Last summer, I spent three sweltering days exploring an abandoned Baltimore & Ohio line that cut through rural Ohio farmland. My detector screamed at a solid signal near what was once a small station platform, and after digging down about six inches, I unearthed a tarnished pocket watch—railroad grade, from around 1910. As I carefully brushed away decades of soil, I couldn’t help but wonder about the railroader who had lost it. What was his story? This is why I’m hopelessly addicted to railroad metal detecting.
Most people don’t realize just how extensive America’s rail network once was. At its peak around 1916, we had over 254,000 miles of active track crisscrossing the country. Between 1965 and 2005, thousands of those miles were abandoned as trucking and interstate highways changed how America moved. Each abandoned mile represents a time capsule waiting for detectorists like us to uncover.
Finding “The Good Spots” Along Abandoned Lines
Not gonna lie—my first attempts at railroad detecting were frustrating. I spent hours trudging along overgrown rights-of-way finding nothing but rail spikes and twisted metal. Then an old-timer at my local detecting club gave me advice that changed everything: “Forget the tracks, son. Find where people gathered.”
He was right! The real treasures aren’t along the actual tracks but concentrated in specific areas:
Station platforms and waiting areas are goldmines. As a railroad worker told me, “Lots of money changed hands at stations back in the day.” People were constantly buying tickets, grabbing snacks, or just nervously fiddling with coins in their pockets. I’ve found more Mercury dimes at small-town stations than anywhere else.
Water stops deserve special attention. In New England (where I started detecting), they positioned water towers roughly every 8 miles. Passengers would hop off to stretch while the locomotive took on water—dropping coins, jewelry, and personal items in the process. My best find last year was an 1848 large cent at a forgotten water stop in Massachusetts. Still can’t believe that beauty was just sitting there for 175 years!
Worker camps and bunkhouses tend to be a bit off the main line. These sites were essentially small communities with hotels, stores, and housing for the railroad’s transient workforce. After my day shift at the hospital, I often spend a couple hours detecting an old Pennsylvania Railroad work camp near my home. Between the drinking, gambling, and general carousing that went on, there’s no shortage of artifacts.
And don’t overlook what old-timers call “jungle spots” areas where hobos camped along the lines. These flat areas slightly off the main path have yielded some of my most unusual finds, including handmade tokens and modified coins that tell stories of Depression-era travelers.
My Favorite Finds (And What You Might Uncover)
That gorgeous brass date nail I found last April near Altoona? It’s now the prize of my collection. Date nails were small markers hammered into ties with the year stamped on the head. Pre-1920 examples are increasingly rare and fetch good prices among collectors. My detecting buddy Steve jokes that I’ve become more interested in hunting date nails than gold coins!
Railroad hardware might not sound exciting, but some pieces are surprisingly valuable. Last month, I dug up a cast iron manufacturer’s plate from the 1880s that a railroad museum has offered to buy (though I can’t part with it just yet). Switch locks, brass identification tags, and station keys are all worth recovering.
The coins I’ve found tell their own stories too. Unlike detecting manicured parks where modern coins dominate, railroad sites consistently produce older specimens. Victorian-era Indian Head pennies seem especially common around Northeastern stations—I’ve found seventeen in the past year alone. Silver dimes and quarters appear regularly near ticket windows, probably dropped during hurried transactions.
But it’s the personal items that truly connect me to these forgotten places. The pocket watches, tobacco tags, uniform buttons, employee badges and other daily carry items from railroad workers. Each one represents a moment when something precious was lost and never recovered—until my detector’s signal broke the silence.
Getting Started: Equipment That Actually Works for Railroad Sites
Let me save you some heartache: standard park-hunting settings will drive you crazy on railroad sites. The amount of iron is INSANE! When I started, my detector was falling constantly until a fellow club member showed me his setup.
For iron-heavy environments like these, you need serious discrimination capabilities. My Minelab Equinox handles the mineralization well, but I’ve seen guys get great results with the Garrett AT Pro and XP Deus II. Whatever machine you choose, plan on turning sensitivity down several notches when near power poles or particularly iron-laden areas.
For coils, I’d never hit a railroad site with anything larger than 11 inches anymore. My 6-inch sniper coil has become my go-to for picking through the iron jungle around station foundations. Yeah, it’s slower coverage, but the target separation is worth it.
Before heading out, I always spend evenings researching potential sites. The AbandonedRails.com website has become my digital bible, its comprehensive maps have led me to several productive locations. For more detailed research, I’ve worn out my copy of Waldo Nielsen’s “Right-of-Way” guide and spent countless hours at my local historical society poring over old railroad maps.
Google Earth is another game-changer. You can actually spot old foundations and cinder piles from satellite images once you know what to look for. I’ve marked dozens of potential hotspots this way before ever setting foot on the ground.
The Legal Stuff (Trust Me, You Don’t Want to Skip This)
My worst detecting experience wasn’t a skunk day with no finds—it was explaining to a railroad police officer why I was on “abandoned” tracks that weren’t so abandoned after all. Learn from my mistake!
Most abandoned lines are still legally owned by railroad companies, even decades after the last train passed. Detecting without permission is trespassing, and railroad companies take their property rights seriously. Some abandoned rights-of-way revert to adjacent landowners, but figuring out who owns what can be complicated.
I now follow a simple rule: always get written permission. When approaching landowners, I explain my interest in railroad history, show how carefully I fill holes, and offer to share interesting finds. This approach has opened many doors and saved me from potential legal trouble.
For public land sites, research local regulations first. Some counties and municipalities welcome responsible detecting, while others strictly prohibit it. I keep a binder with all my written permissions and relevant regulations in my truck at all times.
Preserving History One Signal at a Time
The pocket watch I mentioned earlier? After careful cleaning and research, I discovered it belonged to a B&O conductor who worked that line for over 30 years. I donated it to the local historical society, where it’s now displayed alongside a photo of the man who once carried it. Sometimes the greatest treasure is the story behind the find.
Railroad detecting isn’t just about collecting artifacts it’s about preserving a vanishing piece of American history. Each item we carefully recover adds to our understanding of how railroads shaped this country. I’ve developed relationships with several small museums and historical societies who are grateful for properly documented finds that help tell their local railroad stories.
If you decide to explore this fascinating niche of the hobby, remember that you’re not just a detectorist you’re a temporary custodian of history. Document your discoveries, research their context, and share what you learn. Those forgotten rails carried the people and goods that built America. The least we can do is make sure their stories aren’t buried forever.
Next weekend, I’ll be back out at that abandoned junction in Pennsylvania. If you’re ever in the area and want to join me, bring sturdy boots and plenty of water. There’s plenty of history still waiting beneath those old cinders and enough forgotten treasures for all of us.
My name is Paul and I am the founder of Detector For Metal, a dedicated resource for metal detecting enthusiasts seeking to uncover historical treasures and connect with the past using the latest technology. As a stay-at-home dad and family man, I’ve found metal detecting to be the perfect hobby that combines family adventure with historical learnings for the whole family.
As a father, I’m deeply committed to passing on this hobby to the next generation of detectorists, starting with my own children. I share advice on everything from metal detecting with kids to exploring the top 10 metal detecting sites you never thought about. My methodical approach to the hobby goes beyond the thrill of discovery—it’s about creating family traditions while preserving history and sharing the stories of those who came before us.
