Tho told she was first person to do such a dumb thing, it was in fact once not too uncommon an occurrence. The back door was kept unlocked during open hours for an emergency exit.

A group might be sweating away in still near-darkness and -- suddenly! -- the backdoor, one many didn't know existed, flung open wide with a blinding flood of daylight. Confused reactions of inadvertent intruder was usually good for chuckle once startled reaction subsided, appearing as visitor from another dimension: sudden flash, 

Needless unfortunate energy wedgies could make for spacing out the need to supply any such thoughtful directional details. The Springs, again, being in the believed energy vortex it is, could well have swirling forces stimulating a non-rational spirit state that at times could wreck havoc on such mundane matters. It might've thrown off the ability to get any better handle on small but critical matters like creating the accurate and pleasant guiding signs that grounds manager Josh W. began remedying nicely a bit later.

Maybe it's just human nature. Writer at Oregon's vast Britenbush grounds once got lost on a snowy cold day on returning from the distant parking lot -- even with their far more generous placement of refreshingly artistic signage -- and started freaking, until finally finding my way back. Management and seasoned staff members of any such resort place might think, "Well, I know where things are -- heck, everybody does. Why do some people seem to have such trouble? Are they directionally challenged?" 

Case in point: the missing "Apts. 1-6" sign on the post at the turn into the parking area went unreplaced for years. Post sign, of course, pointed the way to the one unrentable place, The Cottage. (A manager abode/office space after 2005, chef's residence earlier; rented before that, hence a lingering sign.)

Another example: For decades, a large historic routed wood sign inside entrance at a road fork pointed the former route to the bathhouse, straight ahead uphill, rather than turning down right and crossing the creek bridge. It was a quaint outdated relic from days before the car bridge was built, changing approach. 

Its arrow guided people up to the restaurant area and a covered walking bridge over to the bathhouse. The route still works and is a pleasant sheltered walk over the creek, even if there's limited roadside parking. After years of unintended but uncorrected misdirection, one day the owner of large camper possibly did place an unintended favor by backing into the sign and demolishing it.

Then there have been other kinds of signs, the No-this, No-that, and Don't-even-think-about-it variety, found in plenitude posted around bathhouse, at gates, gazebo, in lodgings, you name it.