Leapin' Lovers LbNA #5715
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Add Location| Owner: | MountainScorpia  |
|---|---|
| Plant date: | Sep 19, 2003 |
| Location: | |
| City: | Hot Springs |
| County: | Madison |
| State: | North Carolina |
| Boxes: | 1 |
| Found by: | Martini Man |
|---|---|
| Last found: | Oct 29, 2008 |
| Status: | FF |
| Last edited: | Sep 19, 2003 |
(Please do not put this box into a plastic bag. Thank you.)
Placed on International Talk Like A Pirate Day- September 19, 2003.
Re-carved, re-placed and re-clued April 20, 2008.
Ahoy, maties! Thar's a treasure be waitin' for ye high over the French Broad's waters. But only a scurvy bilge rat or a landlubber would try this after a squall, or with more wee lads an' lasses than he can grab at one time, or without outfittin' in some land-grabbin' pirate boots. This ain't for no flatlander tursts, neither, but the views from the crow's nest is worth all the dubloons in yer pockets an' then some. Ye oughter sling some grog up in yer gunny sack - thar be no espresso bars up thar!
If ye be lookin' for the mine o' silver, yer on the right trail. Ye can find yer booty hoistin' yerself up the switchin' rocky face along the Broad, but it ain't fun in the sun.
Any bung hole can figger out when he's reached the top o' the mizzen mast, because the cap'n ordered shingles lashed to the masts directin' the crowds. Avast! Ye must spy the rocky prow that points to the white castle on the shores below.
From yer spyin' position with the shingles behind ye, gander right behind the foliage and see ye thar a rock what's 'ad bloody milk spilt upon it, with a noose of cones about a stick-ish neck. Ye may "lichen" the scene!
Blackbeard's curse on the filthy lubber what don't kivver up the chest like 'e found 'er, or lets be known its whereabouts. Arrrrrr!
Placed on International Talk Like A Pirate Day- September 19, 2003.
Re-carved, re-placed and re-clued April 20, 2008.
Ahoy, maties! Thar's a treasure be waitin' for ye high over the French Broad's waters. But only a scurvy bilge rat or a landlubber would try this after a squall, or with more wee lads an' lasses than he can grab at one time, or without outfittin' in some land-grabbin' pirate boots. This ain't for no flatlander tursts, neither, but the views from the crow's nest is worth all the dubloons in yer pockets an' then some. Ye oughter sling some grog up in yer gunny sack - thar be no espresso bars up thar!
If ye be lookin' for the mine o' silver, yer on the right trail. Ye can find yer booty hoistin' yerself up the switchin' rocky face along the Broad, but it ain't fun in the sun.
Any bung hole can figger out when he's reached the top o' the mizzen mast, because the cap'n ordered shingles lashed to the masts directin' the crowds. Avast! Ye must spy the rocky prow that points to the white castle on the shores below.
From yer spyin' position with the shingles behind ye, gander right behind the foliage and see ye thar a rock what's 'ad bloody milk spilt upon it, with a noose of cones about a stick-ish neck. Ye may "lichen" the scene!
Blackbeard's curse on the filthy lubber what don't kivver up the chest like 'e found 'er, or lets be known its whereabouts. Arrrrrr!