The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
ANALOGUE TRAVELLER
Inspired by the TV series, Nigel Richardson sets out to meet a real-life detectorist who says his hobby goes much deeper than digging up ‘cool stuff’
We are treasure hunters for the day. “And talking of treasure,” says my companion, Kris Rodgers, “this is the real treasure, my friend.” He opens his arms to a world that is just for us: a field in the south- east corner of England, freshly cut for hay; to the north a copse; to the south a ridge with an old windmill on it; above, a cloudless sky sprinkled with buzzards.
“A lot of detectorists miss this,” Kris goes on. “They’re in it for gain. They miss the bigger picture of what it can give you.”
Kris is warm and thoughtful, a lot like Lance in the television comedy series Detectorists. That show pointed me here. Lockdown gave me the necessary push. I too wanted to escape into timeless landscapes with a wry buddy, hoping for the unexpected but never counting on it. A couple of emails and phone calls hooked me up to the detectorist responsible for a YouTube video series enti tled “Addicted to Bleeps”.
Kris has a worldwide viewing audience of 75,000. There are an estimated 20,000 detectorists in the UK. But the hobby generally eludes the cultural detectors of the zeitgeist-conscious, being non-metropolitan and a bit, well, nerdy (when I put this to Kris he says cheerfully, “I’d rather be a nerd than not. Non-nerds tend to be aggressive and arrogant”).
So we are standing on the edge of the field (in which Kris, crucially, has the farmer’s permission to truffle) and he demonstrates how to sweep the detector so the search coil (the circular head) remains parallel to the ground. “It’s a slow, relaxed motion,” hes says. “This is the tai chi part of it: repeating these movements until your mind finally shuts up and you go to that zone where you become nothing and no one. And it’s lovely.”
He tells me that detectorists come in all shapes: the greedy, the cagey, the studious who pore over old maps – and the spiritual types who seek a healing place Beyond. There is, for example, a group called Detecting for Veterans that attracts PTSD sufferers. Kris himself says: “It goes deeper than just digging up cool stuff. It’s hard to suffer from anxiety or feel pressure
‘This is the tai chi part of it, that zone where you become nothing and no one. And it’s lovely’
when you are in a place like this.”
He calls the bleeps to which he is addicted “happy bleeps”, when the metal detector emits excited signals that indicate the presence in the ground of something potentially interesting. There are also “unhappy bleeps”, which sound more like low growls and are usually caused by worthless scrap. The majority of Kris’s haul over the years has been made up of bullets, musket balls and what he calls “coins of nothingness”.
He lends me one of his detectors, a mean machine called an XP GoldMaxx Power, and we begin to sweep the field, chuntering companionably like Andy and Lance in the series. Metal detecting, he admits, has its controversial side. Some detectorists give the hobby a bad name – the ones known as “nighthawks” who steal and sell objects from archaeological sites. “It’s not all blue skies and happy people like me,” he says ruefully. “There are some nefarious people out there.”
As we talk, a lone Spitfire burbles across the blue. Then Kris gets a bleep. It is halfway between happy and grumbly – worth a dig. He carefully levers up a plug of earth with his spade, and examines it more closely with his pointer (similar to those used at airport security). “Prepare yourself,” he says – and pulls out a ring pull from a drinks can.
His most spectacular find came just a few months ago – a hoard of Bronze Age axe heads and other objects that he registered, as always, with the Portable Antiquities Scheme voluntary programme run by the British Museum). Experts from the BM are still assessing it.
But he prefers the really personal objects that tell a story – such as the early 14th-century “papal bulla” he found. This is a lead seal that was attached to papal documents to prove their authenticity. “It has a rip in it, as if it was torn away from the holder. Was he murdered?”
Another bleep, unmistakably happy this time. He digs, he wields the pointer. “Ah, look at that, my friend.” It’s small and finely wrought – brass with a green patina of oxidisation. He turns it over in his gloved hand. “We’ve got ourselves a buckle. That’s got some age to it.” (He reckons it’s medieval and the next day confirms the fact.) The buckle is D-shaped, single-loop, and sat on the waist of some peasant or herdsman when Tudor monarchs were on the English throne. Kris hands it to me and I feel something. Something like time becoming circular.
Kris Rodgers’s detectorist website, addictedtobleeps.com, features videos on how to get started. The National Council for Metal Detecting (ncmd. co.uk), the “recognised voice” of the hobby in the UK, publishes a list of regional clubs and a Code of Conduct that covers vital areas such as permission from land owners, legal obligations and the Portable Antiquities Scheme ( finds.org.uk).