DIGS O' THE DAY (2008-01-17): EAST BEACH, OLD COAST GUARD STATION, SATILLA SQUARE

On Thursday, January 17, 2008, I thought I'd try a beach hunt for a change.  Unlike many detectorists who live near the coast, I don't do much beach hunting.  Instead, I prefer to chase older coins and relics on inland sites.  Some nice jewelry can be found on the beaches, however, and even though I personally have never found anything that old on the beaches of Georgia's Golden Isles, I did manage to find a couple of nice gold and gemstone rings when I last used a detector on the beach in the late 1990s.

Since the temperatures were pleasantly mild enough to wear short sleeves, it seemed a good day for another outing.  Today's plan was to shoot some pictures and then detect at East Beach on Saint Simons Island.  I figured that if I didn't find anything on the beach, I would at least get some pictures.  Then, if I lost interest there, I could always return to the parks on the mainland for some coinshooting.

As I crossed the Torras Causeway to St. Simons Island, a light rain had begun to fall.  By the time I arrived at East Beach by the old Coast Guard Station, it had become a steady drizzle that was strong enough to dampen my hopes of detecting. 

I noticed the old Coast Guard Station was open, and never having been inside, I decided to check it out, as it is now a museum.  I spent an enjoyable forty minutes or so inside, watching the film and wandering through the exhibits. 




The old Coast Guard Station was built in 1935.  Primarily intended as a lifesaving station for ships in distress, its role changed dramatically when the United States entered the Second World War.  Unlike most of the nation, the Golden Isles, and St. Simons Island in particular, were a real battlefront during the war, as the events of April 8, 1942 were to reveal. 

On that night, the German submarine U-123 torpedoed two tankers just off the beach at St. Simons, killing 22 seamen.  The survivors were brought to the Coast Guard station and several of the victims were buried as "unknown seamen" in Palmetto Cemetery in Brunswick.  It was not until 1998 that their identities were established.  Local lore has it that the blasts caused by the torpedoes were heard on the mainland, and even shattered windows there.  I personally believe the part about the sound traveling to the mainland, but I rather doubt it shattered windows in Brunswick.  Another local legend had it that the U-123 sent English-speaking sailors ashore, who traveled into Brunswick in civilian disguise on a spying mission, and even watched a movie at the Ritz Theater!  This myth was dispelled by the German captain when he was interviewed in 1998, however.




The U-123 was cruising the U.S. east coast as part of a U-boat offensive known as Paukenschlag, or "Drumbeat".  It was a time when America's coasts were poorly defended, and the surprise attacks of "Operation Drumbeat" cost the United States many ships and men.  The tables later turned, however, and the U-boat hunters eventually became the hunted.  Only about 20 to 30 percent of Germany's U-boat sailors survived the war, and Kapit䮬eutnant Reinhard Hardegen, commander of the U-123, was one of the lucky few. He is apparently still alive in Germany today, at age 94.  Reportedly an avid golfer, he was once quoted as saying, "Now I sink putts.  Not ships."

My brief sojourn in the museum helped me to wait out the rain, and when I stepped back outside it had stopped.  Birds chirped and flitted from branch to branch in the trees behind the dunes.  A warbler of some kind flew by, but he was too fast for me to follow with the camera.  I did manage to "shoot" two birds, but they were nothing particularly exotic- just a blue jay and what appeared to be a mockingbird.  Alas, no roseate spoonbills or painted buntings crossed my lens today.  (I have yet to see my first painted bunting, actually, but spotted some spoonbills not long ago.)






I strolled down the boardwalk to the beach, carrying the camera but not the detector.  I figured if the tide was low, I might try the detector later.




When the ocean came into view, I could see that the tide was fairly high, and the wind was sweeping the surf up.  Today's surf was about as choppy as it gets, unless there's a storm.  A lone seagull strutted through beached drifts of cream-colored foam churned up by the wind. 




Looking down the beach, I could barely make out the King and Prince Beach Resort where I used to work.  Small clusters of people walked by in twos and threes, their heads down in the windblown spray.  Though still cloudy and overcast, it was relatively warm, but I just didn't feel the urge to detect here today.  I'd leave it for some clear moonlit night, when the tide is out and there's nobody else around.  That's a peaceful time to be on the beach. 




I drove back to Brunswick and the mainland.  Earlier, I had noticed that a large live oak tree in the median strip of Prince Street was now gone.  For centuries, the giant oak had stood there, but in recent years it had apparently succumbed to disease and rot, and now the city had obviously cut it down and pulled the stump, then hauled everything away.  When such a large tree disappears, there's always a big hole in the ground, but now the spot was a patch of bare dirt.  I do love "naked dirt" in the older part of town, so naturally this is where I began my detecting.  Years before, I had dug an Extremely Fine 1894-O Barber quarter at about three inches deep in the median, just a block away, so I knew the removal of the big tree and the turning of the earth in that spot might have brought something interesting up.  It wasn't so, however- I got very few signals in the dirt there, and concluded that most of it had probably been brought in from somewhere else to fill the hole.  The only thing I managed to find was a tiny .22 caliber shell, and it was not easy to pinpoint.




Passing an old house a few blocks further down, I noticed a man on the porch and actually got the nerve up to ask permission to detect his yard, which looked promising, but he refused.  It was a polite and friendly refusal, though, and we talked for three or four minutes.  I had tried a new angle this time- I actually offered him money- an hourly fee for the privilege of detecting there.  Perhaps he just wanted his manicured lawn left alone, which is understandable.  We shall see if the "pay-for-play" idea works elsewhere.  If nothing else, it at least makes me feel like less of a bum when I approach people and come to their doors as a stranger.  It's awkward asking permission to detect on private property, which is one reason I hunt so many parks and public places, unless I am lucky enough to be invited into someone's yard.

Parks and public places it was to be, then. 

On to King's Square, where I was suddenly surrounded by a swarm of noisy, inquisitive children.  I nodded politely at their barrage of questions, but soon made my excuses and moved on. 

Next stop: Crispen Square.  I soon remember why I hadn't hunted Crispen Square that much- it appears to have once been the repository of large amounts of big metallic trash items like car parts and electrical components.  I found a corroded battery, then a long strand of wire. 

My father pulled up to the curb, on his way to the library.  He asked what I had found, and I told him it had been nothing so far but a battery and a piece of wire.  "Well, all you need is some plastic explosives, and then you'll be able to build yourself a bomb," he laughed, and drove off with a wave.  Since I lack the explosives and the old corroded battery wouldn't work anyway, it appears my career as a terrorist is tragically cut short before it even began.  It's just as well- Al Qaeda probably wouldn't hire me, anyway. 

Next I went to Satilla Square, where I'd dug a 1914 Knights of Pythias medal on the previous Thursday.  I met the same adjacent homeowner again, and he mentioned seeing me a week before.  I told him about the medal and he said his wife would be excited to hear about it, since she had a detector.  She came out and I told her she should really check her front yard if she hadn't already.  Their house was built around 1890, and I know there is bound to be an Indian cent or two and some silver hiding there.  She said all she'd found so far was a few toys.  Since they were friendly, I would have asked them for permission to detect in their yard, too, but the lady of the house should really have that as her private hunting ground.

Resuming in the area where I'd found the medal the week before, I found nothing but a few modern coins-twelve cents, to be exact.  Next came part of an old toy cap pistol, and a strange looking wadcutter bullet.  When the detector sounded off with a clear belltone coin signal at five inches (the exact depth I'd dug the 1914 medal from), I got excited.

My excitement vanished when I saw I had found an old metal toothpaste tube from around the 1950s or early 1960s.  Remember metal toothpaste tubes- the kind you had to roll up with that little key?  Of course you do, unless you're one of these younger "Generation X" types.  This was Colgate "Ribbon Dental Creme with Gardol".

Ten or fifteen minutes elapsed before I got another tempting signal and found ... ANOTHER one!  Now there's the fascinating thing about amateur archaeology- I can state, confidently, that at some point during the Eisenhower or Kennedy administrations, at least one person near Satilla Square had SUPERB dental hygiene!

With 6:00 PM approaching and twilight closing in, I finished up in the western half of the square, which I've not hunted much.  Like Crispen Square, it seems to be full of large trash targets.  But near the roots of a big old live oak, I got a signal at six inches, that read just below coin range.

It had all the signs and sounds of being an Indian Head cent.

So I dug, working my way between two large roots.  The signal faded in and out, frustratingly.  Then suddenly it was very loud, and in the pile of dirt I had excavated!

Fingering the clump of dirt, I saw a coin!  It was a greenish penny, and had come from six inches down, so I knew it was old!  It HAD to be an Indian cent!

But no- it was a Lincoln cent.  The reverse of the coin was totally encrusted, so I couldn't see the wheat stalks, but I didn't need to- the patina and depth of the coin told me it had been in the ground a long time.  When I got it home and cleaned it enough to read the date, I was a little disappointed to see it was a fairly common later-date Wheat cent, and not in the best of shape, either.  It was a 1940-D.




Thus ended my expedition, as darkness closed in and I found it time to go home.  As you see, the results were less than spectacular.  In terms of finds, I would grade this a D+ outing.  But in terms of enjoyment, I'd give it a B.  Finding at least one Wheat cent kept me from considering myself totally "skunked", though my overall finds were rather pitiful.




As you can see, a lackluster day in the field didn't stop me from filling the page with longwinded ramblings.  I'll level with you- most of my outings like this never reach the writeup stage.  I thought I'd go ahead and write this one, though, and share the pictures, anyway, to give you a little local lore.  This should give you an idea of my "typical" hunt, since one-third to one-half of my detecting trips turn out this way.  Few treasure hunters take the time to write up their GOOD hunts, let alone their disappointing ones.  If you've been patient enough to read this far, I salute you.  I hope to provide more excitement next time.

The silver coins of Satilla Square remain in hiding.  I haven't found one there yet.  They're out there, though.  Will one of them surrender to my coil next time?

We shall see.


-RWS

 

Postscript- some later Internet searches proved my hunch about the toothpaste tubes- they match ones in advertisements from 1956 and 1959.  A sample of a 1956 ad is shown below.






INDEX OF PAST ADVENTURES AND FINDS



 

Last edited on 12:55 am by Riccar