Ivan has viable options there. SWR could be right too. There is another option also. Slowly work your hand down into the sand but be careful as you don't have any idea what you are going into. I only do it on a very large hit, one that sends the bars off the graph.
Once when we were working the beach in front of the "Nieves" site in Ft. Pierce, I got a hit like that in the surf line almost directly in front of the "Christmas Tree". I worked my hand down into the sand almost to my elbow and found it. As soon as I closed my fingers around it I knew what it was. My heart started pounding, I know my blood pressure went through the roof, it was a gun, a revolver. I worked it out of the sand and I was right. Only thing was, it was a kids cap pistol. After referring to the child that had lost it in not so pleasant terms for a minute or so, I got on with the hunt.
Another instance happened in Sebastion. We were working the beach a couple of hundred yards South of Green Turtle. Same as the above, a large hit just at the surfline and the ocean was winning the battle. On these beaches, you dig every hit if you're smart. I get on my knees, the surf making sure I pay my dues for every inch my hand goes into the sand and I find the hit. It's a chain and it's a heavy one!!!! Again the heart pounds, blood pressure goes up, even being knocked over twice by the waves could not make me let go of the chain. This solid gold chain, once worn by a Spanish Nobleman, who likely died in the storm with it around his neck, was mine. I had found it, the ocean was making me pay my dues and I was NOT going to give it back!
Well, I slowly worked the chain out. It was a dogs chain, a large and heavy one. It even had a tag on it that gave the dogs name, it's owners name and a phone number. I was not a happy camper. I had been rolled around by the rather large surf. I had sand in places that were never meant to have sand in them, I was cold and tired and did not at the time see any humor at all in the situation.
When we got home, I dropped the chain on the table and headed to a nice hot shower. When I got out, my buddy, my best friend, had told everyone what had happened. My wife, my kids, the other friends that had showed up for a weekend of TH'ing the beaches, all took their shots at me (the kids, even after threats of eternal grounding). The whole time I'm staring at this chain.
Finally, just before dinner was ready, I picked up the phone and dialed the number. A guy answers the phone in a very pleasant voice. I'll never forget that dogs name, "Brute". I asked him if he had a dog by that name and he answered that yes he did. I told him very quietly, calmly and politely, that Brute was a piece of s**t and hung up. I have often wondered through the years what that guy thought about that phone call. It was probably a childish thing for me to do but somehow it really seemed to help....
Both of the story's are true. My long time friend and TH'ing partner, Aquanut , was there for both of them. He will gladly affirm them, but keep in mind that he is likely to add little tidbits that somehow have grown into them over the years.
Deepsix