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Here's What Happens When Ivconic Tries to Be a Smart A.rse !!!
Well, boys, I think I've officially earned the **Dumba.rse of the Year Award**. And the best part? I have absolutely no one to blame but myself.
After months of inactivity, I finally decided it was time to get back out there and do some serious detecting. I packed my trusty Garrett GTI 2500 into my backpack and set off on what turned out to be a rather ambitious mountain expedition.
And by ambitious, I mean several hours of pure punishment.
I climbed to the top of a mountain massif, scrambled over rocks, fought my way through rough karst terrain, and got repeatedly attacked by low branches and thorny vegetation. At times, the bushes were practically trying to remove my eyeballs. My legs were getting smashed against rocks, my arms were covered in scratches and cuts, and after roughly 10 km of hiking, I was beginning to question some of my life choices.
But hey, that's detecting, right? No pain, no gain!
My finds for the day? One iron fibula. Not exactly a treasure haul, but at least I had something to show for my efforts.
And then came the really strange find.
At the very top of the mountain, inside a small patch of woodland, I discovered an absolutely HUGE bullet — .50 caliber, or possibly even larger. It was completely covered in mineral deposits and what appeared to be calcareous sinter (bigar), almost as if nature had decided to encase it in stone.
And it was UNFIRED.
Now, seriously... WHAT THE HELL WAS IT DOING UP THERE?
This wasn't some convenient spot beside a road or an old military camp. This was the top of a mountain! Getting there was hard enough for a human carrying a metal detector, let alone a goat. I honestly couldn't figure out how something like that had ended up in such a place.
Naturally, my curiosity was working overtime.
**And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where the story takes a spectacular turn from metal detecting into a masterclass in stupidity.**
I finally made it home completely wrecked. I was exhausted, dehydrated, covered in scratches, and barely able to lift my arms. The Garrett GTI 2500 is a fantastic detector, but let's be honest — that thing weighs like a small industrial machine when you've been carrying it around mountains all day. My shoulders and arms were screaming for mercy.
The sensible thing to do would have been to take a shower, drink some water, eat something, and go straight to bed.
But no.
Apparently, my brain had decided that physical exhaustion wasn't enough punishment for one day.
Instead of resting, I went straight to the garage.
I clamped the enormous cartridge in a bench vise, messed around with the projectile using pliers, removed it, and emptied the propellant. At this point, any remotely intelligent person would have stopped, recognized that old ammunition can remain dangerous, and contacted someone qualified to deal with it.
But I was clearly auditioning for the role of **World's Biggest Smart *****.
I then turned the casing upside down, secured it in the vise, took a thin, strong steel needle, placed it against the primer area, and gave it a hit with a hammer.
I expected... well, honestly, I'm not even sure what I expected.
What I got was a VERY loud detonation.
**BANG!!!**
The primer violently ruptured, sending a fragment straight upward — right between the index and middle fingers of my left hand.
The result was an instant, bloody mess. The fragment tore through the skin and damaged the tissue between those fingers. There was blood everywhere, and I quickly realized that this was no longer a funny little garage experiment.
I had managed to turn an already exhausting day into a genuine medical emergency.
Somehow, I managed to improvise a temporary dressing and get myself to the emergency department, where they cleaned and flushed the wound and properly dressed it.
So, no, I didn't end up spending the night in a hospital bed. I went in, got the hand treated, and left with two fingers wrapped up like a badly packaged Christmas present.
And now here I am, sitting at home, with two bandaged fingers, a very sore hand, and plenty of time to reflect on the questionable quality of my decision-making process.
The mountain nearly destroyed my legs. The vegetation tried to blind me. The Garrett nearly dislocated my shoulders.
But none of those things managed to defeat me.
**I had to wait until I got HOME and entered my own garage to achieve maximum damage.**
Think about that for a moment.
I survived hours of hiking through brutal terrain, only to be nearly defeated by a rusty piece of ammunition and a hammer.
The mountain didn't get me.
The rocks didn't get me.
The thorn bushes didn't get me.
My own curiosity, combined with a spectacular lack of common sense, did the job perfectly.
And the most ridiculous part of the whole story is that I knew absolutely nothing about the condition of that old ammunition, yet somehow convinced myself that I could safely investigate it myself.
Congratulations, Ivconic. Truly outstanding work.
I went out looking for relics and came home as one.
So, what have we learned today?
* Carrying a heavy detector up a mountain while completely out of shape is a questionable idea.
* Finding a gigantic, mysterious piece of old ammunition at the top of a mountain is fascinating.
* Being curious is good. Being stupidly curious is considerably more expensive.
* Exhaustion and dehydration are NOT the ideal conditions for making decisions.
* And, most importantly, **NEVER attempt to dismantle, manipulate, or strike the primer of old ammunition.** Even when it looks ancient, rusty, mineralized, or completely harmless, it can still kill or seriously injure you.
If you find something like this while detecting, leave it alone, keep others away, and contact the appropriate authorities or explosive-ordnance professionals.
As for me, I'll be taking a short break from garage-based explosive engineering.
My next detecting trip will hopefully involve less blood, fewer medical dressings, and absolutely zero experiments with ammunition.
I'll also be accepting nominations for the **Smart *** of the Year Award**. I suspect the competition is already over.
Stay safe out there, folks. Learn from my stupidity so you don't have to repeat it.
And if anyone asks how my detecting trip went, I'll simply say:
*"Found a fibula, discovered a mystery, blew up my afternoon, and got two fingers professionally wrapped. All in a day's work."*
**Cheers,**
**Ivconic — currently operating at approximately 30% hand functionality and 0% intelligence.**
Well, boys, I think I've officially earned the **Dumba.rse of the Year Award**. And the best part? I have absolutely no one to blame but myself.
After months of inactivity, I finally decided it was time to get back out there and do some serious detecting. I packed my trusty Garrett GTI 2500 into my backpack and set off on what turned out to be a rather ambitious mountain expedition.
And by ambitious, I mean several hours of pure punishment.
I climbed to the top of a mountain massif, scrambled over rocks, fought my way through rough karst terrain, and got repeatedly attacked by low branches and thorny vegetation. At times, the bushes were practically trying to remove my eyeballs. My legs were getting smashed against rocks, my arms were covered in scratches and cuts, and after roughly 10 km of hiking, I was beginning to question some of my life choices.
But hey, that's detecting, right? No pain, no gain!
My finds for the day? One iron fibula. Not exactly a treasure haul, but at least I had something to show for my efforts.
And then came the really strange find.
At the very top of the mountain, inside a small patch of woodland, I discovered an absolutely HUGE bullet — .50 caliber, or possibly even larger. It was completely covered in mineral deposits and what appeared to be calcareous sinter (bigar), almost as if nature had decided to encase it in stone.
And it was UNFIRED.
Now, seriously... WHAT THE HELL WAS IT DOING UP THERE?
This wasn't some convenient spot beside a road or an old military camp. This was the top of a mountain! Getting there was hard enough for a human carrying a metal detector, let alone a goat. I honestly couldn't figure out how something like that had ended up in such a place.
Naturally, my curiosity was working overtime.
**And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where the story takes a spectacular turn from metal detecting into a masterclass in stupidity.**
I finally made it home completely wrecked. I was exhausted, dehydrated, covered in scratches, and barely able to lift my arms. The Garrett GTI 2500 is a fantastic detector, but let's be honest — that thing weighs like a small industrial machine when you've been carrying it around mountains all day. My shoulders and arms were screaming for mercy.
The sensible thing to do would have been to take a shower, drink some water, eat something, and go straight to bed.
But no.
Apparently, my brain had decided that physical exhaustion wasn't enough punishment for one day.
Instead of resting, I went straight to the garage.
I clamped the enormous cartridge in a bench vise, messed around with the projectile using pliers, removed it, and emptied the propellant. At this point, any remotely intelligent person would have stopped, recognized that old ammunition can remain dangerous, and contacted someone qualified to deal with it.
But I was clearly auditioning for the role of **World's Biggest Smart *****.
I then turned the casing upside down, secured it in the vise, took a thin, strong steel needle, placed it against the primer area, and gave it a hit with a hammer.
I expected... well, honestly, I'm not even sure what I expected.
What I got was a VERY loud detonation.
**BANG!!!**
The primer violently ruptured, sending a fragment straight upward — right between the index and middle fingers of my left hand.
The result was an instant, bloody mess. The fragment tore through the skin and damaged the tissue between those fingers. There was blood everywhere, and I quickly realized that this was no longer a funny little garage experiment.
I had managed to turn an already exhausting day into a genuine medical emergency.
Somehow, I managed to improvise a temporary dressing and get myself to the emergency department, where they cleaned and flushed the wound and properly dressed it.
So, no, I didn't end up spending the night in a hospital bed. I went in, got the hand treated, and left with two fingers wrapped up like a badly packaged Christmas present.
And now here I am, sitting at home, with two bandaged fingers, a very sore hand, and plenty of time to reflect on the questionable quality of my decision-making process.
The mountain nearly destroyed my legs. The vegetation tried to blind me. The Garrett nearly dislocated my shoulders.
But none of those things managed to defeat me.
**I had to wait until I got HOME and entered my own garage to achieve maximum damage.**
Think about that for a moment.
I survived hours of hiking through brutal terrain, only to be nearly defeated by a rusty piece of ammunition and a hammer.
The mountain didn't get me.
The rocks didn't get me.
The thorn bushes didn't get me.
My own curiosity, combined with a spectacular lack of common sense, did the job perfectly.
And the most ridiculous part of the whole story is that I knew absolutely nothing about the condition of that old ammunition, yet somehow convinced myself that I could safely investigate it myself.
Congratulations, Ivconic. Truly outstanding work.
I went out looking for relics and came home as one.
So, what have we learned today?
* Carrying a heavy detector up a mountain while completely out of shape is a questionable idea.
* Finding a gigantic, mysterious piece of old ammunition at the top of a mountain is fascinating.
* Being curious is good. Being stupidly curious is considerably more expensive.
* Exhaustion and dehydration are NOT the ideal conditions for making decisions.
* And, most importantly, **NEVER attempt to dismantle, manipulate, or strike the primer of old ammunition.** Even when it looks ancient, rusty, mineralized, or completely harmless, it can still kill or seriously injure you.
If you find something like this while detecting, leave it alone, keep others away, and contact the appropriate authorities or explosive-ordnance professionals.
As for me, I'll be taking a short break from garage-based explosive engineering.
My next detecting trip will hopefully involve less blood, fewer medical dressings, and absolutely zero experiments with ammunition.
I'll also be accepting nominations for the **Smart *** of the Year Award**. I suspect the competition is already over.
Stay safe out there, folks. Learn from my stupidity so you don't have to repeat it.
And if anyone asks how my detecting trip went, I'll simply say:
*"Found a fibula, discovered a mystery, blew up my afternoon, and got two fingers professionally wrapped. All in a day's work."*
**Cheers,**
**Ivconic — currently operating at approximately 30% hand functionality and 0% intelligence.**
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