bigscoop
Gold Member
- Joined
- Jun 4, 2010
- Messages
- 13,541
- Reaction score
- 9,086
- Golden Thread
- 0
- Location
- Wherever there be treasure!
- Detector(s) used
- Older blue Excal with full mods, Equinox 800.
- Primary Interest:
- All Treasure Hunting
A Man And His Old Park 2
Junk, the place is infested with it. Put your machine in all metal mode and you can easily mimic the repetition of a Thompson machine gun, just sounds different. Put the machine in disc mode and just discriminate the iron and it fails to get much better, “Bing! Bang! Bonk! Honk! Ping! Pop! Chirp! Whamp!” and at all manner of various volume. But it's my old park, and I've come to hate it with all of the same detest and appreciation of the perfect bank heist.
So much land, so much history, there could be hidden goodies here anywhere. But there not over there, or over there, or right here, or down there, or up there, or under there, or by there, because I have already hunted all of those trash infested places. Ah, but today I had a new plan of attack, new ground that was sure to cough up the goods, this being those tiny strips of grass between the fence and the tennis courts, that lonely strip of land where flying jewelry lands, that tiny strip of land where things of value fall out of the pockets of the jackets and sweatshirts hung over the fence. “This is brilliant!” Or so I thought to myself prior to the hunt.
Pulltabs! I've come to hate them with all the disdain of a splinter through my eye. But here, in these tiny grass strips, well, I just couldn't image too many tennis players inside the fence drinking a can of soda or beer while playing tennis. And for the most part I was correct, very few soda or beer can pulltabs. So let me some this strategy and effort up in a few short words, “Tennis Ball Cans!” For the life of my I don't know why the makers of these cans thought it required to design such large pulltabs? “HONK! HONK!” One right after the other, they were everywhere, surprised I didn't come away from this hunt completely deaf. God how I hate this old park!
Junk, the place is infested with it. Put your machine in all metal mode and you can easily mimic the repetition of a Thompson machine gun, just sounds different. Put the machine in disc mode and just discriminate the iron and it fails to get much better, “Bing! Bang! Bonk! Honk! Ping! Pop! Chirp! Whamp!” and at all manner of various volume. But it's my old park, and I've come to hate it with all of the same detest and appreciation of the perfect bank heist.
So much land, so much history, there could be hidden goodies here anywhere. But there not over there, or over there, or right here, or down there, or up there, or under there, or by there, because I have already hunted all of those trash infested places. Ah, but today I had a new plan of attack, new ground that was sure to cough up the goods, this being those tiny strips of grass between the fence and the tennis courts, that lonely strip of land where flying jewelry lands, that tiny strip of land where things of value fall out of the pockets of the jackets and sweatshirts hung over the fence. “This is brilliant!” Or so I thought to myself prior to the hunt.
Pulltabs! I've come to hate them with all the disdain of a splinter through my eye. But here, in these tiny grass strips, well, I just couldn't image too many tennis players inside the fence drinking a can of soda or beer while playing tennis. And for the most part I was correct, very few soda or beer can pulltabs. So let me some this strategy and effort up in a few short words, “Tennis Ball Cans!” For the life of my I don't know why the makers of these cans thought it required to design such large pulltabs? “HONK! HONK!” One right after the other, they were everywhere, surprised I didn't come away from this hunt completely deaf. God how I hate this old park!
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...and so the fruitless hunt must continue....
