The Hook

“Feel at home.” There was something different about this clue, this random line near the end of the poem, something ineffable. It felt like a single note played by a master violinist, refined and measured. It was the Friday before Thanksgiving, 2019. I was watching a TV show about the world's most captivating legends hosted by Josh Gates, Expedition Unknown, “The Secret Solved,” the episode about the Boston puzzle (S7, E12). The episode had been much like all of the other episodes about The Secret: a Treasure Hunt—but this—this was different. This was a deftly hidden clue. It seemed benign, just a common saying that means feel relaxed, be yourself. However, when other clues led to a baseball field, these words took on a whole new meaning. This was no escape room silliness or one-dimensional challenge. This puzzle was epic! I began to understand the rampant enthusiasm surrounding these puzzles. Feel at home.

That night, inspired by the Boston “solution,” I curled up with the poem and image for the puzzle associated with the city closest to me, San Francisco, as one might curl up with a good book. Feel at home. 

As I began to decipher the clues, looking behind the words, searching for answers similar to those in the Boston puzzle, I was surprised to find my interpretations to be edgy, thought provoking, and incredibly complicated. I searched the internet for interpretations similar to mine, but came up empty. I had heard that these were kid’s puzzles, meant to get the family out for a walk. This couldn't be farther from the truth! These early insights piqued my interest, appealing to my love of a good mystery. I quickly grew to respect the author, Byron Preiss. 

Within the next couple days I began to comprehend the vastness of the hunt, like gazing at the Milky Way for the first time on a dark, clear night. These were no simple scavenger hunts pointing from here to there to there. These were works of art, poems in the classic sense—and like all great poems, they concealed a message, buried beneath metaphor, allusion, and pun. The images too, painted by John Jude Palencar, were visual poems possessing all of the same qualities. 

The more I learned, the more questions I had. Nothing came easily. This was an adventure I must earn. And with that, I cared. I cared about Byron, I cared about his little puzzles, and I cared about what he might have to say. Within three days, I was fairly certain I’d solved the puzzle. (I hadn’t.) The Friday after Thanksgiving, only a week after starting, I made the trip with my daughter and wife’s cousin to San Francisco to examine where I’d determined the treasure to be buried. I was hooked.