The Tale of The Treasure Hunt Longshot!

13 Notes

The Tale of The Treasure Hunt

I knew something good was happening when I took a picture of a random person wandering through the woods near Sutro Tower and she wandered up to me and said, “I’m German. I do not know what is going on. I am here with some Americans and all I know is we are searching but I do not know for what.”

A brief summation of life in the early 21^st century or just a lost German tourist on the Longshot Magazine Treasure Hunt ™? Maybe both. Maybe both.

Well, you’re looking for $750 in cash, I explained. Some friends here in San Francisco had gotten deep in their cups one night and decided to make a magazine in 48 hours, and as part of the deal, we promised to execute a crazy stunt with one quarter of the money. (“That’s 25 percent,” I added, for clarity). This treasure hunt is the stunt that our contributors deemed best by democratic vote. “The money is hidden somewhere nearby,” I said, as little clumps of people stalked the forest around us like peculiarly hairless and technologically savvy bigfoot families. They would stop, as if sniffing the air, look down at iPhones, and peer suspiciously at every dark crack and crevice.

The German was savvy. As soon as she knew the rules of the game, she began to pester me for clues. “But I am German! Tell me where it is,” she said. Nope. “But I am in media studies! I start my master’s in Berlin next year.” Sorry. She wandered off disappointed.

I made my way down a slippery embankment to the road, near the stump where I’d hidden the wad of bills inside a small tin. The money was nearly buried under the wood, so I hadn’t seen it wandering around earlier. I thought I’d swing by it, just to make sure it was still there.

I’d already been outed as an organizer and I didn’t want to give any unintentional hints, so I casually sauntered down La Avanzada Street, as if I didn’t have a clue in the world where they money might be. I paused near the stump and tried to make out the tin. Wait. Where was the tin? I only had half a second before I had to keep walking (I could feel the eyes of the treasure hunters upon me) but I was almost sure of something terrible: the money was gone. All around me, good-hearted hunters were pulling up on motorcycles and in cars and trucks, hustling around, sweating through their shirts, blood dripping down their shins from the blackberries, poison oak creeping up their bodies, mud ruining their shoes, small crashes and big cracks resounding as people fell or slipped or lost their cool. And with all that, wouldn’t you know it? The money was gone.

I broke out in a cold sweat and checked my phone. Maybe someone had found it but was waiting to call me (my number was on the tin). Maybe they wanted to be safely away from the crowd. Or. Or…

Maybe some maintenance guy had seen me plant it and had run over and snatched the funds. Maybe someone had happened upon it outside the comfy confines of the game and the money was just… gone. I reached the end of the road, where someone had abandoned a desk that had since been rifled through. I needed to take another look to confirm the terrible news. My heart was heavy with the thought of gathering all these people together to explain that the money was gone and all their effort had been for nothing. Back up the potholey road I went, dreading the moment when the tree stump’s empty hole would signal the ignoble end to our whole stunt. This would not bode well for our next issue down in Los Angeles at GOOD Magazine this coming weekend. Not well AT ALL.

And then, with one quick glance, I saw the golden rim of the tin hiding in the cool damp of the soil under the tree stump just off the road. THE MONEY WAS STILL THERE. The game was still afoot!

Light as a feather, I skipped onto Palo Alto and sat on the curb, enjoying the clumps of people skittering across the terrain. When the clue, “Tank Array” went out, the area right near the stump started crawling with people. Minutes went by. Still no one had found it. A young woman with mud-ruined Tom’s accosted me and said, “I was the first one here! Doesn’t that count for anything? I made it all the way across town and I don’t even have a car.” Yes, yes, it did count for something. Liza (her name, as it turned out) had heart and that goes a long way. (Don’t worry, we gave her a ride home.)

With dozens of people and only one prize, I was getting worried that there would be a small riot when the money was found, particularly if the game stretched on for too much longer. We had developed a final clue that would finish it off, we figured. A simple one worder: “Stumped?” My internal gamemaster clock told me that we should end it. I sent Mat Honan the go ahead, “Stumped. It’s time,” I wrote.

And just as I hit send, my phone rang. I looked up, and two women in matching black tanktops who I’d seen prowling around for the last hour, one with a gloriously red Mohawk were looking at me from 10 feet away as I said hello. Too late, I saw people sprinting for the stump.

High fives all around.

We went back to the scene where Ash Wilkie and her partner had found the cash. They explained how they’d solved the puzzle, as you’ll see in the video. Slowly, people who’d been on the hunt gathered around, post-game buzzed like a soccer team. We should have had a happy hour set up, I realized, so that people could relive the moment they’d realized that “stinky invaders” didn’t mean hippies in the Haight but eucalyptus on Sutro. Everyone agreed that our mailbox clue was dastardly and sent them in the wrong direction, and many people snapped iPhone photos of Ash with the bills.

It was slapdash. It was madcap. It was a crazy moment on a warm day near the top of the city, gorgeous views spilling out in front of us like red carpets stretching out to the premiere of The Entire World is Your Goddamn Oyster. It was terrifically exciting to watch and (from what I heard) very fun to play.

For your overworked and stressed-out Longshot Magazine coordinators, it was exactly the reminder we needed that we started this thing to make fun, and that’s what we’re going to do this weekend in Los Angeles.

So, mark your calendars, start your engines, and prepare for us to announce the theme of the next issue on Friday. Prepare to write, photograph, draw, and make for the next 24 hours. We’ll be waiting to see what you come up with. Especially you, German girl, who may just have taglined the new Longshot: