Prologue
My story will seem ordinary to some, and perhaps even boring. I personally know people whom fortune has endowed with much greater success than me and my comrades. These gentlemen of fortune could tell of much more exciting adventures and boast of disproportionately large finds. Someone told me how at night they saw soldiers in the uniform of the Red Army, and in the morning they found their remains at this place, someone found gold hryvnias and scatterings of “scales”. Our story is not so exciting, however, this particular incident stuck in our memory – perhaps the effect of the famous saying “patience and work will grind everything down”, together with mystical coincidences, makes it unique.
Chapter I. Not a very good day
It all started during another trip to the junction of the Moscow and Ryazan regions. I must admit, these are the places we like the most. The most interesting finds were found here, in addition, we are friends with several natives who provide useful information. So, there were three of us – reckless adventurers who preferred the dusty and bumpy road to the warm family bed and the oblivion-giving breath of Morpheus.
It must be said that the story began even earlier – during a previous trip, we were surprised to notice mown and plowed former state farm fields that had not been cultivated since the collapse of the Union. That time we decided not to go anywhere, and only then, using the maps, to find interesting points in the newly plowed fields. Now we have five places marked – five chances for success, five hopes. At this point it is worth giving a short description of my companions. Both of them are accomplished people with stable incomes, but the whirlpool of the cop has sucked them in headlong. One of them, Dima, is the luckiest of our trio, sometimes you get the feeling that he will find a coin even in the devil’s ass. The second, Andrey, is not so lucky, but is very persistent, which is often rewarded. It was he who pushed me, on the one hand, to a new hobby, and on the other, to a very adventurous activity.
And then finally the morning came when the three of us, not having slept well, but in anticipation of the treasured finds, raided the first two fields. Time passed, but there were no finds. Even the happiest of the three little pigs had two tattered Soviets in his pocket, which can hardly be called even ordinary finds.
On the approach to the third field, my inner instinct told me nothing. And indeed it is empty. The sun had already risen high and burned mercilessly, incinerating hope for success. Putting the metal detector aside, I lay down in the grass at the edge of the field and squinted at the blue sky. The tops of the pine trees rustled gently above me. A pleasant drowsiness fell on me almost immediately. Half asleep, I remembered how I also lay on the edge of a field after mowing, in the village where I went on vacation. All that was missing was the bottle of milk that my grandmother gave me with her, and my grandfather, who told simple stories about village life. He had his own bottle of “milk” at the mowing and, drunk under a tree in the sun after several hours of work, he poisoned his stories. Basically, they were about hunting, about how one day a faithful husky saved him from a bear, and subsequently the grateful grandfather, feeding several hunting dogs, gave her the very first piece of meat, which had fewer veins.
“And here’s another story, Lyonka” – despite the fact that he knew perfectly well that my name was Alexey, all his life he called me Lyonka – “Your grandmother with Manka’s scythe went to the cooperative field at night to buy beets. They're digging it up, they look, a car has pulled up, its headlights illuminated them, your grandmother lay down, and Manka, not only slanting, but also fat, got up on her knees and crawled, so they shoot her with a gun! That means she was mistaken for a boar. And when she jumps up, swears, and runs to the side, these would-be hunters themselves were frightened by such a sight. It’s good that we didn’t hit.”
The grandfather’s tanned, wrinkled face grins cheerfully.
It was a long time ago, then the trees were big and the sky was bluer, but now…
“Why are you lying down?” my friend’s voice pulls me out of my blissful languor.
I open my eyes and see his face looming over me, crimson from the heat.
-Is there anything? – I ask.
“Nothing,” he mutters through his teeth.
Chapter II. Amazon Wilds
The path to the fourth field was blocked by a river. Not wide, but with steep banks and fast currents. There were two options: return to the car and make a long detour to the bridge, and then drive through the dirt roads to the opposite bank – or ford the river. We settled on the second one. It was not possible to find the sandbank, but we were lucky enough to find a place where the bottom was clearly visible. Then the comedy began. Having stripped naked, we entered the stream, immediately getting stuck in the silty bottom. Somehow, swearing like Marktan boats, maneuvering between the bushes of algae entwined around our legs, we moved to the opposite shore. If there were fishermen nearby and saw this picture, the shore would certainly be filled with thick laughter. The fishermen were replaced by local frogs, who made fun of us with wild croaking. Already approaching the shore, I plopped down into the sand. Knee-deep in mud, stuck water lilies and mud, we crawled out to the opposite bank. Having cleaned ourselves and crossed the ravine, we moved towards the village that beckoned us. Here it became clear that there was an error in the calculations; the tract was further behind the copse. We had to walk through a swampy field that still retained the morning moisture. The grass was above our knees, and soon we were completely wet again; in addition, with every step, a cloud of midges flew up from the ground, annoyingly circling above us.
The field ended, and we decided that the misadventures were behind us. But it was not there. The road was blocked by a stream, two meters wide, completely overgrown with duckweed. I didn't want to get into it. Having bent several willow bushes onto the bank, we built an impromptu bridge from it. Having crossed to the other bank, we entered the copse separating it from the field – and immediately found ourselves in the mosquito kingdom. These were not just mosquitoes, but wild blood-sucking giants. It seems that they intend to drink all our blood and bite into our flesh. There was no salvation, they easily bit through my pants, stung my neck, cheeks, and climbed onto all exposed parts of my body. They just enveloped us like a cloud. We increased our pace. The forest parted, and the treasured field appeared in front of us. I walked last and did not immediately understand why my two comrades stood rooted to the spot. Our imaginary “Klondike” was completely planted with young trees. Of course, it was impossible to walk here. We were silent. Like a sentence, it sounded in the silence – Acta est fabula!
This was the last straw. There was no longer any optimism. That's it, period, that's it.
Having reached the car, in deathly silence we left our equipment in the trunk and headed back. Having bought cold water and had a quick snack, little by little we moved away. I don’t remember exactly who first suggested stopping by the village with a welcoming name and checking out the last place, but such a decision was made.
The long-untilled field was plowed, which made walking along it very comfortable. We decided not to go far. And then something happened that contained something mystical, as if someone, observing our misadventures, decided to take pity. Although, perhaps it was just a coincidence, a coincidence, luck, luck.
Taking a step away from the car, we, according to a tradition we heard somewhere, poured the earthly grandfather a glass of vodka and put in some candy.
And so it began! Literally a meter from this place, my device gave a clear signal. We frantically took up our shovels. From a depth of about half a bayonet they lifted the first Catherine's coin, then the second, third, fourth… And all on a straight line, like an arrow, at a distance of 5-6 meters from each other, for 20 minutes. We didn’t even believe it right away.
– I found it yet! – my friend shouts to me.
– Two more! – the second comrade shouts to me
It became obvious that we had come across a plow. The items found were several two-kopeck coins and half coins, also from the Catherine period.
Half a day of climbing through the wilds, searching in the designated “fat” places – and nothing. And here, on the edge of the field, almost near the houses, such luck. To this day, I, a person who absolutely does not believe in mysticism, am racking my brains over whether it was a coincidence or, indeed, some patrons of the diggers took pity on our torment. We did not dare to dig a pit, since there were residential buildings literally 100 meters away. Therefore, we had to be content with what we found, but these, at first glance, modest finds greatly cheered us up.
Of course, after this my comrades and I had more worthwhile finds, in material and aesthetic terms. However, it was this hike that we remember most. Remembering our adventures that evening, we all suddenly caught ourselves thinking that even if the journey ended in nothing – after snoring, puffing, internally getting rid of this failure, we would continue to engage in our favorite hobby. After all, it is precisely such adventures that make coping more intense, fill us with impressions and provide food for discussion.
Sent by Alexey V.
Comrades, to participate in the competition, send your stories from the dig with interesting photos by email: hobby.detecting@gmail.com What can you win in the competition of the 2016 season ? All details about the prizes are here