I acquired my first metal detector when I was a kid, in 1971. It was a simple affair, as was the hobby back then. Detectorists were a very small group (likely regarded as extremely eccentric by “normal” people) and were primarily interested in searching for lost and buried treasure, such as hordes of Roman coins or Viking burials. That was during my childhood in the UK, of course. I don’t think we have much in the way of Roman or Viking riches in the United States, although at least one sensationalized reality television show might want you to believe otherwise.

During the 1970s my close childhood friend, John Flin, and I became something of an amateur treasure hunting team. We found coins, World War II relics — including plenty of old bullets and cartridges on a disused Royal Air Force base — and occasionally excavated the muck of the River Thames at low tide. Since city dwellers have been throwing, dumping, and accidentally dropping things into Londinuium’s murky waters since before Roman times, the slimy residue exposed when the tide flows out is rich with the discarded relics of multiple centuries.

Metal detectors operate on a fairly simple principle: A control box generates an electromagnetic pulse that is transmitted into the ground through a typically hoop-shaped coil. When that pulse encounters buried metal, the detector registers a disruption in the field and alerts the user via an audio signature, or a visual display, or both. In the old days, that was it. You heard a sound and dug up a target. Modern detectors are a whole lot more sophisticated and can often tell you what type of metal lies beneath your feet (iron, aluminum, or precious metals, for example). Some will even speculate what, precisely, your target could be (a dime, a ring pull from a soda or beer can, foil, etc.) and how deeply it might be buried.

The author in Chile’s Atacama Desert, with one of his favorite metal detectors, while filming Season Two of “Meteorite Men” the TV series

The vast majority of detectors are hand-held units that weigh a few pounds, but some are larger and far more complex. Viewers who have watched my television series Meteorite Men on the Science channel may have seen us employing gigantic metal detectors that are towed behind a truck or ATV. Recent developments in pulse induction (PI) technology have enabled designers to build larger and larger coils, such as those used on the show. An oversize coil will cover more ground on each pass, and will also “see” further into the ground, giving detectorists the ability to recover targets from greater depths than ever before. Since the strength of an electomagnetic pulse decays quickly over distance, the larger the coil, the greater its range. While filming Season Three of Meteorite Men in the forests of western Poland, we found a 75-pound iron meteorite six feet underground. Such a concept would have sounded like science fiction to me as a kid, when the range of an average detector was likely not more that a foot.

As my interest in, and experience with, meteorites and their recovery increased, so did my familiarity with metal detectors. I have used scores of detectors over the past few decades, and worked with equipment from all the leading manufacturers, of which there are quite a number. I have a long-standing professional relationship with Fisher Labs in El Paso, Texas and we used their excellent detectors (notably the F-75) in all three seasons of Meteorite Men. We were even invited to field test prototypes of new models on the show, and that was a great treat for a gearhead like myself. Fisher detectors (and the products of their sister company, Teknetics) are lightweight, highly sensitive, reliable, easy to use, and affordable. As such, they are a popular choice for many experienced detectorists and I have found meteorites on four continents using them.

Every search presents its own challenges and it is important to select the right equipment for the job. One of the most highly respected companies in the metal detector world is Minelab, and their sophisticated and advanced detectors are favored by many of the world’s most experienced relic hunters and gold prospectors. Minelab users have an extraordinary loyalty to the company and it is easy to see why. I am the proud owner of a GPX 5000 and it is easily one of the best pieces of equipment I’ve ever used. Minelab’s higher end detectors are probably second to none in their class, in terms of range and versatility, and the care with which they are manufactured is reflected in the price tag — but you get what you pay for. I’ve heard stories from the most reliable sources about experienced gold hunters returning to sites long considered to be “played out,” only to recover a small fortune in nuggets, due to the increased depth range of the newest Minelab. You might spend thousands of dollars on a Minelab, but you also might make all of that back in one day, and then some. As my co-host of Meteorite Men, Steve Arnold, once remarked: “You can have a really good year, in an afternoon, if you get lucky.”

An assortment of manmade metallic trash excavated during a recent meteorite hunt

The growing popularity of metal detecting, both as a hobby and as a profession, is reflected by this weekend’s second annual Go Minelabbing / National Metal Detecting Day events. Tomorrow, Saturday, May 18, Minelab is sponsoring four day-long events in Santa Barbara, California; Atlantic City, New Jersey; Toronto, Canada and Rio de Janiero, Brazil (we should probably think about changing that to “International Metal Detecting Day” next year!). As we did last year, Steve and I are appearing as featured guests but, this year, the Meteorite Men are straddling the continent. Steve will be at the Atlantic City event, and I’ll be in Santa Barbara, along with Tim and George, hosts of the NatGeo television series Diggers.

Metal detectorists are my people. It takes skill to operate a detector properly and it takes determination to make significant finds. A good deal of patience is also required in order to become a successful hunter and these qualities are attractive to me. Detectorists are typically intelligent, focused, thoughtful, and slightly whimsical gearheads. There’s also something existentially upbeat about them. You have to function with a certain positive mindset if that coil is going to keep on swinging, hour after hour, propelled by the hope or belief that the next big find could be just over there, under that tree, or on the slope of that hill.

If you’ve ever dreamed of finding buried treasure, join us tomorrow. Minelab will be displaying equipment, presenting organized hunts with purposely buried coins, sponsoring talks, kids’ events, and just about anything else that a seeker of buried treasure could wish for. I’ll be on the beach in front of the Fess Parker Doubletree Santa Barbara all day, reading from my latest book, Rock Star: Adventures of a Meteorite Man, giving a talk, answering questions, displaying meteorires, signing autographs, and generally reveling in the company of my like-minded and slightly but delightfully weird fellow treasure hunters. And if you want to see something really special, ask to take a look at my latest acquisition — a marvelous and recently-recovered piece of the Chelyabinsk meteorite that was part of the city-pummeling Russian fireball of February 15.

More information about National Metal Detecting Day / Go Minelabbing, or follow the hashtag #NMDD on Twitter

If you enjoyed this article, please connect with me on Twitter @geoffnotkin

Photographs by Pablo del Rio Larrain and Suzanne Morrison © Aerolite Meteorites, LLC.
Text © Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

The inaugural Arizona Science and Astronomy Expo (ASAE) will kick off at the Tucson Convention Center tomorrow, Saturday, November 10 and is certain to enthrall science buffs of all ages. Event Director, Alan Traino, is a solar telescope pioneer, a highly respected member of the astronomy community, and a proponent of science education for young Americans. For the past three years, along with my Meteorite Men co-host Steve Arnold, I have been a speaker at Alan’s Northeast Astronomy Forum (NEAF) in New York. NEAF is the largest astronomy event in the world and I know from personal experience that Alan is one of the foremost promoters and organizers of science-related events in the country.

“2012 is our first year here,” said Alan Traino, “but we are going to build on it, and Tucson will be the center of the astronomy universe within five years.”

For this weekend’s Tucson expo, Alan and his associates have put together a stellar lineup of speakers, including NASA astronauts Story Musgrave and Donald Petit; Canadian scientist Dr. Carin Bondar, “The Biologist with a Twist, a brilliant science writer, blogger and television personality; Dr. Phil Plait, AKA “The Bad Astronomer,” who delights thousands of fans around the world with his illuminating writing and lectures; astronomy writer and podcaster Dr. Pamela L. Gay, solar telescope expert Stephen Ramsden; Adam Block from the Mount Lemmon Sky Center, and Dr. Steele Hill of NASA’s Goddard SOHO mission.

Celebrated scientist and blogger, Dr. Phil Plait is a featured speaker at this weekend’s Tucson science expo. Photograph © Phil Plait.

I was honored by the invitation to put together a meteorite panel entitled, “Out of the Sky: How Meteorites have Changed the World.” The panel begins at 10 am on Sunday, November 11, and will be moderated by asteroid expert and former Meteorite magazine editor, Dr. Larry Lebofsky. The panelists are Dr. Melissa Morris from ASU’s Center for Meteorite Studies; world famous meteorite hunter Sonny Clary; Director of Operations for Aerolite Meteorites, LLC and Meteorite Men location photographer, Suzanne Morrison; and myself. NASA Edge TV will be filming the panel for live broadcast, and interested parties are invited to watch it live on the web.

Dr. Carin Bondar, “The Biologist with a Twist,” will delight audiences at the expo this weekend. Photograph © Carin Bondar/Kim Mallory Photography.

In addition to the scheduled speaking events the Arizona Science and Astronomy Expo will be offering remote telescope viewing with the Mount Lemmon Sky Center, imaging workshops, ongoing digital planetarium shows, daytime solar observing and night time viewing through an impressive array of telescopes. The expo “will be featuring exhibitors and manufacturers of astronomical products from around the world, including telescopes, binoculars, mounts, cameras, domes, and all related accessories. You can also shop for all your extras including meteorites, flashlights, gifts, and much more.”

The Mule, the special expedition vehicle seen in action on Meteorite Men, Globe Trekker, and How the Earth was Made will be on display for the entire weekend.

In addition, NASA has generously loaned an extraordinary collection of historic memorabilia and artifacts to the expo, including flown space suits and their display collection of meteorites.

ASAE will feature a spectacular display of space rocks, provided by NASA and Aerolite Meteorites of Tucson. Photograph by Suzanne Morrison © Aerolite Meteorites, LLC.

“We are trying to engage our young people and show them that it’s cool to be a science geek,” said John Joseph, President of Starlight Instruments and an exhibitor at the event. “We may not have a space program anymore, but some of the kids attending ASAE this weekend are going to grow up and start their own.”

Admission is only $10 each day and includes access to all exhibits and talks. Kids under 12 receive free admission with an adult, and veterans are invited to accept complimentary admission on Sunday.

Visit the official website for more information >>>

I have a thing for telescopes. It was my childhood exposure to them (and a penchant for wandering the bleak chalk quarries of southern England in search of fossils) that doubtless prompted me to pursue the life of a science writer, meteorite hunter, and adventurer.

Telescopes are, for me, a three-pronged recipe for delight. Firstly, they are mechanical and technological wonders. In another life I might have been an engineer, or an optical designer, fascinated as I am by gears, mirrors, prisms, and the arcane details of how machines work and how they are put together. Secondly, vintage telescopes, with their brass tubes and lovingly hand-ground lenses, are a palimpsest of the early days of scientific inquiry. They are elegant time capsules from an era when the disciplines we take for granted today—astronomy, chemistry, physics, geology, botany, and so on—began crawling, painstakingly, into the public consciousness; fighting, sometimes, for their very survival in a world of flat Earths, religious dogma, and narrow thinking. Something about an old telescope whisks my mind back to an imagined “Golden Age of Invention and Discovery,” when adventurers wore pith helmets and carried long-barreled revolvers in brown leather holsters; a time when we first began to realize that our little planet does not exist at the center of the Universe and that we are, almost certainly, not alone in the night. Thirdly, and perhaps most significantly, it is the telescope-as-tool that allows us Earth-bound humans to peer, entranced, through delicate glass discs into the cosmos.

When, therefore, Steve Arnold, co-host of my television series, Meteorite Men, and I, were invited to appear as the keynote speakers at the 2012 Stellafane telescope and astronomy convention, I jumped at the chance. My friend Geoff Cintron, a noted amateur astronomer and fellow meteorite aficionado, smiled and stated, with considerable gravitas: “Stellafane is a pilgrimage, a right of passage for everyone who is serious about astronomy and telescopes. They all make the trip, at some point in their lives. You’re going to have a great time.”

Telescopes doze during the afternoon at Stellafane, waiting patiently for the sun to set

If I am to be entirely accurate I will admit that Steve and I were, in fact, already booked as keynote speakers for the 2011 Stellafane event, but we had to cancel due to a grueling Meteorite Men Season Three shooting schedule that put us in rural Russia at the precise time we were meant to be appearing atop a windy, tree-shrouded hill in rural Vermont. Some things are worth waiting for, and a visit to Stellafane was one of them.

My girlfriend, Libby, and I flew to Vermont early. A private tour of the Springfield Telescope Makers underground museum of astronomical history, in the company of biographer and telescope expert, Berton Willard, had been arranged for us and I was not about to miss a moment of that. We stayed at the Hartness House, outside of the sleepy town of Springfield, and I described my visit to the museum in last week’s edition of The Logical Lizard, “Looking at the Night Sky Through the Past.” Hartness is one of those grand old bed & breakfasts that looks magnificent on the outside, but is not quite so impressive on the inside. Our little room skulked at the end of a dark corridor, and was as damp as a Welsh sheepdog just returned from November hills. Living in the desert, I forget what aged New England wooden houses are like. Yes, the hot water failed, and yes all of our group reservations were messed up; a pipe got blocked and flooded half of our living quarters, but the scientific history wrapped up in the place, the Steampunk-ish Hartness Turret Telescope ensconced in a bunker across the lawn, the friendliness of the staff, and the marvelous museum tucked away in the basement made it difficult to stay annoyed at minor service failures for more than a few minutes.

On the other side of Precision Valley—once the home to a hub of American commerce and industry—there resides a steep hill known as Stellafane. Every August, stargazers and telescope builders converge upon that hill to camp, cook, drink, swap stories, and set up their prized possessions. And how passionate are some of the members of Springfield Telescope Makers—the club that organizes the Stellafane Convention! When the site they once used for the event was downgraded into a Christmas tree farm, two senior Stellafane members mortgaged their homes (allegedly, without telling their wives) and bought the hill where enthusiasts from all over the country now convene. The rest of the club pitched in and, within ten years, the courageous mortgagers had been paid back in full. That is dedication to your hobby.

This camaraderie, this “anything for the stars” attitude permeates the event on every level. Some travel hundreds, or thousands, of miles with a beloved telescope in tow, in order to pass a weekend with the like-minded. Stellafane exuded, all at once, the feel of an outdoor folk festival, swap meet, comic book con, science fair, engineering festival, and weekend camping trip. In other words, I was as happy as a hummingbird in an orchid blossom.

The Meteorite Men at Stellafane 2012

I first met my friend Patrick Manley through Twitter. Later, we connected in person at the Northeast Astronomy Forum in New York. We share an interest in meteorites, and I always thought of Patrick in that capacity, and as a space program enthusiast. I did not realize that he is also an expert amateur astronomer. Patrick invited me to join him, after our keynote address on the Saturday evening, on a nighttime tour of the heavens, courtesy of him and his pals.

Steve and I presented our talk and slide show to an outdoor audience of about 500 people, at night, under the stars, in a lovely natural amphitheater. I was given a friendly advisory by our friend and events coordinator, Wayne Zuhl, that we should keep our show to under an hour. With dark and clear Vermont skies waiting, astronomers would likely not want to give up too much observing time to hear about space rocks. After about 70 minutes, I asked the seated audience—most of whom I could barely make out in the darkness—if we should stop. “I know you all want to get on with the, you know, stargazing. You can listen to a talk about meteorites almost any time.” My question was greeted by calls of: “Keep going!” and “We want more!” and similar. I really was quite flattered. Half an hour after that, we started wrapping things up and I asked for one final question.

“Who is your favorite Doctor?” a lady called out from the concave hill face.

I immediately shouted back: “Hunter S. Thompson,” which brought a chuckle from some. I quickly followed with: “Oh, do you mean my favorite Dr. Who?” I then proceeded to talk about how much I have always enjoyed Tom Baker in the role, but—in light of more recent events—had to say that Christopher Eccleston is now my favorite Doctor. A fairly detailed discussion ensued, after which Steve described me to the audience, with some amusement, as: “A big science fiction geek,” and that received the biggest round of applause of the entire evening. And there’s my life story in a nutshell: Applauded on a Vermont hilltop, in the middle of the night, for being a sci-fi geek.

The author with two young “Meteorite Men” fans

Patrick patiently waited around after the talk, while we signed autographs and chatted with attendees. At around 11 pm he guided us on a slow walk up the hillside, where a wide swath had been cleared of trees, allowing for undisturbed celestial views. Almost the entire expanse was covered in telescopes. It was a bit like a cross between Mos Eisley Spaceport and a science museum.

Maintaining your night vision is an important part of astronomical observing, so you don’t see any regular white lights being used—anywhere. Astronomers carry small tinted flashlights that emit a very weak red beam; it’s just enough to get around and adjust a few insturments here and there, without temporarily blinding your night-focused neighbors. Every now and then some unfortunate person would be the butt of brief good-natured booing and shouting, when they moved a car or opened a trunk to get an extra fleece, therby unintentionally activating startling white lights that seemed impossibly bright to our night sky-adjusted eyes. Most Stellafane attendees are practiced in leaving their car lights off if they have to relocate a vehicle, but those annoying automatic headlight thingamajigs were the undoing of a couple of well-intentioned people.

Patrick took us to his campsite (“Watch that brick”; “Look out for this rope here, it’s hard to see”) all in total darkness, save for our dim red lights, themselves hardly brighter than a distant galaxy. He had his own telescope set up, and effortlessly directed it to a binary star here, a globular cluster there. It was a fantastic device. After a while he said: “Do you want to go further up the hill and look through some of the big ‘scopes?” And that was much like asking a dolphin if he enjoys frolicking in the water.

Filming a STEM education video at Stellafane with director Rebekah Fraser. The antique telescope was kindly loaned to us by one of the club members. I even got to take a class in telescope mirror grinding!

Our first stop was a twenty-inch telescope, more than twice the size of my own largest instrument. Through it, I gazed, stupefied, at the Swan Nebula and the Lagoon Nebula, both of which were more spectacular than anything I had ever seen in the night sky, and—apart from the near absence of color—might just as well have been special effects shots from Star Trek: The Next Generation.

People share at Stellafane. They share their telescopes and also their love of the heavens. As we tiptoed among expensive instruments in the dark, it seemed that each was larger and more impressive than the last and, every few minutes, some friendly stranger in the night would half whisper to anyone within earshot: “I’ve got the 32-inch set on M22″—that being a globular cluster 10,600 light years away—”Who wants a look?”

The parallels between my passion and theirs is obvious: I scour the planet looking for meteorites; they stare into the night skies from whence my quarry came. All in all, we’re a pretty starry-eyed bunch.

Text and photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin.
All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

Special thanks to Wayne Zuhl and the Springfield Telescope Makers