Weekly Clues Dashboard

Inaugural Myrtle Beach Treasure Hunt

CLUE #1: THE BOUNDARY LINE

LIVE

"To find where the chest sits dry and deep, avoid the places where the oceans weep.
The tourist sand, and the salt-water foam, hold no space for this bounty’s home."

CLUE #2: THE HISTORY FILTER

LIVE

"Look to the paths where the tall pines grow, away from where the modern high-rises show.
Where old King Cotton, once ruled the soil, is closer to where your mind must toil."

CLUE #3: THE WATER CUT & Forest

TODAY

"Where man-made waters cut the clay, and transient vessels, drift away.
Look not to where the concrete spans, but where the ancient forest, once began."

CLUE #4: THE BORDERS

LIVE

" The waters are cut, the borders are drawn, But the trail doesn't end where the concrete is gone. Step under the roof that the sweetgums provide, Where the moss and the ferns like to scramble and hide. You’re warmer now where the old shadows lay, But a clever mind doesn't wander astray. It’s not in a clearing exposed to the sky, Nor a place where the casual stroller walks by. The captain left footprints where damp earth grows cold, A boundary line of a story untold. Gather your wits, check the map on your screen, The best way forward is tucked in the green.."

CLUE #5: THE TALL TREES

LIVE

"The axes of history spared a few lines, Standing watch over secrets beneath the tall pines. Where the old growth remains and the secondary starts, Is where a true hunter must sharpen their arts. Don't look for a chest in a wide open space, But a spot where two paths or two worlds might embrace. A marker of sort, though not made by a hand, Tells a tale of the changes that came to this land."

CLUE #6: COMPASS ROSE

LIVE

"The green walls close in where the shadows grow deep, But a casual glance is a promise to keep. To anchor your boots where the fortune was cast, You must look to the present, then step to the past. When the sun starts to dip and the shadows lean long, The path to the north is inherently wrong. Look down where the roots map the floor like a maze, And a weathered old sentinel blocks out the days. It stands with its back to the lane made of stone, Guarding a secret it harbors alone. The weekend is here, and the map must be read— Follow the moss, not the thoughts in your head."

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