The Shore Patrol : Every Day You’ll Find Them Combing Southland Beaches With Their Metal Detectors

The thing about Sandy Crawford is, she seems normal. Housewife, mother of two, sunny personality. So why would she go out to the beach with a metal detector like . . . one of them?

Codgers in Sansabelt slacks and Hush Puppies, nothing better to do--human anteaters snagging the lost trinkets of beach-goers.

She laughs at the picture. She felt the same way when her firefighter husband first got the detecting bug.

“I was embarrassed to be seen with him,” recalled Crawford, 48, a grandmother of two from Rossmoor. “It seemed like picking through trash for aluminum cans-- yuuuuk!”

But then the couple went on a weekend hunt at a ghost town, and she was hooked. Now her parents, brother and two grown daughters detect too.

“People have this idea that metal detectorists are greedy bums and weirdos,” said Crawford. “But we’re grandpas and grandmas and kids doing this, and it’s just a fun hobby for the whole family!”

Through 15 California clubs such as the West Coast Prospectors and Treasure Hunters Assn. of Garden Grove, hundreds of detectorists are seeking to improve their image.

They have codes of ethics. They stress returning jewelry like class rings that often carry inscriptions. They’ve even helped police ferret out drug caches. Crawford was there for a half-ton cocaine search last January by narcotics officers with the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and U.S. Customs in which guns and barrels of drugs were unearthed from a back yard in Perris.

“Number one, we don’t go into any (private) areas without permission,” stressed Betty Weeks, president of the Western Chapter of the national Federation of Metal Detector and Archaelogical Club. “We do not rob graves, and we do not go into (national) parks where we are not allowed.”

Sounding like vacuum cleaners catching stray hairpins, the detectorists troll Orange County’s coastline and have become as much a part of the Southern California beach scene as surfers and volleyball. They sift through soft drink cans and fast-food wrappers and other worthless beach leftovers for that rare valuable find.

It doesn’t pay rent, though. Despite the frequent assumption that detectorists are profiting from the misfortune of others, they typically find 50 coins an hour on a good day, and half of them are probably pennies.

There are more than 300 clubs in the United States, with memberships of up to 150 that support several national magazines like Western and Eastern Treasures, Treasure Search, Treasure Found and Lost Treasure.

More and more members are women, Weeks said.

“We run away from home,” Weeks confides with a giggle, “because it beats housework.”

A metal detector consists of a hand-held wand whose base is swept over the ground. As the detector nears certain objects, a sensor tricks a meter that offers a “reading” of the weight of the object. The detectorist wears earphones wired to the wand, alerted by sound to a possible treasure. Based on the reading, the person must decide whether to dig for the object, which usually requires sifting through sand or soil.

Prices widely vary, from $50 toy store models to the $1,000 Cadillacs of the line. The more expensive models offer greater ability to distinguish what’s beneath the surface.

A flattened bottle cap will read the same as a quarter. A penny falls in the same range as a standard ring. Gold rings read low; silver reads in the dime-to-dollar range. These are the sage tips you learn either by experience, or through the fellowship at club meetings.

Like the West Coast Prospectors, 75 of whom attended last month’s meeting inside the Garden Grove Womens’ Civic Club. Members passed around their latest treasures, swapped tips on technique and raffled off prizes. The refreshment committee provided coffee, cocoa and ice cream.

Before the night was out, awards for the “find-of-the-month” were bestowed. There was a category for amateurs (those who have never won the contest) and one for pros (those who have). The best of the month’s finds were displayed for members to view and vote on.

One of the three amateur troves, displayed in a cigar box, bore this note: “In 4 hours of metal detecting: 29 pennies, 2 dimes, 3 nickels, 1 horse fob (which hangs at the end of a pocket watch). Half an old toy car; 1 old button.” Singled out by the detectorist as the most novel item was what appeared to be a rusty palm-sized chunk of metal. It was described as a “Chinese iron used to press shirt collars.” It won the evening’s most unusual find award.

Another collection featured a Lisa Simpson doll from the animated TV show; a Little Mermaid pin; toy cars; a pocket knife; house keys, car keys, postage stamps, an amethyst ring with matching earrings; GI Joe dolls in a tank; a tiny rusted key; a ballpoint pen; a Medical alert bracelet (“I am diabetic; if ill, call a physician), and coins with a face value of $48.55.

“This is a veery good display,” observed a middle-age member, nodding his head for emphasis. “Especially for an amateur.”

It’s not all worthless goo-gaws and mate-less cuff links, however. Rings of diamonds and other stones are regularly dug up and tested with a special device for authenticity during club meetings. Valuable jewelry is found nearly every month.

The West Coast detecting brethren drive from as far away as Burbank.

Jeff Levy, 23, of Glendale, an officer of the club, drives down each month for meetings with his fiance, Scarlett. “We’re not what you expected, right?” he asked.

A business major at Cal Poly Pomona, Levy had grown bored while visiting relatives back East. Until he found a metal detector tucked in a closet. Someone had dug up old musket balls with it, “and I got interested.”

“I came back out here, and bought a cheap detector for $175,” Levy says. “A week later in Huntington Beach, I found a 14-carat gold ring and a 22-carat gold chain worth $500 to $600.”

Sitting beside the couple are members in maroon satin club jackets and T-shirts. They have a monthly newsletter, The Grubstake, with its own columnist, called The Cat’s Box (“The Cat has learned . . . “). They have their own vernacular. They even have their own cartoons, drawn by Crawford on note cards spoofing metal detectorists. The humor is so specialized that most outside the hobby would get it.

Don’t laugh, Crawford says with a grin, but it’s all so dang fun. You never know what you’re going to find.

It’s a blustery day at the Huntington Beach Pier, and the shore is shared mostly by surfers and transients and two detectorists.

“They just cruise, you know? Nobody bothers them,” said Larry Colby, 25, of Huntington Beach, emerging with his surfboard from the morning waves.

Crawford and Ralph Crowther (he’s president of the West Coast Prospectors) wander back and forth along the low-tide line. Fifty surfers ride the waves during the hour the pair scour the sand with little success.

Some days detectorists don’t collect enough spare change to pay for the parking meter. Crummy days like today, when hardly anyone is on the beach and they’ve netted 26 cents in 45 minutes.

“You never know when that signal goes off what’s down there,” Crowther says. “You just hope it’s enough to cover the cost of your (detector) batteries and your gas to get down here.”

Crawford dons a wet suit at the crack of dawn some mornings and splashes into the waves of Long Beach.

Crowther prefers sunset.

“It’s the prettiest time of day, and nobody’s down here to be bothered.”

Since she began detecting in 1983, Crawford has found items with a total face value of $4,000. Her most valuable find was hidden in a boarded-up house on an old dirt lot: a man’s antique diamond ring appraised at $700.

She has eight years worth of photo albums in which she documents the date, location, time spent and face value of her treasures, along with pictures of weekend “hunts.”

“For every good thing you find,” Crawford explains, “you probably get five junky things. Aluminium, (foil-lined) Jack-in-the-Box or condiment wrappers. That’s a big joke in the club. You dig ‘em up and”--her face cringes--”you’ve got a package of ketchup. Yeeck. “

Still, Crawford says simply, “Doing this is better than doing the dishes.”