curbdiggercarl57
Silver Member
- Nov 19, 2007
- 4,362
- 1,043
- 🏆 Honorable Mentions:
- 1
- Detector(s) used
- Whites Silver Eagle, DFX, Shadow X-2
- Primary Interest:
- All Treasure Hunting
Our little area of pleasure out here in Denver seems to be coming to an end. There are still days left to detect, but most of the major digging by the construction workers is completed. They are mainly starting the leveling process of the park, in preparation for sodding. But they will still scrape isolated areas, and we follow the large machines avidly, like children of Summer following a ice cream truck, waiting for a break to dart in and out of their paths. Scanning the newly exposed area, we have only a few seconds before the next backhoe appears. The workers have seemed to have made a game of all of this. They delight in our anguish. They laugh among themselves taking great pleasure in our frustration.
But still, we struggle on, knowing full well that any day a token or a Seated coin could be recovered.
I had promised The Dark One that I would drive him to the site. He had recently moved, and it took some time to find his new area of squatting. He apparently hadn't time to tag the latest dumpster with his cryptic markings, and his drunken, rambling directions were really no help at all. I knew from previous attempts at searching for him certain tricks for locating. He has a mole like inclination to accept the darkest areas of the alleys, so this is where I first hunted. Seeing a pair of muddy work boots attached to a pair of spindly legs lying sprawled next to a bright green trash receptacle, I quickly surmised that it was he. It was. After shaking him back to consciousness, he fell into the back seat of my car. He is no longer allowed in the front seat, for past experiences have taught me this valuable lesson. He immediately started to drink from a brown paper bag. He explained that it was a complex wine of great perfume, with well integrated tannins, and hinting of rose and tar, with a long finish. I explained that it was a screw cap bottle of Mad Dog, and would be next to impossible to get the stains out of my faux leather interior. Once again, we agreed to disagree.
But I digress.
Again.
We arrived at the park to see it swarming with other detectorists. T.D.O. started screaming at them to get off his property. They know of him, and quickly moved to the outer regions to avoid him. But knowing that the workers also avoid him, I hunted somewhat close to him. After about a hour of hunting, I finally received a decent signal on the DFX, reading in the seventies. I dug a large hole, (I'm stressing this part), and soon saw a Wheatie lying in the pile. I could see a small glint of shiny copper, from where I had scrapped it. Oh well, no biggie, it's only a Wheatie. I bent down and retrieved it. Looking at the date, by blood pressure plummeted. I screamed, actually screamed. The Dark One and another detectorist ran over to see what was wrong. I showed them the coin. The one detectorist shook his head in sympathy, T.D.O., well, he just laughed. And laughed. I cried. I still cry.
It has since gone into the Whitman folder, my only consolation is that one more vacant space has been filled. I am down to only needing 9 more dirty pennies to complete the first set of Wheaties. But late at night I swear that I hear its mocking voice, calling me to damage it further.
The only other item I dug appears to be a WW1 era British lapel or hat pin. It says “Royal Warwickshire”, in a blue/black enameling.
Carl
But still, we struggle on, knowing full well that any day a token or a Seated coin could be recovered.
I had promised The Dark One that I would drive him to the site. He had recently moved, and it took some time to find his new area of squatting. He apparently hadn't time to tag the latest dumpster with his cryptic markings, and his drunken, rambling directions were really no help at all. I knew from previous attempts at searching for him certain tricks for locating. He has a mole like inclination to accept the darkest areas of the alleys, so this is where I first hunted. Seeing a pair of muddy work boots attached to a pair of spindly legs lying sprawled next to a bright green trash receptacle, I quickly surmised that it was he. It was. After shaking him back to consciousness, he fell into the back seat of my car. He is no longer allowed in the front seat, for past experiences have taught me this valuable lesson. He immediately started to drink from a brown paper bag. He explained that it was a complex wine of great perfume, with well integrated tannins, and hinting of rose and tar, with a long finish. I explained that it was a screw cap bottle of Mad Dog, and would be next to impossible to get the stains out of my faux leather interior. Once again, we agreed to disagree.
But I digress.
Again.
We arrived at the park to see it swarming with other detectorists. T.D.O. started screaming at them to get off his property. They know of him, and quickly moved to the outer regions to avoid him. But knowing that the workers also avoid him, I hunted somewhat close to him. After about a hour of hunting, I finally received a decent signal on the DFX, reading in the seventies. I dug a large hole, (I'm stressing this part), and soon saw a Wheatie lying in the pile. I could see a small glint of shiny copper, from where I had scrapped it. Oh well, no biggie, it's only a Wheatie. I bent down and retrieved it. Looking at the date, by blood pressure plummeted. I screamed, actually screamed. The Dark One and another detectorist ran over to see what was wrong. I showed them the coin. The one detectorist shook his head in sympathy, T.D.O., well, he just laughed. And laughed. I cried. I still cry.
It has since gone into the Whitman folder, my only consolation is that one more vacant space has been filled. I am down to only needing 9 more dirty pennies to complete the first set of Wheaties. But late at night I swear that I hear its mocking voice, calling me to damage it further.
The only other item I dug appears to be a WW1 era British lapel or hat pin. It says “Royal Warwickshire”, in a blue/black enameling.
Carl
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