Over The Edge: A 125 Year-Old Cache Western & Eastern Treasures, November 2000 By Andy Angus, Metal Detectorist

It was a beautiful spring day, and my Chevy Suburban was loaded with detectors and my Keene dredge by the time the sun rose. And as usual, I was loaded with optimism. First hunting site” an old picnic ground in Almonte, a small town just 20 minutes west of my home on the outskirts of Ottawa, Canada’s capital city. I knew the site had been searched countless times in the past by many TH’ers, including the veteran members of my club, the League of Ontario Detector Enthusiasts. But, holding on to the “never hunted out” theory, I set to work with my CZ-6, that, in my experience, is extremely good at finding silver and copper. Unfortunately, despite being this far north, the mosquitoes chose this day to make their seasonal debut. So, having no repellent handy, I stayed out of the heavily wooded surroundings. Working a grassy area at one of the picnic ground I detected slowly, generously overlapping with every pass and digging every plausible signal. A few high-pitched hits indicated silver and copper. Three hours later, my persistence had been rewarded with a total of three small silver nickels, two silver quarters, a colonial Canadian token from 1837, and a small silver ring. I felt pleased, considering that returns of this nature are getting harder and harder to come by. Hey, it wasn’t even lunchtime yet! My next hunting site took me well off into the country to check out an old churchyard lined with big maple trees. I had tried this spot earlier with minimal results. No great luck this time, either. About 90 minutes of searching turned up just one silver dime dated 1951. So, I headed off again to the next little town and a brief lunch break. Then, with no real plan in mind, I finally got back on the road again and drove slowly, keeping my eyes open for any telltale clues. As I approached the Madawaska River, something briefly caught my attention. I saw a bridge railing, the tops of some trees, a church spire at the end of the bridge. I recognized the church as a familiar site. I knew the small yard had been graveled over, and many years ago turned into a parking lot for churchgoers. Despite this, what caused me to turn in to take a closer look? Call it a hunch. The church is set on a small, raised area on the river bank. I walked to the edge of the parking lot overlooking the river and peered down, realizing that something was significantly different from what I had seen on previous visits. To some degree, the river level fluctuates, controlled by a couple of power dams above and below where I was located. However, on this day, the water level was at least 3’ lower than I had ever seen it before. Now it revealed an expanse of sand, obviously a local swimming area. I hadn’t bought my wetsuit, so water hunting with my Fisher Aquanaut and dredge was out of the question. However, there was plenty of shoreline and dry beach to hunt over. I geared up with my apron, digging tool belt, and the same detector that had served me so well that morning. Before tackling the newly exposed beach and swimming hole, I decided to assess the whole area. The steep slope had no path leading to the swimming hole. But to the right, a row of old trees led down to the little side creek that was hardly noticeable from the high ground. I felt curious. The beach could wait. I worked my way across, down slippery slopes, and past a jumble of old fencing, piles of paint cans, and other trash that had been regularly tossed out of sight over the years. Reaching the bubbling creek, I was met by the mosquitoes, who recognized me as a mobile feast and began to gorge. I clambered over the fallen vegetation and junk, working my way about 10’ upstream, all the time swatting the persistent hordes of bugs. Then it occurred to me: “What are you doing here, Andy? Get out of here!” Heading the quickest way back to the church area, I began to scramble up the steep slope. I wasn’t detecting but still had to machine switched on, dragging the coil behind me. Suddenly, I heard a signal – the another, and then four in quick succession. Trash? Just out of curiosity, I grabbed a handful of soil that had been the source of the last signal. Voila! There was a large silver coin lying in my hand. Was it just a fluke? I swept the coil over the surrounding area. Close listening wasn’t required. There were “money” readings everywhere! It sounded like I was inside a pinball machine, ringing up winnings. It was a cache! My adrenaline began to flow. I scanned thoroughly over the whole area of the slope, and within minutes my shirt pocket bulged with coins, with nothing newer than the Victorian era. What a day this was turning out to be! The beach was still to come but now seemed pretty anticlimactic in comparison. Needless to say, I tried it anyway and retrieved a few modern coins and another silver ring. Back home, I closely examined my cache. There were 25 coins in all: 14 Queen Victoria quarters dated from 1807 to 1874; one 1858 20 cent piece; seven dimes from 1858 to 1874; one 1872 half dime; one 1859 penny; and one 1837 halfpenny token. Now, some historical perspective is worth recounting. Canadian coins were first minted in 1858, with quarters being first struck in 1870. My “newest” coin was from 1874! The piece de resistance of the my cache is, without a doubt, the 1858 20 cent coin. Eight thousand of these coins were minted and issued in 1858. However, because of the confusion between this coin and the 25 cent piece, they were never minted again. In fact, there was actually a call for them to be returned. From mint records, it would appear that most of these coins were recovered and then melted down to remint into other denominations. A few questions remain. Had someone lost this money? Was it intentionally buried by someone, perhaps one of the many loggers who worked the Madawaska in the harvesting of the giant white pines? One final question has a definite answer: why hadn’t I just headed straight for the beach area? What made me look for an even more rewarding source of finds? The answer, at least in my experience, is my responding to the call of my “inner voice”. Name it instinct or what you will, but I recommend you always heed the call. “It” certainly knows where to look – even it “it” seems to want to take you over the edge. Andy Angus, a single father of two girls, is a veteran TH’er. Hunting mostly in Canada’s eastern and maritime provinces, he works the land in spring and fall, and in summer concentrates mostly on shallow-water hunting local beaches on rivers and lakes. His advice to newcomers: “You’ve got to put in the time, do your research, and learn to adapt techniques to your environment. And don’t forget that inner voice!