tigerbeetle
Full Member
- Jan 2, 2009
- 166
- 275
- Detector(s) used
- Many -- Fisher, White's, Minelab, Cobra, others
- Primary Interest:
- Metal Detecting
If my TH’ing luck hadn’t been so skunked out lately, I would never have dug the large deep reading I got today while hunting in South Jersey. The sound was one of those typical trash readings that aren’t worth the time it takes to ferret out the fact it’s a flattened soda can or a piece of galvanized roofing. But I was taking on any and all readings.
Using my trusty potato rake tool with a shortened handle (to allow one-hand swings), I ripped up the ground with recklessness. A half foot of ground gave up its resting place. The item was still deeper down. What a waste of time, I thought as I swung again. On that swing, I hit the target -- and was a bit confused by the muffled sound as the rake’s teeth met their mark. It was actually something kinda soft, not metallic. It was also kinda big; larger than a soda can and smaller than a breadbox.
I swung a few times to feel out the shape and finally got past the edge of the item. I swung the potato rake and got the teeth beneath one of the edges. I did one of those heave-ho moves common to power lifting a larger piece of something. What came up was the first red flag of what would be quite a few over the next couple minutes – ending with sirens of utter alarm going off.
I had unearthed a rectangular package wrapped in a garbage bag material, tightly bound with loads of duct tape. Truth be told, it truly looked like the prototypical block of drugs. That stuff spooks me. I had an urge to just rebury the damn thing. But we of a TH’ing ilk are not known to have much power over our incessant curiosity. I had to know what I’d found. .
I unsheathed my Japanese digging-rooting tool and used the fiercely sharp serrated edge to cut through the five separate wraps of tape. It took some serious cutting. Once past the tape, there was the equivalent of two garbage bags worth of wrapping to rip off.. This thing was surely well-bound. Once past the garbage bags, a smaller equally well-wrapped rectangular package was reveled. The size was down to, say, a power drill case. I specifically use that comparison for reason’s you’ll see in a second.
Though the fear of drugs still hung heavy, I also began to entertain the legitimate possibility that this was a beloved pet that had been placed into something rectangular and buried in the forest. I even sniffed the package. Smelled like earth.
I then cut through the latest tape and garbage bag. I was finally getting to the object within. Then, after a final cut or two, I resorted to ripping off the remaining material, a bit like tearing open a present. I soon unwrapped what seemed like nothing more than the above-mentioned power drill case. What a frickin’ relief. All that worry for nothing. Oh, yeah
I fingered open the two clasps and opened the box, expecting to see the drill – and, if I was lucky, the charger. I flipped it open, all cheery, and my heart sank. What greeted me was easily as bad as any drug. Before me was a deadly Tech 9 full-auto gun with two clips and a flash suppression attachment – and what looked like a frickin’ silencer!!!!! Are you kidding me!?
You don’t have to be weapons expert to know these weapons are death on wheels, the lethal choice of urban gangstas. The weapon had some rusting but was surely still functional.
I quietly freaked. What now? Bury it -- and hope for the best? And have the burier comes back and retrieve it? That would be absurd. I would be part and parcel to anything that gun did in the future. How about burying it elsewhere? And have someone like me find it? I couldn’t risk it. I then opted to do what I hope any sensible soul would do: I got it to the cops, ASAP.
If you think I was shocked by the find, you shoulda seen the reaction of this rural police force. Hell, the small office I was in had a steady flow of law enforcement officials all wanting to get what, for many, was their first look at a Tech-9. Off-duty cops were coming in to see it. I sat in the PD as an initial check of the gun’s serial number was run. No surprise: stolen. I hadn’t touched anything – much. Everyone was using gloves. One officer cocked it and dry fired. It clicked perfectly.
Long and short of it, the weapon was taken into evidence. I’m not sure what happens next. I’m not sure I want to know.
Aftermath: That dig really shook me for some reason. It’s not like I haven’t handled M16s and the likes but there was something so sinister, so evil, about this weapon that it literally left me sick, almost like a negative aura overwhelmed me. I know that sounds a tad cosmic but I can assure all fellow TH’ers, had they dug it that same spooked out sense would follow the find. For now, I actually don’t feel like detecting again for awhile. In fact, being able to share this with fellow Th’ers in here has helped a bit.
Using my trusty potato rake tool with a shortened handle (to allow one-hand swings), I ripped up the ground with recklessness. A half foot of ground gave up its resting place. The item was still deeper down. What a waste of time, I thought as I swung again. On that swing, I hit the target -- and was a bit confused by the muffled sound as the rake’s teeth met their mark. It was actually something kinda soft, not metallic. It was also kinda big; larger than a soda can and smaller than a breadbox.
I swung a few times to feel out the shape and finally got past the edge of the item. I swung the potato rake and got the teeth beneath one of the edges. I did one of those heave-ho moves common to power lifting a larger piece of something. What came up was the first red flag of what would be quite a few over the next couple minutes – ending with sirens of utter alarm going off.
I had unearthed a rectangular package wrapped in a garbage bag material, tightly bound with loads of duct tape. Truth be told, it truly looked like the prototypical block of drugs. That stuff spooks me. I had an urge to just rebury the damn thing. But we of a TH’ing ilk are not known to have much power over our incessant curiosity. I had to know what I’d found. .
I unsheathed my Japanese digging-rooting tool and used the fiercely sharp serrated edge to cut through the five separate wraps of tape. It took some serious cutting. Once past the tape, there was the equivalent of two garbage bags worth of wrapping to rip off.. This thing was surely well-bound. Once past the garbage bags, a smaller equally well-wrapped rectangular package was reveled. The size was down to, say, a power drill case. I specifically use that comparison for reason’s you’ll see in a second.
Though the fear of drugs still hung heavy, I also began to entertain the legitimate possibility that this was a beloved pet that had been placed into something rectangular and buried in the forest. I even sniffed the package. Smelled like earth.
I then cut through the latest tape and garbage bag. I was finally getting to the object within. Then, after a final cut or two, I resorted to ripping off the remaining material, a bit like tearing open a present. I soon unwrapped what seemed like nothing more than the above-mentioned power drill case. What a frickin’ relief. All that worry for nothing. Oh, yeah
I fingered open the two clasps and opened the box, expecting to see the drill – and, if I was lucky, the charger. I flipped it open, all cheery, and my heart sank. What greeted me was easily as bad as any drug. Before me was a deadly Tech 9 full-auto gun with two clips and a flash suppression attachment – and what looked like a frickin’ silencer!!!!! Are you kidding me!?
You don’t have to be weapons expert to know these weapons are death on wheels, the lethal choice of urban gangstas. The weapon had some rusting but was surely still functional.
I quietly freaked. What now? Bury it -- and hope for the best? And have the burier comes back and retrieve it? That would be absurd. I would be part and parcel to anything that gun did in the future. How about burying it elsewhere? And have someone like me find it? I couldn’t risk it. I then opted to do what I hope any sensible soul would do: I got it to the cops, ASAP.
If you think I was shocked by the find, you shoulda seen the reaction of this rural police force. Hell, the small office I was in had a steady flow of law enforcement officials all wanting to get what, for many, was their first look at a Tech-9. Off-duty cops were coming in to see it. I sat in the PD as an initial check of the gun’s serial number was run. No surprise: stolen. I hadn’t touched anything – much. Everyone was using gloves. One officer cocked it and dry fired. It clicked perfectly.
Long and short of it, the weapon was taken into evidence. I’m not sure what happens next. I’m not sure I want to know.
Aftermath: That dig really shook me for some reason. It’s not like I haven’t handled M16s and the likes but there was something so sinister, so evil, about this weapon that it literally left me sick, almost like a negative aura overwhelmed me. I know that sounds a tad cosmic but I can assure all fellow TH’ers, had they dug it that same spooked out sense would follow the find. For now, I actually don’t feel like detecting again for awhile. In fact, being able to share this with fellow Th’ers in here has helped a bit.
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you just never know what gonna be in the bottom of the next hole .
