have one item. So it is still possible to break out.鈥�

With the chest located, one part of the treasure hunt is finished now鈥攖he chase, the part that obsessed all of us and pushed us to places we maybe shouldn鈥檛 have been. But the story has not ended. So many people have a stake in this hunt, it means so much to so many, that the tale didn鈥檛, and doesn鈥檛, end with a man finding a treasure chest.

That, in so many ways, is just opening up the box.

The post The Man Who Found Forrest Fenn’s Treasure appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.