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Bridge Series LbNA #62974

Owner:jerr_n_ro Contact
Plant date:Aug 26, 2012
City:Little River, Ca
Location: Van Damme State Park
Found by: Not yet found!
Last found: N/A
Hike distance:Unknown
Last edited:Aug 26, 2012
These are our series of "under the bridge" boxes in Van Damme State Park. The hike is worth the fee you pay at the gate. Enter at the Main gate off Highway 1. Go all the way past the campgrounds to the beginning of Fern Canyon Trail. It is a beautiful hike thru a lush fern-covered canyon next to a stream. We recommend bug spray due to water and lots of bugs! We will be adding boxes to this series as time marches on. Happy Hunting!

Box #1


Plant your feet and make like a tree
as you leave make sure you go east.
Keeping true, up Fern Canyon Trail
pass giants that fell, to chase our tale.
Keep the drink to your right and continue your travel
your get away sticks, keep your kicks on the gravel.
Now watch your step, hey, try not to slip
don't stumble or tumble, or topple or trip.
Further past ferns, yonder thru lumber
to look for a bridge who's name is a number.
'Neath bridge number 2, not A, B, or 1
a snail with no shell, keeps out of the sun.
He slow motion slithers, down on the left
on top of the bricks, away from the wet.
Not under foot, never down for the punch
here you can find our fist fighting slug.

Box #2

Syd the Seahorse - replaced stamp 8/24/14

Now back in the saddle, under tree tops tall
as quiet as shadows when they fall.
We trot along, our soles take the ground
with these words kept in our crowns.
If our every wish was a horse
we could ride our way thru this course.
To search for the one from b'neath the sea
at his hitching-post to the right, under bridge number 3.
Can call him Syd, his mother did
he's worn that name wince he was a kid.
Or just a foal, I must say
You might see, a horse, that used to ride waves.
Where the undertow, has left not a troll
but a seahorse Syd to take the toll.

Box #3 - added 8/24/14

She sells sea shells

If you have the time
for another tale
throw yourself
back on the trail
There is a red-head
her name is Rochelle
she wanted to walk,
kicked a rock, and fell
We stopped to rest
she checked herself
We sat and watched
as her ankle swelled
But she has no time
to sit and dwell
for those that do
have no tales to tell
Too far from the shore
to sell her shells
But, under bridge number four
will work just as well.