Most times when I’m diving, I really get into “the zone.” My metal detector is humming along. There’s an almost overwhelming sense of peace, and it’s murky and quiet beyond the sound of my own bubbles. Several years back, I was in just such a “zone” at an old swimming hole on Forest Lake in Cumberland, Maine, where I was finding one wheat penny after another. I believe we all have a sixth sense. You’ve felt it when the hair on the back of your neck stands up and you feel a shiver coming on. This time, I popped up over a big mud cloud and just to my left only two feet away was a snapping turtle as big as a steering wheel. Its neck was sticking out at least a foot. Its mouth open wide. My first thought was that it was looking at me, thinking “what’s this stupid human doing here”? I thought if I poked it along with my metal detector, it would simply drift away. Well, I was sure wrong. It was me who eventually had to move on, those snapping turtles are like little tanks that bull their way through the mud underwater.