by Keith Bailey, Louisville, Kentucky
October 2015 Central States Archaeological Journal
Day One: Monday April 29th
In late April 1996 a friend of mine invited me to go with him to the mountains of eastern Kentucky. It was an annual event for him to spend the weekend before the Kentucky Derby, camping at a rock shelter and digging for Indian artifacts. I was so excited to go that I could hardly sleep that night. I had never dug for artifacts before. Ever since I was a young boy, I had only walked and surface hunted plowed fields. We spent the weekend in a large rock shelter that could have easily held fifty people. It had been dug many times over the years. I did not know much about digging but I could tell that this site had been pretty much cleaned out. There was no other choice but to get at it, so we set up camp and started digging and sifting dirt. After three days of back-breaking work we were rewarded with a couple of small triangle points and a few broken points.
I returned home Sunday evening worn out and disappointed. I could have found more in a few hours walking one of my favorite fields. As I dozed off to sleep that night, little did I know that the next three days were going to be the fulfillment of every arrowhead hunter’s dreams.
I awoke early Monday morning to the crash of thunder and the flash of lightning. Violent thunderstorms had rolled through the area that night and they lasted into the early morning. I grabbed my pack and headed out the door determined to find a few nice points to make up for the lack of success of the weekend. I drove out to the Salt River and began surveying fields to decide which one would be the most promising. As I rounded the curve it came into view, a field I had always wanted to hunt but it had never been plowed before now. It was perfect, with a small tributary creek at one end, along with a high terrace that ran parallel to the river. Not only was it freshly plowed, but for that year’s tobacco crop it had been deep plowed.
Due to flash flooding of the creek, I had to park about a half mile from the field because crossing the creek was not an option. There was still a light rain falling as I started my hike to the field. About a quarter of the way there I came to a small stream that was now flowing out of its banks. It looked to be only a few feet deep and nothing was going to keep me from being the first one to hunt this field! So I started across the stream and quickly found myself chest deep in a cold rushing current. I began to second guess my decision knowing I would have to recross it on the way back, but my passion overrode my good sense. I kept myself going by repeating “no risk no reward” as I was almost swept away by the current. After reaching the other bank and a grueling walk I finally approached the field, muddy, soaking wet and cold.
As I began to slowly and methodically search it, I forgot about everything I had gone through to get here. Flint chips littered the ground and were glistening from the rain. But after about an hour of hunting all I had found was a few broken points. How could this be? I had such high hopes and the field conditions were perfect. After all the hard work and danger and now I had practically nothing to show for it. I guess that’s why it is called arrowhead hunting and not arrowhead finding.
At the time I was attending college and had four papers as well as four finals to take that week. So I decided to walk the high terrace before I gave up and went home. The further I got from the end of the field where the creek was, the less I saw flint chips, but I continued on. About halfway down the high terrace I saw something big and black lying ahead of me. At first I thought it was a piece of plastic the river had washed up. It was only until I got within a few feet of it that I realized it was a perfect nearly nine inch long Turkey Tail blade.
I bent down to pick it up and that’s when I noticed two more blades a couple of feet away, one being an eight inch blade broken in half! At that moment I knew there was a cache of blades buried somewhere under my feet. I got out my knife and began to probe the ground. After only a few minutes I heard the sound of steel striking flint. “CHING.” The knife was left stuck in the ground to mark the exact spot and I began to dig with my bare hands. The edge of the first blade came into view. As I continued to remove dirt the whole cache was exposed. The blades were lying edgeways, as the plow had lifted them up and turned the whole pocket sideways scattering three of the blades onto the surface.
I could not believe my eyes as I was looking at a cache of perfect paper-thin Turkey Tail blades made from a beautiful material. After digging them all out I remained on my knees for a few moments and gave thanks to the “Spirits of the Woods” for guiding me to this spot and made an offering of tobacco. With the spot marked I began searching the area for more.
My diligence paid off. A few yards away I found a stripped Motley point. Then I walked all the way to the end of the terrace but did not find anything else. Satisfied that everything was found I wrapped up the points, put them in my pack and headed across the field.
Near the other edge of the field I began to find flint chips scattered all over. I searched over and was rewarded with a perfect three-and-a-half inch serrated Kirk point.
That night I sat at my table writing my papers for school, but concentrating on my work was almost impossible. Especially with all of the points washed clean and laid out in front of me. Somehow I managed to complete my work which was not easy with thoughts of what had been my most successful day of arrowhead hunting swirling in my head along with thinking about what I might find tomorrow.
Day Two: Tuesday April 30th
With all the school work I didn’t get much sleep and morning came too early. But I was too excited to be tired, so I gathered my supplies and tools for the day which included a pack, a knife and a steel rod to use as a probe.
I finally arrived and parked at the same spot as the day before and was relieved to see that the flood waters had receded so there were no worries about drowning today. The sun was shining with not a cloud in the bright blue sky. The trees were starting to bud and the birds were singing — essentially a beautiful Kentucky spring day.
I made my way straight to the spot I had marked the day before and began to try my hand at probing with a steel rod. After about ten minutes I heard that now familiar sound of steel hitting flint and could also feel the vibration traveling up the rod and into my hands. I left the rod in place as a guide and started digging with my knife and bare hands.
When I got a little below the plow zone (about fifteen inches deep) I saw gray flint. I quickly opened up the narrow hole and cleared as much dirt away as I could. I saw three Turkey Tail points lying flat side by side. Their tips were pointing due east and their tails pointing west. I pulled them out and stabbed them into the ground. I began removing some more dirt and there was another layer of points. These were pointed tips north and tails south.
As I repeated the process I uncovered layer after layer alternating in axis until I reached the bottom. When I was satisfied that the hole was cleaned completely out I stood up and looked down. I counted seventeen blades sticking in the ground in a circle around the hole.
Obviously I had found another cache, only this time they were still buried and undisturbed in the original post hole that the toolmaker had buried them in so many centuries ago. It was a sight I will never forget as long as I live — that ring of blades in the dirt.
There are three broken blades and all were in one layer together in the middle of the cache. My best guess is they were ceremonially “killed” or broken by the maker.
When I returned home that evening I took both days finds over to my friend’s house to show him what he had missed by not going with me on Monday morning. The look on his face was priceless. He suggested that I take a shovel with me the next time I dig the area out. That was some good advice that would pay off on Wednesday.
Day Three: Wednesday May 1st
I set out this morning to give the field one more try and to make sure that I had not missed anything. Could lightning really strike three times in a row? I was about to find out.
Remembering my friend’s advice from the night before I headed back to my personal “Field of Dreams” with my usual tools plus a shovel.
I arrived at the site and laid it out in a grid and began methodically probing the area. The dirt was now dry so I could easily see all the little probe holes in the ground that I had searched. About half of the area was now thoroughly covered with little holes, but I kept working hoping that luck would be with me once again.
Now for the third time I heard that familiar and unmistakable sound of flint and steel. I dug down and found another cache of four Turkey Tail blades. I was three for three — what a great feeling. I continued probing until the entire area was covered but found no more.
It was time to change strategies. I got out my shovel and began to cut a trench through the center of the area. It was not long before my efforts paid off again. Everyone who hunts arrowheads has found a broken point, and from the color of the flint you can tell if it’s freshly broken or if it happened prehistorically.
Usually the other half is there somewhere but hardly ever is. But on this rare occasion I found the other half of the largest blade I found on Day One. That find really got the adrenaline flowing and the dirt began to fly.
Before long I was standing in an excavated area roughly twelve by twelve feet and two feet deep. I cleaned the hole out and probed it to make sure there were no more caches buried off to the side. While I did find two small Woodland period stem points, they were random finds and not associated with any of the caches.
Everyone dreams of finding a cache of blades and after many years of hunting that dream finally came true for me in the spring of 1996. But to find three of them, three days in a row, is almost unbelievable to me even to this day.
As a Kentuckian, which is the land of thoroughbred horse racing, the best analogy would be like owning a race horse that did the almost impossible feat of winning the Triple Crown — the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes.
My advice for anyone is if you find a large blade or preform blank, you had better mark the spot and come back with a probe. And maybe you will get lucky like me and find your own Field of Dreams.
Epilogue
At the time I was working for the University of Louisville in the archaeology department. When I came to work that Thursday afternoon I told the staff archaeologist about my discovery. He suggested that I bring them all in and document them. We filled out the site survey form and filed a copy with the Office of Kentucky State Archaeology.
He told me it was customary to name the site and after careful deliberation I decided to name it after myself so it will always be known as the Bailey Site.
We also discussed how and why the caches were buried there and in such close proximity to each other. We decided it was one of two possibilities.
- It was a burial site. However, no human remains were found which was possibly due to the site being in a floodplain where bones would deteriorate over time.
- The area was the floor of the toolmaker’s hut. The blades were made somewhere nearby and buried for future use. If the hut washed away in a flood the maker may never have returned to retrieve them.
Both of us agreed the second explanation seemed the most plausible.
A couple of weeks later when the Elizabethtown Kentucky show was approaching I called to reserve a table so I could display them. I told the Chapter President the whole story and he made sure I had a table.
That year was the first time they ever awarded a ribbon for “Find of the Year” at the show.