19 August 2026.

I’ve had many interesting, exciting, and even unbelievable ring recoveries, but this one definitely takes the cake.

It started yesterday with a phone call from Rose, who had lost the handmade wedding ring that she’d been wearing for 54 years.  It was a mate, though not identical, to the handmade ring that her husband Bob had also been wearing for all those years.  To Rose, her ring was far, far beyond precious, and the loss was a profound emotional blow to her.  She had tried several times to contact someone to search for the ring without success.  Fortunately she finally reached me, and I of course told her that I would do my best to help recover her ring and to keep the faith.

The loss had occurred 3 days before, along a popular beach accessible only by boat at the southern end of Washburn Island.  Rose had been digging quahogs by hand in water about thigh-deep when her wedding ring slipped off.  Her immediate reaction was to start groping in the muddy sand to find the ring and her effort was soon joined by the eager fingers of friends, all to no avail.  Rose was devastated.

As I talked to Rose on the phone we arranged to meet at the Waquoit Bay Yacht Club this afternoon.  We would take their boat down so I could do the search.  Rose felt quite confident about the location where the ring was lost, so it appeared that the search and recovery should be relatively straightforward.  When we  convened at the yacht club, Rose and Bob’s son-in-law Brian joined us, as did some friends who’d been at the beach when the ring was lost.

When we arrived at the beach, I was somewhat disconcerted to see that it consisted of a zone of nondescript sand a few yards wide and several hundred yards long, backed by a low rise covered with dune grass.  The lack of any distinctive characteristics made me wonder about how a location could even be pinpointed.  Nonetheless, the location was agreed on by all so I set out a pair of marker buoys and began my search.  To make a long story short, I searched the initial area, then greatly expanded the search in both directions along shore as well as seaward into chest-deep water to take change in tide level into account.  I found some interesting items such as a butane fire lighter, an iPhone, and a tungsten ring, along with a few highly corroded coins and of course ubiquitous poptops and bottle caps.  But no wedding ring.

In the meantime, Rose probed for quahogs and others lounged on a boat or on the beach.  Brian eventually took Rose back to the yacht club so she could go home and warm up in a hot shower.

After nearly 4 hours of swinging I was getting tired and both Bob and I were feeling somewhat defeated as the sun sank lower toward the horizon.  I told Bob that even though we’d not been successful, I did not want to give up and I’d gladly come back to continue searching any time that we could arrange boat transportation.  I’ve made so many recoveries that were outside the ‘known’ area of loss that I was certain there was still an excellent chance to find the ring somewhere beyond the area I’d already searched.  But for now, Brian was on his way back to us with the boat to end the day.  I continued to expand on the perimeter of my search area while we waited, and Bob wandered off down the beach, seemingly in contemplation.

A short time later, we could see Brian and the boat headed our way, so it was clear that our efforts had been in vain and that we were going to be headed home empty-handed and downhearted, with only a somewhat forlorn hope that we’d return for a further search.  Bob had come back along the beach and he motioned me over.  He said, ‘I marked an arrow in the sand down that way [about 100 feet east of the searched area].  Would you mind looking at that area, just for the heck of it?’  I said ‘Sure’ and headed down the beach to find his mark, where I headed out to deep water while covering a 6-foot swath with my detector.  As I reached chest-deep and turned back to shore, Brian was anchoring the boat and preparing to load us and my gear onboard.  I took a few more swings on my way in to join him and got a good signal, much like the many ring-like tones of pop-tops and bottle caps from earlier in the day.  ‘What the heck’, I thought, ‘even though I’m tired and my arm aches, I’ll at least try one more scoop’.  It actually took several scoops to get the target, which kept moving about under the murky water, but finally I had it.  As I washed the sand and mud out of the scoop and peered into the gravelly residue, my jaw must have dropped a good 3 inches.  There was Rose’s wedding ring, bright and shiny, beckoning ‘pick me up, pick me up!’  I could not believe it.

As I went ashore, Bob’s questioning gaze turned into astonishment when I held up the ring and said, ‘does this look familiar?’  We confirmed that the ring belonged to Rose when he told me the inscription that was engraved inside.  Brian arrived and shared in our disbelief.

Now I don’t know how it happened that our low spirits were so serendipitously transformed into pure elation by such a last-moment, one-in-a-thousand shot in the dark.  Did Bob unconsciously recognize some subtle feature that said ‘this is the spot’?  Did Rose’s prayers actually trigger divine intervention?  Did St. Anthony take pity on us?  Or was it just pure blind luck?  We’ll never know, but we’ll never forget the result for as long as we draw a breath.

While we motored from Washburn back to the yacht club, Bob told me about a prior discussion that he had with Rose, wherein she said she wanted to buy a new ring if her original was not found.  He’d said, ‘No, I’ll not buy you a new ring’.  After we arrived and I was stowing my gear, Rose, who’d returned to the yacht club, came across the parking lot toward us.  She of course had not seen us since she left Washburn Island with Brian, at which point it looked liked the search was fruitless.  She had a pained, dejected look on her face.  Bob looked at Rose and said, ‘I’m not going to buy you a new wedding ring’, and he held up a plastic bag to show her ring inside it.  I cannot begin to describe what happened at that moment.  Suffice it to say that it was an intensely emotional mix, but incredibly joyful and very prolonged.

We eventually shared the good news with other yacht club members who were enjoying a weekly BBQ.  They were astounded that Rose’s ring had been recovered, and the Ring Finders got some great press.  Then it was time for some photos, and we finally finished up with a glass of wine and enjoyable conversation.  This was truly a day never to be forgotten.

Rose’s handmade wedding ring. Originally with hammered surface texture, 54 years of love and life have worn it smooth.

Bob and Rose in a joyful pose.

The happiest lady I’ve seen in a long, long time.