Behind the Name: The Windy Digger The name The Windy Digger comes from where I spend a lot of my time— Portage and Main in Winnipeg . You can say I worked that corner for just over 10 years... No and not that kinda worked! It’s often called one of the windiest spots in Canada. Is that officially proven by science? Probably not. But if you’ve ever stood there for more than five minutes, you already know the answer. The wind at Portage and Main doesn’t just blow—it commits crimes. It comes out of nowhere, funnels between buildings, freezes your face, and somehow always hits harder when you’re already cold. It’s the kind of wind that steals hats, flips umbrellas inside out, and makes you wonder why anyone built a city there in the first place. After a while, though, you stop fighting it. You just accept it and carry on. Working in that environment shaped my attitude. You learn pretty quickly that complaining doesn’t help. You show up, you do the job, and you deal with whatever t...

  August 1st, Wild Oaks Campground. It started out like any other detecting adventure. I had my wetsuit on, headphones over my ears, detector in one hand, scoop in the other. I waded chest-deep into the lake, thinking everything was fine. The water was calm. The sun was out. I was in my zone.                                                                             Me in the stupid suit! But then I took one more step—and the world dropped out from under me. I had hit a massive drop-off near the dock, and there was no warning. One moment I was standing on solid sand, the next I was in deep water, my feet scrambling for bottom that just wasn’t there. I tried using my scoop to push myself back up, but I couldn’t find anything to stand on. The wetsuit that should’ve helped me fl...

Talkin’ the Talk: Metal Detecting Lingo in Real Life Metal detecting has its own language — a mix of wit, wisdom, and hard-earned experience. If you've ever wondered what terms like "canslaw" or "coinball" really mean, here's a walk through a day in the dirt using all the slang we love. No glossary here — just stories. Clad I kicked off the morning with an easy park hunt. Thirty minutes in and I already had a pocket full of modern change. Not a relic in sight, but hey — clad adds up. It’s not glamorous, but it keeps the hunt alive. I call it “battery money.” Digger The sun was barely up, and the ground was still cool from the night. I drove my digger in deep, working around a faint signal. Clean plug. And there it was: a crusty 1919 Wheat penny. My digger's been with me for years — it’s practically an extension of my arm. Heartbreaker I got a solid tone under an old oak tree and my heart jumped — it was hitting high, steady, and deep. I was sure I...

  One-Spot Wonders: My Best Find from the Smallest Spot You know those moments where your gut says, “Just give it a quick swing” ? Well, this story is exactly that—and it taught me a lesson I won’t forget. The Setup It was a long day out at a rural permission I’d had my eye on for months—an old farmhouse with history stretching back to the early 1900s. Most of the yard had already been combed over. I’d pulled a few relics earlier in the day, a button or two, a rusted spoon, and plenty of old iron junk. The usual. After hours of detecting in the hot sun and feeling like I’d tapped the place dry, I called it quits and started packing up. But as I walked past the side of the house on my way back to the van, I noticed this little 6x6 foot patch of grass wedged between a crumbling concrete step and the base of a downspout. Honestly, it looked like nothing. Too tight to swing in, trampled flat, and filled with roots. But that itch hit me. The one that says, “Just swing the coil one...

  WARNING!!! If you don't like crude photos don't read on!  "Dude… I Don’t Think This Is Treasure." Okay, so picture this: It’s a random Saturday, weather’s decent, and I’m out doing my thing with the metal detector in this small forest next to an old, sketchy-looking property. Like, the kind of place where you'd either find buried loot or an old toilet seat — no in between. Anyway, I’m scanning the ground, just minding my business. Birds are chirping, trees are swaying, and my detector starts going off like, BEEP-BEEP-BEEP , in that “OH MY!, something good is here” kind of way. I get hyped. Could be a coin. Maybe a ring. Maybe pirate gold. (A guy can dream, okay?) So I start digging. About six inches down… I see it. Something black. Kinda smooth. For a second I’m like, “Oh sick! Maybe it’s a bag of gold or one of those weird vintage Louis V bag or something.” Spoiler: It was not that. It was NOT that at all. Uhhh… What Is That? So I pull it out (bad choice of w...

After years of swinging a detector and chasing beeps in the dirt, you end up with a lot of stuff. Some of it’s exciting right away, and other things... well, they get tossed in “the bucket.” You know the one—the catch-all container for the rusted, the weird, the unidentifiable. Mine sat untouched in a crawl space for a couple of years until curiosity got the better of me. Bucket #1 So, I pulled it out, dusted it off, and started the satisfying process of bucket sorting . It’s like a time capsule of past hunts and forgotten excitement. Axe Head with a Story One of the first items I pulled out was this old axe head (photo #2). Caked in rust, but still holding its form. The shape and wear suggest it could be early to mid-20th century. What really caught my eye, though, was the faint lettering still visible on one side. It looks like it might say " AMGENT " or something similar, possibly a brand or owner's mark. I haven’t nailed it down yet—if anyone out there recognizes it...