Pushkin.

This is the second of two episodes about Forest Fens Treasure.

Last episode, an eccentric art dealer hid a box containing at least a million dollars worth of treasure somewhere in the mountains north of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Then he published a series of cryptic clues that sparked a global quest for the riches.

If you haven't heard part one yet, go back and listen to that first.

Someone is closing in on Forest Fens Treasure.

It's summer.

Golden sun slants through the branches of towering pines, catching on ancient bark.

The searcher has been circling and scouring this part of the forest for weeks.

Now this is the place to get here.

They've methodically solved a series of clues in a poem, and they've crossed canyons and pastures where bison and elk roam behind them.

Glints the broad silver sweep of the river ahead.

The trees press in almost as if they're guarding something.

The searcher first learned about this quest a few years ago.

Since then, they've thought about it each and every day and thralled.

They've consumed everything they can about the life of Forest Fen, the enigmatic art dealer who hid the prize, looking for details that might help them solve the puzzle.

At times, they've resented Fenn, fearing that the elusive treasure chest would haunt them forever.

They're looking forward to getting their hands on nuggets of gold and precious gems, not because they want to keep the riches, but because they have debts to pay.

Forest Fen's fortune will help the searcher make a fresh start.

They're far from the beaten track now, and the forest is quiet and still.

They're nearly there.

They can feel it.

I'm Tim Harford, and you're listening.

Cautionary Tales twenty seventeen.

Deep in Wooded Hyde State Park, New Mexico, a festival was in full swing.

At first glance, it might have resembled any other summer gathering.

Decorated pavilions, picnic tables laden with burgers, beers, and boxed wine, and a campsite where revelers chatted as they pitched their tents.

On closer inspection, between the burgers and beers and weathered matt swighted down with coffee mugs, you might have spotted dog eared copies of a memoir the thrill of the chase.

Everyone at the gathering was interested in the same thing, a bronze lock box about ten by ten by five inches, stuffed with gold gems and rare artifacts hidden somewhere in the rocky mountains.

For this was Fenburye, the annual celebration of Forest Fens famous treasure hunt.

In twenty ten, Fenn had published a six stanza poem containing nine clues to the location of the treasure, a siren call that set thousands of boots on the trail.

As I have gone alone and there, and with my my treasure's bold I can keep my secret wear and hint of riches new and old.

Begin it where warm waters halt, and take it in the canyon down, not far but too far to walk.

Put in below the home of Brown.

From there it's no place for the meek.

The end is drawing ever nigh.

There'll be no paddle up your creek, just heavy loads and water high.

At Fenbury, searchers tentatively debated their theories about where the treasure was stashed.

They were reluctant to reveal too much, but were also keen to flaunt the complexity of their solutions or solves, as every searcher called them.

Some were convinced that the fortune was close by in Fen's home state of New Mexico.

Others believed that it was in Wyoming or Montana, but it was generally agreed that the chest was somewhere in the Rocky Mountains.

In one of the pavilions was a Captain America action figure painted gold with a large F embossed on his chest.

There were offerings at his feet, maps, and other keepsakes.

This was the Golden Fen, a shrined the mastermind who united the searchers, and a mark of the devotion he inspired in them.

Near the Golden Fen was another tribute.

This one was to former salesman Randy bill Yu, who disappeared after wandering into the bush in the bitter midwinter with only his dog Leo for company.

He had been hoping to retrieve Eve the hidden Fortune by rafting down the Rio Grande, but had been unprepared for rugged terrain and dangerous weather.

A few months later, his body was found.

Curiously, bill Yu's death did nothing to quell enthusiasm for the treasure.

If anything, media coverage of his tragic demise brought in even more treasure tourists, which in turn up the ante for those already on the trail.

One guy dies, and now there's fifty thousand more people that year going out into the mountains, not knowing what the hell they're doing, and risking their lives, lamented Cynthia Meecham, a former engineer in her sixties.

Cynthia was revered by her fellow searchers and widely regarded as one of the best.

She lived in New Mexico and had developed a friendship with Fen.

I tried to pay attention to every word, he says, She remarked, just in case.

Cynthia was sharp and logical, but the mystery also appealed to her for its romance.

She relished the chance to go out and beat Indiana Jones.

Lots of the searchers were emotionally invested in the hunt, and at times the treasure felt like a burden.

A trainee doctor called Jack Stouffe described days when exhausted, covered in scratches and bites and sweat, nearing the end of my day's water supply, I sat down and just cried alone in the woods in sheer frustration for the hearsts.

A father and two sons, self declared rednecks from Wyoming.

The Fenn Treasure was a chance at a better life.

Forrest did this for a purpose, said father Chris Hurst.

He wanted to bless people like us.

Sudden.

Christopher Hurst hoped to buy himself a house.

He also wanted to look after his mother and his little sister, Angelina, who had down syndrome.

The Hearsts couldn't afford a copy of the Thrill of the Chase.

These were rare, and some of them sold for hundreds of dollars, so Christopher photocopied the whole of Fenn's memoir at the local library.

During his shifts at Burger King, he listened to every Forest Fen interview he could find.

Forrest lived in my head, rent free for twenty four hours of the day.

He mused.

For thirty one one year old Eric Ashby, the treasure was a light in the dark.

Eric had been raised by a single father, Paul, in rural Tennessee.

Father and son enjoyed hiking and rafting together, and Eric also loved fantasy books and puzzles.

He was bright, had a ready laugh, and made friends easily.

He never had much money, but material possessions weren't very important to him.

In twenty fourteen, Eric had to run of bad luck.

He was injured in a motorcycle accident and prescribed oxycodone for his immensely painful injuries.

Eventually he recovered, but according to Paul, Eric couldn't get away from the pills.

He developed an addiction.

Then Eric tried to punch a police officer.

He was sentenced to seven years probation.

Eric's luck seemed to change after he found out about Fenn's treasure.

He enjoyed turning the puzzle over in his mind and working through the clues.

The mystery was intoxicating, and it seemed to give him a sense of purpose.

He longed to be closer to the search area so that he could go on regular expeditions in the mountains.

Moving would mean violating the terms of his probation, but he reasoned that if he stayed in Tennessee, he'd end up in jail anyway.

In twenty sixteen, Eric took the leap.

He packed up his belongings and headed west.

Cautionary tales will return.

Eric settled into life in Colorado, Spring, a city at the foot of the Rockies.

He started dating, managed to quit the oxy codone and found a job at a restaurant, where he also made a group of friends.

He stayed up late after his shifts, marking up maps as he methodically assembled his solves for the poem.

Eric's father, Paul knew little about the Fen treasure, but he was pleased his son was once again spending time outdoors, hiking and rafting in the mountains.

In twenty seventeen, Eric made a breakthrough.

He zeroed in on a stretch of the Arkansas River where warm waters halt and everything fell into place.

A physician, doctor Brown, had once lived nearby.

This had to be the home of Brown.

Fenn's poem mentioned something called a blaze that mark the location of the treasure, and Eric's soul had once been scorched by fire.

Eric made a few trips to the Arkansas River, but poor weather and high waters blocked his progress.

By some of those conditions had improved, and Eric prepared for what he hoped would be his final expedition.

His girlfriend was worried would he be safe, But unlike the fallen searcher Randy bill U, Eric wouldn't be alone.

His friends from the restaurant were going with him.

On June the twenty eighth, Eric Ashby posted on his Facebook page, I hope today turns out to be the success I've hoped for.

Then he headed out into the wilderness.

As Eric Ashby was sidestepping the terms of his probation, treasure hunters up and down the rockets were risking it all for fortune and glory.

Some of them were plowing their life savings into the quest.

Searchers who'd never been camping before were now repelling into the Grand Canyon, sometimes without enough rope to reach the ground.

Fen reminded the treasure hunters that the loot was hidden somewhere an eighty year old man could reach on his own, and he encouraged them to keep things simple.

But bizarre and shocking reports continued to roll in.

One searcher was caught digging up a grave in Yellowstone National Park.

He received a prison sentence for excavating and damaging archaeological resources at a historic national landmark and had to pay over thirty thousand dollars in restitution.

My obsession with the treasure clouded my judgment, he apologized.

There were other more sinister incidents too.

A man called Francisco Chavez turned up at Fen's gate, bearing cookies and asking to be let in.

It became clear that he was convinced the treasure was Fenn's granddaughter, a young woman in her twenties, and he meant to claim his prize.

When Fen repeatedly sent the man away, Chavez mailed him a package.

Inside was a picture of a large knife.

He sent threats to Fenn's granddaughter too.

Eventually, the police arrested the stalker, but the young woman was so scared that she moved out of state.

Fen too was shaken.

I anticipated crazy people, but not vicious crazy, he told journalist Daniel Barbarisi.

Barbarisi found himself reflecting that there were thousands of people looking for the treasure, but it could only be found once.

Would the failed searchers consider the hunt over at that point or would they merely alter their target.

Francisco Chavez and the Yellowstone Gravedigger weren't alone in reaching elaborate solves.

One searcher was convinced that they could see the letter F engraved in satellite images of the Rockies, confirmation that their solution to the poem was the correct one.

There was even speculation on Reddit that decorated war hero Fen was part of the CIA, and the whole hunt was a covert psychological experiment forst Fenn had reminded his followers that simplicity was key, So why did they continue to reach such outlandish conclusions?

For one thing, the poem was vague, where warm waters, halt, and the canyon were the most general of descriptors, and the rockies were full of snakes, bears, wild rivers, and steep crevices, so no place for the meek could be almost anywhere to filter through the immense set of possibilities, searchers instinctively used mental shortcuts, but those shortcuts weren't necessarily helpful.

Medical student Jack Stouffe published a YouTube essay about the cognitive biases observed among his fellows.

We have a tendency to find patterns in things even where there are no real connections.

We're very bad at appreciating coincidence and the likelihood of coincidence.

Stuff was talking about confirmation bias, a tendency to focus on information that seems to confirm our existing beliefs and to disregard anything that contradicts them.

Once you've fixed on a place where warm waters Halt, For example, confirmation bias might lead you to value any local connection with Brown, even though the name is a common one.

Something called the mere exposure effect also played a role in how searchers approach the clues.

This is our tendency to prefer what we're already familiar with.

When Chris Hurst Senior first heard Fenn's poem, he was convinced it pointed to a place he already knew, the ghost town of Kerwin, an abandoned mining settlement close to the Hurst family home in Wyoming.

Son Christopher used synonyms to decode the poem, translating where warm Water's halt into Lower Sunshine Reservoir, a nearby body of water.

Searchers tended to overcook the poem in a bias towards complexity Seattle.

Sullivan was convinced that the key to the treasure lay in a series of anagrams and a reference to the Last Supper, but Fenn had revealed that the poem should serve as a set of directions that the souls was connected to his biography.

He had never mentioned any interest in biblical illusion or word games.

Fenn's poem was the mysterious generative core at the heart of the hunt and an engine of chaos.

It lent itself to unfettered interpretation, and cognitive bias rushed in to harness the possibilities.

In July twenty seventeen, ten days after Eric Ashby set out to retrieve the treasure, his father received a call from an unknown number.

Mister Ashby, it was a young woman.

Yes, your son is dead.

He fell out a raft and drowned, she said, then she hung up.

At first, Paul wondered if this was a horrible prank, but as time passed he grew uneasy.

He hadn't heard from Eric for some time.

His phone went straight to voicemail, and he didn't know his son's new friends from the restaurant.

Paul rang the local sheriff's office in Colorado.

Someone had called in about a drowning, but no one had filed a missing person's report.

That was odd.

Why hadn't the friends told the authorities that Eric had vanished, and why had they waited ten days to reach out to his family.

Eric's half sister, Lisa, began to investigate.

She drove from her home in Florida to Colorado's Springs and retraced Eric's steps, she found her brother's car.

It was parked outside one friend's apartment.

Inside the car was his backpack, and in it were some moldy sandwiches, a couple of cell phones, a notebook, and a contract.

Lisa scanned the crumpled handwritten document.

If the group found the treasure, Eric Ashby was to receive fifty one percent and the others would be entitled to the remainder.

The contract declared Eric Ashby will be the executor documented of the selling and distribution of assets regarding said quest.

Lisa raced to join the dots.

Had the group killed her brother for his share of the riches.

She reported her discovery to a Colorado Springs detective.

A month later, the river returned Eric Ashby's body.

The Colorado detective was eventually able to reconstruct what had happened to him.

On the twenty eighth, Eric had led the group to an angry, whirling stretch of the Arkansas River known as Sunshine Falls.

He was convinced that the fen fortune lay just across the rapids, and he needed his friend's help to cross.

Eric had tied a rope around his body and handed the other end to his friends, asking them to hold onto it while he traversed the river.

He wasn't wearing a helmet or a life vest, but he assured the group that he knew what he was doing.

After all, his father had taken him rafting as a boy.

As Eric careened across the rapids, his raft began bucking at a pitcher.

He was tossed into the churn, and as his terrified friends watched on the rope that slid from his waist, Eric disappeared, then rose to the surface again, faced down.

He was swept away on the current.

A couple of people had witnessed the incident and called nine one one, but Eric's group disappeared before the police arrived.

They told the detective that they didn't report Eric missing because they didn't want to get him into trouble with the law.

Perhaps so, although it's hard to imagine what trouble they thought a drowned man might get into, cautionary tales will be back.

Over the years.

At least another three men perished in search of Forest Fenn's treasure.

Paris Wallace, a pastor drowned and the Rio Grande, fifty three year old Jeff Murphy plummeted down steep slope in Yellowstone National Park, and Michael Sexson, also fifty three, froze to death in the Mountains of Colorado.

After Wallace's death, a police chief implored Fenn to call off the hunt.

Journalists probed him on his responsibility for these deaths too, but Fenn's answer was always the same.

Nine people die at the Grand Canyon every year, but they're not talking about shutting down the Grand Canyon.

In twenty eighteen, a man called Robert Miller broke into Forest Fenn's property.

It had flown to New Mexico from Pennsylvania, and was apprehended trying to polloin a wooden chest filled with linens.

Fenn's family held Miller at gunpoint until the authorities arrived.

Body worn camera footage didn't show an aggressive intruder, but instead a man who looked baffled and sad.

Miller thought the poem directed him to Fenn's home.

He said he only had one hundred and thirty dollars in his bank account and he needed the treasure to provide for his family.

In twenty nineteen, a searcher called David Hanson sued eighty nine year old Fen for one point five million dollars, accusing him of making fraudulent statements about the treasure.

Fen filed a counter claim Hanson was trying to extort him and gain information about the chest.

Hanson's lawsuit eventually evaporated, but it underlined a growing disillusionment with the hunt and with its creator.

Women started coming forward alleging that Fenn had behaved inappropriately with them, requesting nude photographs.

Fenn denied everything.

These searchers were angry because he wouldn't reveal the location of the treasure, he said.

The stalker, Francisco Chaves, also returned.

He was arrested, but Fenn was understandably disturbed.

Journalist Daniel Barbarisi asked Fenn had it all been worth it?

He replied, knowing everything I know now, I wouldn't do it again.

In June twenty twenty, a decade into the hunt Forrest, Fenn posted on his website it was under the canopy of stars and had not moved from the spot where I hid it more than ten years ago.

He wrote, someone had found the treasure.

I congratulate the thousands of people who participated in the search and hope they will continue to be drawn by the promise of other discoveries.

Just like that, the hunt had come to an end.

Forrest kept the finder's identity a secret at their request, and while he revealed that the chest had been hidden in Wyoming, he refused to disclose its precise location.

The searchers were shocked and grief stricken.

It was all over?

Or was it?

Suspicion set in.

Fen didn't offer any proof why.

Maybe he was lying.

Maybe ninety years old and approaching death, he had taken the treasure back.

Some wondered if it ever really hidden the tree measure in the first place.

Perhaps it had all been a ruse for attention.

I don't think he realized the stink it would cause, said Cynthia Meetcham.

Fenn had spent his life persuading people to believe, to follow, to trust and trust.

They did because they liked the story he told.

But ultimately that trust proved fragile, and when the story ended in disappointment, it shattered.

In the midst of all this outcry forst Fenn collapsed.

It was September seventh, twenty twenty.

He was rushed to hospital, but he never regained consciousness.

The Treasure Hunt Mastermind had secured his legacy, but he had left behind gaps and silences.

The searchers felt they'd been robbed of closure, even as they mourned him.

As in life, so in death, Forest Fenn remained elusive.

In the days that followed Fenn's death, an anonymous eulogy appeared on the website medium.

It claimed to be written by the successful treasure Hunter.

They revealed little about who they were, disclosing only that they were a millennial with student loans to pay off.

They wrote instead of Fen's immense generosity and of his ambiguous relationship with the ending of the Treasure Hunt, I could tell there was some eagerness in finally sharing this secret with someone, but there was also melancholy.

The Finder described too, how their self belief had been shattered in the years before they began their search, and the role this had played in their approach to the treasure Hunt.

Without any self confidence in my abilities, I had to stick to the evidence and not stray into speculation and its close cousin confirmation bias.

The comments poured in.

Some searchers were thrilled for the finder, offering their heartfelt congratulations.

Others were wary, even outraged.

Sorry, but you didn't find anything, said one commenter.

I found every hint and clue there was.

I'm calling you out.

As time passed and there were no more answers, the outrage swelled.

An attorney called Barbara Anderson filed a lawsuit against the Finder, alleging that they'd hacked into her phone and stolen her solve.

Realizing that Anderson's lawsuit would make their name a matter of public record, the Finder decided to come forward on their own terms.

In December twenty twenty, another article appeared on Medium.

My name, wrote the finder is Jack Stouff.

I now own the treasure Chest.

Thirty two year old Jack Stouffe was a medical student.

He was the searcher who'd posted a YouTube essay on cognitive bias in the hunt tendency to For six months, he had remained anonymous, not because he had anything to hide, he said, but to protect his family's safety as well as his own.

Jack had carefully studied friend's biography, and in twenty eighteen he'd homed in on a broad area of significance to the art dealer.

He believed that this was where Fenn had wished to die when he had planned to take his own life all those years ago.

After that, it took Jack some time to narrow his search further.

In the summer of twenty twenty, his search came to an end.

There it was the legendary lock box, coated in dirt and pine needles.

After so many years in the wilderness, Jack was stunned, but he managed to wrap the treasure in a blue Ikea bag, place it inside his backpack, and carry it from the woods back in his car.

He began to sob and then laugh.

The hunt had been the most straiting experience of his life.

At times he thought it would torment him forever.

Jack set off on the long drive to New Mexico, where he planned to visit Fenn.

On the way, he spent the night in a hotel where he unwrapped the treasure and cleaned it.

When he had finished, the hotel towels were brown with dirt, and he made a mental note to leave the staff a decent tip.

Surveying his gold coins, precious gems, and ancient artifacts, Jack was awe struck by his tiny place in the sweep of human history, and he felt he understood a little more about what made Forest Fenn tick Jack Stuff has remained silent on the location of the treasure.

It's a special place, he says, and he doesn't want it to be trampled by treasure tourists.

But another searcher, Justin Posey, believes he's matched location to the photo that Jack published.

It's in the woods close to Madison River in Wyoming, where warm water's halt.

Forest Fenn spent blissful summers here as a boy, fishing for brown trout in fast flowing streams.

The home of brown Two young men went in search of fens famed treasure chest.

The quest helped them find purpose.

But while Jack Stouff became a treasure hunting legend, Eric Ashby drowned alone in the Arkansas River, abandoned by his friends.

The treasure hunt was intended to help people.

The puzzle would serve as a morale booster, Fenn reasoned, but the hunt was in its way also cruel, and it became a source of obsession.

Paul Ashby initially blamed Fenn for his son Eric's death, but eventually he made his peace with the old man, and he campaigned to make sure that by law, no one in Colorado or Tennessee could walk away when a life was in danger.

Barbara Anderson and David Hanson, who both took legal action against Fenn, were unsuccessful in their lawsuits.

They seemingly grew so attached to the fortune that they believed it was rightfully theirs, even though they hadn't laid their hands on it.

Some searchers wondered if Jack Stuff was even real, and when Fenn's family confirmed his identity, they surmised that they were in on the hoax.

Others still were simply disappointed, but when their grief abated, they were also grateful.

Forest Fenn gave me the best eight years of my life, said Cynthia Meecham.

Father and sons.

The Hearsts were devastated when they failed to find the treasure, but they later reflected that the quest had brought them together.

The treasure is where you find it, said Christopher.

I've got my family right here next to me.

We're all alive.

My treasure is my family.

In twenty twenty two, Jack Stuff sold the Fen Treasure at auction for roughly one point three million dollars.

I no longer own any part of the treasure and have no financial interest in its future on the collectible's market, he declared.

Two years later, an adventure lover called John Collins Black announced his own treasure hunt.

He's hidden five boxes across the United States.

They contain gold and other precious metals, shipwreck bounty, rare, Pokemon cards, bitcoin, and some of Forrest Fens original treasure.

The hunt is once more afoot.

Treasure it seems, never stays put for long.

Daniel Barbarisi is the author of Chasing the Thrill, Obsession, Death and Glory in America's Most Extraordinary Treasure Hunt, published in twenty twenty one.

This episode also relied on David Kushner's twenty eighteen article for Wired, A Deadly Hunt for Hidden Treasure Spawns and Online Mystery.

For a full list of sources, see the show notes at Timharford dot com.

Cautionary Tales is written by me Tim Harford with Andrew Wright, Alice Fines, and Ryan Dilly.

It's produced by Georgia Mills and Marilyn Rust.

The sound design and original music are the work of Pascal Wise.

Additional sound design is by Dan Jackson Bender.

DAPFH.

Haffrey edited the scripts.

The show also wouldn't have been possible without the work of Jacob Weisberg, Greta Cohne, Sarah Nix, Axandler, Christina Sullivan, Kira Posey, and Owen Miller.

You can support Cautionary Tales by joining My Cautionary Club at Patreon dot com slash Cautionary Club for exclusive bonus episodes, newsletters, ad free listening, and other exciting perks.

Alternatively, you can join Pushkin Plus on our Apple show page for continued benefits from our show and others across the Pushkin network.