300(ish) Words on Treasure Hunting
Gather around children to hear tell of The Curse of Oak Island, an endlessly watchable reality television series I recently had the good fortune to stumble across. The plot is simple: Oak Island, a private island off the coast of Nova Scotia, has long attracted treasure hunters because of alleged buried treasure left there by the crew of Captain Willliam Kidd in the 1700s.
Jewels, gold, and religious items are thought to be buried in a so-called “Money Pit” on the island’s east side. The show follows several men, who have presumably never heard of Sisyphus, as they try again and again and again to locate the treasure.
The show has the narrative trappings of a tragic Robinson Crusoe-esque treasure tale of old, but it’s absolutely silly. It’s like a conspiracy theorist YouTube channel with consequences that feel Grecian in their capacity for tragedy, but Netflix picked it up giving it (or at least you, the viewer) credence.
There is an old man, Dan Blankenship, who has been doing this work for at least 50 years, like all of us marching toward death but much closer than you and I. You suspect he’ll die without ever finding a thing, having spent his entire life on…what?
Meanwhile, the stepson of one of the show’s protagonists tries to earn a father’s love by drilling 140 feet down on the advice of two professional treasure hunters with military-grade technology. They hit water instead, and you start to feel for the stepson and these men on their futile mission until the voiceover intones, “But what if the water is part of the fabled booby traps rumored to cover Oak Island?” You can’t help but shake your head.
There is always another “what if,” another unturned stone, another chance to again be disappointed.
I love it. Somehow the whole thing is produced by Ken Burns.* All of the characters are from Michigan.
There are other hilarious consequences of the men’s hubris as well. They contract this high-definition camera into a well where supposed treasure lies, only they can’t see anything at all with the camera because of the green dye they threw down the well in their last attempt to find gold or whatever. Every year they say, “This is the year.”
Mostly I think the treasure hunters just like the toys — the nice camera, the construction equipment they buy. They must already have a nice chunk of change to invest in this crusade, but they’re quickly sinking it into the island, throwing it all down a hole literally called the “Money Pit.” Clearly, they just love the glamour of the hunt.
I can only hope that in a future season, the men find the treasure and become depressed husks of their former hunting selves. They’ll spend it all on hookers and blow, as the adage goes, no longer identifying as valorous men of old. Having your cake is not as fun as searching for it.
*Excuse me, Kevin Burns, the prolific television producer of such gems as The Girls Next Door, Bridget’s Sexiest Beaches, and Ancient Aliens. You understand my confusion.
Taylor Prewitt is an editor at Very Famous. She writes about women, culture, art, and whatever tickles her fancy in Texas. She is a former member of Homecoming Court and her boyfriend drives a 95 Ford Bronco. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter!
