The Sweet Tintinabulation of the Victory Bell

With the summer waning, I got to thinking last week that I should plan a dive trip. I called up DW for a trip and he gladly obliged. More rains hit around my house and a few miles away in the Low Country, so we decided another land hunt was in order. DW knew that an old hunting ditch had been cleaned out. With recent rains, this spot had potential. I arrived at DW’s house around 9AM and saw a newer improved weez truck. However, the profile in the driver’s seat was less portly than the DWs. It looked like his kid brother, tha Dude! Just then DW strolled out of his garage. It was a BRFC trio today. We packed up in Dude’s truck and made our way to the ditch. As we geared up, the BRFC brothers began a verbal assault on my attire, in particular my socks (please understand these socks are my lucky fossilin’ socks). Examples of their verbal abuse included “Have you heard of a washing machine?”….…”Hey, they make new socks and sell them”……. “You mean you kept them in a dark garage?”……. “At least dry them in the sun!” Since this January, they (2 pairs) have brought good collecting fortune on each trip, so this was not the time to change them out. Interestingly, they were still damp from two weeks ago when DW and I went toothin’. After my feet squished into the socks, we were ready to collect. As we shimmied into the ditch, there were gravel piles waiting for us. We took about three steps, and DW yelled out, “There is a Meg!” No doubt…he took a ground shot and shamed us with his score. We continued hunting the ditch and found some small teeth. We all dug for a bit, but the layer was not very productive in this area. I decided to head to another part of the ditch, and immediately found a keeper angy. Dude shortly joined up with me and we hunted the ditch. There was a good 100 yards of gravel beds to work, and we both picked up teeth along the way. I scored again with a sweet ray plate. It was Dudes time, and he shamed us all. We were walking together, and he spotted an unusual shape…pointed down…and Dude pulled out the nicest point I have seen in a while. A BRFC high five ensued, and Dude placed the slime-ridden spearhead in his mouth to complete the fiver. Hope he has some Listerine at home !!. We turned around and began digging in some nice layer. I got snubbed as the rock and bones poured out, but only shamers and broken teeth were coming out. DW had stopped digging after a few hours in the 110F heat index. Dude quickly followed and their conversation turned to all the furry critters and enemies this spear must have vanquished. Meanwhile, I was drenched as I dug for more teeth. When my supply of water was spent, so was I. I headed back to the truck, and changing shoes was in order. Oh the humanity! I peeled the socks from feet, wrung them out, and rationalized to my BRFC brethren that these socks were the reason for our tri-fecta. This collecting bonanza called for some Bell for a victory lunch.