jason I was knee-deep in wet sand somewhere off the Mississippi Gulf Coast, swinging my multi-frequency detector through a patch of beach I’d gridded off like a man possessed, when De Soto wandered into my mind again. Don’t ask me why. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe the way the salty wind rolled across the bay, … Read more
You ever been out in subzero wind, swinging a detector so cold it squeaks when you twist the shaft? That’s how I ended up thinking about Ernest Shackleton—not in a history book, but while standing ankle-deep in snowmelt on a glacial moraine in Alaska, cussing at my “smart detector” like it was personally mocking me. … Read more
You know, I’ve dug up some strange things in my time—Spanish silver in an Arkansas cow pasture, a brass harmonica reed in a swamp, a wedding band lost fifty years ago on a snowy ridge—but nothing compares to that trip I took chasing a whisper in the African jungle. It wasn’t supposed to be anything … Read more
You ever stand on a windswept beach or icy field, coil buried inches beneath frost-hardened ground, wondering if anything’s there? That’s where my mind drifted during a brutal hunt last winter—thoughts of Franklin’s doomed expedition crept in. Two ships trapped in ice. Men buried in white. All chasing a dream that swallowed them whole. Felt … Read more
Ever been out on an ice-covered beach, wind howling in your ears, coil buried in frozen sand, prayin’ for a whisper of signal? That was me this winter, knee-deep in drift, teeth chattering—and somehow thinking about Amundsen and Scott plodding across Antarctica. You swing your multi-frequency metal detector, and you realize: your gear, your planning—it … Read more
The first time I found a brass trade ring in a stretch of thornbush near the river—dull, pitted, and practically invisible in the red soil—I thought of David Livingstone. I’d been swinging my multi-frequency metal detector all morning, wrist aching, sweat trickling into my eyes, wondering if I was just wasting my Saturday chasing bottle … Read more
I didn’t expect to think of James Cook while kneeling ankle-deep in wet sand with my multi-frequency metal detector buzzing in my ear. But there I was, swearing under my breath at another false target in the black muck, wondering why I keep chasing signals like a half-mad explorer charting some invisible coastline. Maybe that’s … Read more
You know how they say the ocean makes fools of confident men? I’ve learned that lesson on beaches, in fields, and in knee-high swamp grass. But the one that really taught me? A saltwater stretch near San Julian Bay, chasing Spanish colonial relics with a multi-frequency detector and a head full of big dreams—Magellan-level dreams. … Read more
I remember the first time I tried to imagine what it must have felt like to push off from Palos de la Frontera in August 1492. Not as a grand admiral with bands of proud soldiers cheering you on—but as a stubborn, hopeful man standing on creaking planks, head swaddled in the morning chill, heart … Read more
You know how they say the ocean makes fools of confident men? I’ve learned that lesson on beaches, in fields, and in knee-high swamp grass. But the one that really taught me? A saltwater stretch near San Julian Bay, chasing Spanish colonial relics with a multi-frequency detector and a head full of big dreams—Magellan-level dreams. … Read more