We climb in the humid afternoon up a rutted and overgrown logging road, the sky mostly sealed off by a canopy of tree branches, sunlight leaking through dense greenery in elongated shafts. The hike up Dents Run is not quite a half mile long, but the six representatives of Finders Keepers LLC, a Pennsylvania-based treasure-hunting business, string out as climbers on Everest. Co-owner Denny Parada, 69, brings up the rear, hobbling a bit and breathing forcefully. He's wearing a Finders Keepers polo and a camo baseball cap and shorts and has a handgun strapped to his hip. "Snakes," he'd explained.
Dents Run is an unincorporated community in Benezette Township in rural Elk County, in northwestern Pennsylvania. We're on a wooded slope, one knobby vertebra among thousands along the spine of the Appalachians. The overgrown road we're ascending, known locally as Snooks Trail, is a lingering scar from a decades-old logging operation, though most recently it has served as the access point to Parada's lifelong obsession.
About halfway up, Denny's 37-year-old son and business partner, Kem, hollers and points. An elk is perched on a steep slope above the trail, 50 feet up. It stands unmoving, staring us down, as the group stops to gaze back. A few of us snap photos and turn uphill; the elk stays locked on us as we trudge away.
Anyone who is inclined to anthropomorphize might infer some type of omen in this. Dents Run has an enigmatic history—a lump of new-growth forest that's unremarkable in every way, except that it birthed a tale of, among other things, a psychic, a cache of buried gold, Confederate sympathizers, an army of FBI agents, and a furtive overnight dig.
We climb in the humid afternoon up a rutted and overgrown logging road, the sky mostly sealed off by a canopy of tree branches, sunlight leaking through dense greenery in elongated shafts. The hike up Dents Run is not quite a half mile long, but the six representatives of Finders Keepers LLC, a Pennsylvania-based treasure-hunting business, string out as climbers on Everest. Co-owner Denny Parada, 69, brings up the rear, hobbling a bit and breathing forcefully. He's wearing a Finders Keepers polo and a camo baseball cap and shorts and has a handgun strapped to his hip. "Snakes," he'd explained.
Dents Run is an unincorporated community in Benezette Township in rural Elk County, in northwestern Pennsylvania. We're on a wooded slope, one knobby vertebra among thousands along the spine of the Appalachians. The overgrown road we're ascending, known locally as Snooks Trail, is a lingering scar from a decades-old logging operation, though most recently it has served as the access point to Parada's lifelong obsession.
About halfway up, Denny's 37-year-old son and business partner, Kem, hollers and points. An elk is perched on a steep slope above the trail, 50 feet up. It stands unmoving, staring us down, as the group stops to gaze back. A few of us snap photos and turn uphill; the elk stays locked on us as we trudge away.
Anyone who is inclined to anthropomorphize might infer some type of omen in this. Dents Run has an enigmatic history—a lump of new-growth forest that's unremarkable in every way, except that it birthed a tale of, among other things, a psychic, a cache of buried gold, Confederate sympathizers, an army of FBI agents, and a furtive overnight dig. |
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| We spoke to the head of operations at CERN to find out what it takes to fire the collider back up after a brief hiatus for upgrades and maintenance. |
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| Everything on exhibit was purchased on or modified using components from eBay Motors. |
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| Whether you're hunting whitetail from a backyard treestand or on a 10-day Alaskan moose hunt, there's a pack here that fits your needs—and your gear. |
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| From how to grow your own food to the microorganisms breaking down your plastic fork, here are seven stories to honor our planet. |
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| And now the Pentagon is green with envy. |
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