I don't write the clues.
This is the consensus opinion among hunters of the Pioneer Press Treasure Hunt medallion who officially started their annual search for the Lucite prize on Sunday.
The reasoning behind this theory is sound.
For one thing, it's widely rumored that I grew up somewhere west of Minneapolis and probably couldn't tell Conway Park from the Como Park Conservatory. Plus, it's well known that I've spent four years making fun of the "Peanuts" statues — which means I'm probably not the sort of person who would support a civic endeavor of such scale.
In addition, last year's clues, which plunged searchers into the woods in the final hours of the hunt, struck many observers as "very male" and not the sort of thing you'd get from a writer who has confessed an obsession with cashmere sweaters and cute shoes.
Of course, the contrarian viewpoint is that since late 1999, I've been correctly differentiating between the West End and the West Side and might have absorbed enough about my adopted city to be trouble. Similarly, it was noted in 2001 that clues containing words like "beloved" and "wonderful" had a distinctly female ring to them.
But as I said, I don't write the clues. This is just what the talk turned to on Day Two of the medallion hunt, before the serious hunters even consider putting on their Sorels and kicking the snow around.
"There's a lot of speculation that whoever writes the most (in the paper) about the medallion hunt is also the person who writes the clues," explained Trent Tooley, who has spent the past three winters documenting the hunt for a film called "No Time for Cold Feet," which he is making with his wife, Jackie Garry.
In town from Connecticut this week to collect some final footage, he says his cell phone rings almost constantly with calls from medallion hunters who want to share their suspicions. The latest rumors put the medallion in Maplewood after the suburb was mentioned in an article in a recent Sunday paper.
"They want to know where I am and who I'm with," Tooley said, before answering another call.
"They think I know something.''
Four years ago, some medallion hunters viewed these filmmakers with suspicion, fearing they would be parodied in a "Fargo"-esque way. But then, people started marrying strangers on television and eating live bugs for a million bucks. Suddenly, wearing a snowmobile suit for a chance at $10,000 and some groceries didn't seem so stupid after all.
"There's nothing embarrassing about this, really," said Jake Ingebrigtson, 24, a member of the Medallionaters, a search party from South Saint Paul. In fact, the only indignity he has endured during his so-far fruitless searches for the medallion was seeing himself misquoted in a newspaper story suggesting he had not showered or brushed his teeth for days.
"It's true that I hadn't showered," he said. "But I did brush my teeth.''
In fact, a new attention to personal hygiene among some hunters might owe to the fact that the search has become strangely hip among teenagers and 20-somethings, who view it as a retro pursuit in league with bowling or Louis Prima.
The friendly, chattering crowds that gather outside the Pioneer Press building to grab the clues the second they come off the presses may be a better hook-up destination than Match.com.
Of course, the elusive medallion — not romance — is the real goal for the estimated few thousand hunters who will head out this week
"We're hoping the hunt lasts all the way to 12 clues, like it did last year," said Tooley. "The clues were just brilliant."
Thanks. But as I said, I didn't write them.
Copyright 2004 Pioneer Press.
