bigscoop
Gold Member
- Jun 4, 2010
- 13,535
- 9,072
- Detector(s) used
- Older blue Excal with full mods, Equinox 800.
- Primary Interest:
- All Treasure Hunting
Hours and hours hunting this old park and finally there it was, that perfect ring tone just below my coil. And when I say perfect that's exactly what it was, that smooth unmistakable goose sound, dense and clean, sharp around the edges, compact and tight and all too easy to pinpoint even with the big coil. So I pause to savor the moment, no doubt if I had been a smoker I would have reached for a cigarette, which I am and so I did.
Buckets and buckets of clad and trash, my sleepless nights filled with visions of pulltabs, crusty pennies, and mangled pieces of aluminum. In my display cabinet I have one of those large flip-top glass jars full of the unwashed clad that I had taken from this old park, another smaller glass jar next to it stuffed with pieces of junk jewelry, a third glass jar containing the silver I had managed to recover along the way. Everything in those three glass jars having come from this same old park, and yet not a single piece of gold but that was about to change, no doubt about it. That cigarette was tasting sweeter and sweeter.
Yellow, white, 10,14, possibly 18K? Man's, woman's? It wasn't all that deep, maybe 4-5 inches by best estimate but a fairly chunky ring, for sure. A class ring, perhaps? A signet, maybe? I once found a large woman's yellow gold ring with a big mounted pearl, 14K it was, I thought it one of the ugliest gold rings I had ever dug. On the other hand I once dug a big fat woman's gold ring with a large citron stone, a very old and ornate ring that was, perhaps, one of the neatest gold rings I had ever dug. After identifying the maker's marks I later discovered that the designer of that ring had died on the titanic. My eyes slowly settled on that very small spot of grass and earth just in front of my feet, my mind curious as to what, exactly, awaited me there?
Just for kicks I swept the coil over that spot again, “Honk! Honk!” I nearly had a mental orgasm. Folks who have grown use to machines like the Sovereign and the Excalibur have come to know this tone as something of the sweet spot in the harmonics. There are a few other returns that come close, say a shallow nickel, some varieties of pulltabs when they're sitting flat, dense fakers made of carbide and titanium can also come really close. But try as they may nothing is as clean or s smooth as gold, the sweet spot in the harmonics, indeed. This mastery of the Excal's target harmonics can only come after years of experience.
My last puff and I'm now ready to go after it, and then a thought occurs to me, “What if I'm wrong?” Not that my confidence was shaken but considering my history in this old park could I bear yet another faker? What if it wasn't a gold ring? Would this finally put me over the edge regarding this old park, this quaint little sanctuary loaded with trash where I could still find easy seclusion and some peace and quiet? This park and all of its trash had taught me quite a bit, it had forced me to become a much better student of the hobby and the machine in my hand. So if this target wasn't a gold ring could I bear it, or, would I finally say goodbye this little nightmare of land all together? I studied that spot again, swung the coil over that tiny little space once more, “Honk! Honk!” Damn, it was a beautiful evening, so relaxing. The moment was absolutely perfect. Hu...maybe I'll come back and dig it tomorrow? God, how I love this little park!
Buckets and buckets of clad and trash, my sleepless nights filled with visions of pulltabs, crusty pennies, and mangled pieces of aluminum. In my display cabinet I have one of those large flip-top glass jars full of the unwashed clad that I had taken from this old park, another smaller glass jar next to it stuffed with pieces of junk jewelry, a third glass jar containing the silver I had managed to recover along the way. Everything in those three glass jars having come from this same old park, and yet not a single piece of gold but that was about to change, no doubt about it. That cigarette was tasting sweeter and sweeter.
Yellow, white, 10,14, possibly 18K? Man's, woman's? It wasn't all that deep, maybe 4-5 inches by best estimate but a fairly chunky ring, for sure. A class ring, perhaps? A signet, maybe? I once found a large woman's yellow gold ring with a big mounted pearl, 14K it was, I thought it one of the ugliest gold rings I had ever dug. On the other hand I once dug a big fat woman's gold ring with a large citron stone, a very old and ornate ring that was, perhaps, one of the neatest gold rings I had ever dug. After identifying the maker's marks I later discovered that the designer of that ring had died on the titanic. My eyes slowly settled on that very small spot of grass and earth just in front of my feet, my mind curious as to what, exactly, awaited me there?
Just for kicks I swept the coil over that spot again, “Honk! Honk!” I nearly had a mental orgasm. Folks who have grown use to machines like the Sovereign and the Excalibur have come to know this tone as something of the sweet spot in the harmonics. There are a few other returns that come close, say a shallow nickel, some varieties of pulltabs when they're sitting flat, dense fakers made of carbide and titanium can also come really close. But try as they may nothing is as clean or s smooth as gold, the sweet spot in the harmonics, indeed. This mastery of the Excal's target harmonics can only come after years of experience.
My last puff and I'm now ready to go after it, and then a thought occurs to me, “What if I'm wrong?” Not that my confidence was shaken but considering my history in this old park could I bear yet another faker? What if it wasn't a gold ring? Would this finally put me over the edge regarding this old park, this quaint little sanctuary loaded with trash where I could still find easy seclusion and some peace and quiet? This park and all of its trash had taught me quite a bit, it had forced me to become a much better student of the hobby and the machine in my hand. So if this target wasn't a gold ring could I bear it, or, would I finally say goodbye this little nightmare of land all together? I studied that spot again, swung the coil over that tiny little space once more, “Honk! Honk!” Damn, it was a beautiful evening, so relaxing. The moment was absolutely perfect. Hu...maybe I'll come back and dig it tomorrow? God, how I love this little park!
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