Charles Krug detecting service Tag | The Ring Finders

***Call a professional metal detectorist for help locating a ring in the sand-at the beach, in the grass – at a park or backyard — Charles “MD” Krug 619-762-0940***

It began with a call from Micah’s wife, who had found me through The Ringfinders after returning to their home state. Her husband, Micah, had lost something extraordinary—an almost unbelievable treasure—while body-surfing just 48 hours earlier.

A rogue wave had hit him hard, tossing him end over end in the surf. When he surfaced, shaken and gasping, he immediately knew something was wrong. His 90-gram 14kt Byzantine gold chain and pendant—a dazzling 20 pesos gold coin—was gone. With a melt value around $7,600, it wasn’t just expensive—it was a precious and sentimental piece of jewelry.

As the tide fell that day, Micah and his family searched frantically in the shallows, scouring the sandy bottom in knee-deep water. But the ocean is a cruel keeper of secrets. The chain was nowhere to be seen.

When I received the call for help, I was honest: with only a vague idea of where the loss occurred, the odds of finding it were slim to none. Still, there was one glimmer of hope—the sheer weight of the necklace. At nearly three troy ounces, there was a chance it had sunk straight down and stayed put, anchored by the heavy coin.

So I began my hunt. I studied tide charts, calculated the target IDs for both 14k gold and the Mexican 20 pesos coin, and mapped out my search zones with GPS precision. Over the next several days, I conducted four separate 90-minute hunts, battling shifting sands, pounding waves, and exhaustion.

This time of year, the surf is merciless—six to eight-foot breakers crash with bone-rattling force on the shallow slope of the beach. Snorkeling was impossible. I worked upright, detector in one hand and basket scoop in the other, pushing the limits of the surf zone to about four feet deep. Any farther, and the waves would swamp me completely.

Then came the fifth outing. Low tide. Late afternoon sun. The sea was calm—for once. In waist-deep water, my detector sang out with a strange, alternating tone. It wasn’t the strong solid tone of gold; more like a nickel and dime mixed with some iron.  Still, instinct told me to dig.

First scoop—nothing.
Second scoop—still nothing.
On the third scoop, a flash caught my eye.

In the wet sand, coiled like a sleeping serpent, was a four-inch length of warm, bright gold chain.  My heart leapt.  I froze, then a grin spread across my face. “Woohoo!” I shouted into the wind, the cry echoing across the empty beach.

I marched triumphantly from the surf, chest out, water streaming from my surf shirt (gut sucked in).  Instead of dumping the scoop unceremoniously onto the sand, I knelt and reverently sifted through the wet mix until the entire 26 inches of gold chain emerged, the gold coin pendant, still attached, swinging freely.

The $12,000 necklace shimmered in the fading light—salt-streaked, sand-dusted, yet utterly magnificent.  The ocean had held it captive for twelve days, burying it nearly a foot beneath the sand, and yet it survived unmarred, untouched, and waiting.

Some hunts end in frustration.  Some end in quiet relief.  This one ended in pure, unforgettable triumph.  (Shout out to Saint Anthony!)