Did you ever see a person doing something when you were a kid that you thought was dorky, and then later in life, you found yourself doing the same thing?

 I started metal detecting about four years ago when my girlfriend at the time who is now my wife and who encourages me to embrace my nerdiness, bought a metal detector for my birthday. I remember the first time I detected was on Folly Beach SC. After arriving at the beach, and while standing at the rear of my car, I prepared for the adventure by attaching a camouflage pouch with a belt around my waist. The pouch held my digging shovel, magnifying glass, and a few other miscellaneous items used in the pursuit of treasure. The rest of my outfit consisted of hiking boots, long woolen socks with red stripes, cargo shorts and, a floppy hat.

When I started to pull the new detector from its carrying case, my girlfriend took a quick look at my outfit and suggested I might want to keep it inside the case on the way to the beach. Once on the beach, she suggested I could store the case near where I would be detecting and that she would watch me from a distance.  Now I am not a scientist, but I was getting the feeling she was trying to disassociate herself from my new hobby.

For the first hour or so, I was doing a lot of digging and sifting through the sand after hearing each signal but had little luck in actually finding anything. Finally, after another 30 minutes, I pulled a real bit of metal out of the sand. There was another detectorist in the general area who had been keeping his distance, but now that I had found something, and was apparently looking at it with a confused expression, he came over to have a look.  

You can always tell an experienced detectorist because they are confident when identifying finds. “That’s a such and such caliber bullet from World War ll,” he informed me. Then putting his hands on his hips, gazed toward the water as if imagining another time and place and said,  “yep, they used these beaches for target practice during the war.” Looking back at the object, and then at me, I think he was trying to determine if it was dumb luck on my part, and after making up his mind, and before sauntering off, said, “That’s a good find.”

It is hard to explain the attraction to a hobby where I mostly find scraps of metal or old soda cans, and rarely anything of value. I think it is a bit like Pavlov’s dog; each time I hear a signal in the headset, I  realize there is the possibility of real treasure lying below the surface. I know from experience that the chances of it being of no value is high, but I have to look to be sure. I also understand from watching YouTube videos of other detectorists, that there is a bit of science to getting your detectors settings right, so you don’t waste time digging up junk. I have not quite mastered that part yet, and still find myself digging every signal.

There is an immensely funny British series produced about metal detecting called “detectorist.” The show, which features superb cinematography and thoughtful writing, combines the main characters’ drive and passion for discovering a bit of history along with a humorous cast of misfits who aptly represent the quirkiness of the hobby. There is a poignant conversation at the end of the last episode where Lance, one of the main characters sums up why he continues to detect. “Metal detecting is the closest you will get to time travel. We unearth the scattered memories, mine the stories, fill in the personality. Detectorists, we’re time travelers.” That’s certainly good enough for me, even though a lot of my stories are about common litterbugs.