The Search Is OVER: Real Treasure FOUND on Oak Island in 2025!

I figure it’s like old home week, right? We came back home cuz we never finished this. We could put some potential questions on here just so we all know what is possible.

Not quite. We were close in a way. We know what we’re looking for. We’re definitely looking for more pieces of what we found earlier. I mean, clearly that was one of the more interesting areas that we’ve drilled into in the money pit. With a case on this size, we can cover a lot more ground.

Today we journey deep into the very heart of Oak Island. A place where centuries-old legends collide with groundbreaking discoveries. For over 200 years, countless explorers have searched, sacrificed, and risked everything to unearth its greatest secret. But now, everything may have changed.

After years of cryptic clues and dead ends, a seasoned Oak Island insider has dropped a bombshell. A shocking claim that the fabled treasure may finally have been uncovered in season 12.

What did they find? How did they uncover it? And could this be the discovery that rewrites history itself?

Before we dive in, make sure to hit that subscribe button and ring the bell so you don’t miss the twists, turns, and explosive revelations we are about to uncover in this saga.

Do you think this insider’s claim is real? Or is it another false lead? Could the treasure finally be closer than we ever imagined? And if the curse is true, what price might they pay for uncovering it?

Let us know what you think in the comments below.

For years, I have walked across Oak Island, tracing every path, every whisper of history buried beneath my feet. My obsession has always led me back to one place — the Money Pit, that cursed stretch of ground where they say treasure waits, and where countless souls before me have tried and failed to uncover its secrets.

This season, our focus tightened. I watched as Duma Contracting pushed the Garden Shaft deeper than ever before, cutting down into the earth until we hit 90 feet. Just five more, and we’d reach a tunnel — a tunnel we believe could lead to what we call the “baby blob,” a chamber rumored to hold part of the fabled treasure.

The deeper we dug, the stronger the signals grew — metal traces, hints of something massive below. And in that moment, hope — the kind that keeps you awake at night — surged through me. Could this be it?

Challenges came quickly: shifting soil, flooding water, and constant setbacks threatened to slow us. But none of us backed down. Marty, standing beside me, could barely contain his excitement. Laird, our archaeologist, studied each layer of earth with a quiet intensity, his anticipation written all over his face.

At the borehole known as H8, Terry and Charles monitored every fragment that surfaced: parchment, leather bindings, even a marked object none of us could quite explain — clues, tiny yet monumental, that whispered of vaults breached centuries ago.

Tests on the water around the boreholes hinted at something extraordinary — traces of precious metals buried deep beneath. I couldn’t shake the thought: were we standing above the Chapel Vault? Had centuries of shifting earth moved it closer than ever?

We turned our attention to the ancient stone path — a strange road vanishing into the swamp. Gary, Jack, and Billy worked tirelessly, unearthing relics piece by piece. Gary speculated it might once have been a wharf built for ships that carried secrets we still don’t fully understand.

As the days passed, I felt the weight of history pressing down on me. Every sound of metal striking stone, every fragment lifted from the mud, every breath we took on that island brought us closer — closer to the truth, closer to an answer that has eluded us and the world for over two centuries.

Gary Drayton’s excitement was electric, his eyes glinting as he brushed the last layer of soil from the mysterious board. The air around us buzzed with anticipation. Standing there between the ancient stone road and the Money Pit — two of Oak Island’s most enigmatic landmarks — it felt as though history itself was whispering through the wind.

We weren’t just uncovering artifacts. We were peeling back layers of time.

Rick Lagina studied the scene with sharp focus.
“This isn’t random,” he said, his voice low yet commanding. “Whoever placed this here, they did it deliberately.” His words hung in the air like a challenge, urging us to look deeper.

Gary crouched down, running his fingers along the board’s surface. At 2 feet below the ground, its thickness and fine craftsmanship stood out immediately.
“This isn’t ordinary,” Gary muttered, excitement flickering in his voice. “Feels like ship decking. High quality, too.”

But something puzzled us all. For all its solid build, there were no signs of fasteners — no trace of metal.
Rick raised an eyebrow, skeptical, yet intrigued.
“No metal? Not even a nail?”
Gary shook his head.
“Nothing. It’s clean.”

The absence of any fastening only deepened the mystery. Who built this? And why bury it here?

Our thoughts turned quickly to earlier finds in the area — ship planking, wooden artifacts, strange constructions buried deep beneath layers of swamp and stone. Could this board be part of the same puzzle?

Marty, standing a few paces back, folded his arms as he watched the discussion unfold. His expression was thoughtful, almost reverent.
“This swamp never stops surprising us,” he said quietly. “Every piece we pull out… it means something. We just don’t know what yet.”

There was a weight in his words, a quiet acknowledgment of the island’s hold over us all. The marsh, with its murky waters and tangled roots, seemed to guard its secrets fiercely. Yet, each discovery felt like it brought us closer to unlocking them.

Later in the afternoon, the mood shifted. Jack Begley rushed over from the Money Pit region, frustration etched on his face. Metal detection was giving them trouble — signals appearing and disappearing without warning. Somewhere below, metal objects — perhaps treasure — were hiding, evading every tool we had.

Nearby, archaeologist Haimi Kuba and her team worked methodically at a stone foundation uncovered earlier in the year, deep beneath a circular depression. I joined Jack as we approached her, eager for answers.

Haimi knelt by the stones, brushing dirt away carefully.
“This isn’t what we expected,” she said, her tone equal parts confusion and excitement. “Look at the scale. This could have been part of something functional, not just decorative.”

Her observation opened a flood of speculation. Over the past year, we had unearthed artifacts spanning centuries — a lead barter token from the 14th century, Venetian glass beads from the 1500s, and even tools linked to Sir William Phips. The evidence suggested multiple waves of activity on Oak Island, each leaving its mark.

The question was: Which of these layers held the treasure?

Haimi laid out the plan for the day — to find the edges of the foundation, document every layer, and search for clues that might tie this structure to the Money Pit legend.

Jack’s enthusiasm was contagious, his energy lifting the crew’s spirits as we prepared to dig deeper. Meanwhile, Jeff combed through the soil with meticulous care, looking for any fragment — a shard of pottery, a rusted nail — that might connect the feature to Oak Island’s broader mystery.

Brick fragments, shards of glass, and ceramic pieces began to emerge. Each one added another thread to the story we were slowly unraveling — evidence of people who had been here long before us, shaping the island for reasons still unknown.

As the day wore on, we gathered around a new find — a compacted layer of soil with an unusual texture. Haimi paused, running her hand over it thoughtfully.
“Mortar,” she whispered. “Or something like it.”

The moment felt electric. Mortar meant construction — deliberate effort. It meant we weren’t just looking at random deposits. This was intentional.

Fiona Steel, another archaeologist on site, stepped forward with a fresh discovery. From the same layer, she revealed yet another artifact — its origin and purpose still unclear. The excitement spread like wildfire.

In that moment, surrounded by half-buried relics and centuries of mystery, it felt as though Oak Island was finally ready to tell us its story — one piece at a time.

The wind off Mahone Bay carried the salty tang of the sea as we gathered near the western shore of Lot 5. It was there, among scattered boulders and shifting soil, that archaeologist Laird Niven rejoined the crew.

His arrival felt timely. The recent discoveries demanded experienced eyes.

Fiona Steel crouched low near a stone foundation, her gloves darkened by ash and crushed shale. She tapped the ground lightly with her trowel — the sound hollow, almost deliberate.
“Hear that?” she called out, her voice edged with excitement. “This isn’t just soil. There’s something beneath.”

We leaned closer as Haimi Kuba scraped back more layers. What emerged was gray, gritty mortar — or something like it. Haimi frowned thoughtfully.
“Crude cement,” she murmured. “Almost identical to what we found near H8 in 2019.”

Jack Begley nodded, recalling the past discoveries — bits of parchment, strange book bindings, shards of ancient concrete scattered across the Money Pit.
“We’ve seen this before,” he muttered. “It means something.”

Laird’s mind was already racing ahead.
“We’ll need Emma to test this,” he said firmly. “Compare it to the Money Pit samples. If it matches, we might finally understand how these structures connect.”

Haimi handed over a fragment, recognizing the importance of clarity. No theory here could stand without proof.

As the team cataloged the find, Jack’s excitement barely contained itself. Tomorrow’s excavation promised more — more soil to sift, more clues to unearth. We all felt it: the next day could change everything.

---

Meanwhile, at Borehole H8, the work continued.

Marty Lagina and his nephew Alex stood shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the drilling rig groan deeper into the earth — past 180 feet — toward the elusive Chapel Vault. Terry Matheson called out readings as layers shifted from soft silt to heavy clay. The tension was palpable.

Then came the moment — a sharp metallic clang.
Terry signaled for the drill to stop. Carefully, he reached into the debris, pulling free a chunk of solid metal. It gleamed faintly in the light.
“Could be part of the vault,” Terry said breathlessly. “Maybe even the plug itself.”

Marty’s eyes narrowed, imagining centuries-old timbers and stones giving way, scattering fragments across unseen tunnels.
“If the vault shifted,” he mused, “we’ll have to find where it moved.”

Plans shifted quickly. Rick suggested relocating the rig to follow the anomaly. Marty agreed, issuing instructions for the next borehole. Even as excitement pulsed through the team, we were closing in. We could feel it.

By afternoon, we gathered in the Duma trailer, mud still clinging to our boots. Rick, Alex, and Scott Barlow huddled around the table as Roger Fortin prepared to deliver the carbon dating results of a wooden fragment pulled from beneath the Garden Shaft.

Alex patched Craig Tester in via phone, his voice steady but tense.
“This is the moment,” Rick said quietly. “Let’s see how far back this story really goes.”

The room inside the Duma trailer was still — the only sounds were the hum of the equipment and the soft rustle of papers as Roger Fortin prepared his report.

Rick Lagina stood at the head of the table, his hands resting on the worn wood surface, eyes fixed on the phone connection with Craig Tester. This was the moment they had been waiting for — the carbon dating results of the wooden fragment pulled from deep beneath the Garden Shaft.

Rick commended the team before the call began, acknowledging Duma’s relentless work in these unforgiving conditions.
“You’ve put everything into this,” he said quietly. “Whatever we find today, it’s because of that dedication.”

Craig’s voice crackled through the line, calm yet deliberate.
“The results are in,” he began. “The sample dates between 1631 and 1684.”

For a moment, silence.

Then the room seemed to exhale all at once. Jeff leaned forward in disbelief. Jack’s face lit with curiosity, and even Rick — normally composed — allowed a flicker of surprise to cross his features.

This wasn’t just a fragment of wood. This was a key — a bridge to a time long before the first documented searchers ever set foot on Oak Island.

Craig continued, breaking down the percentages, outlining the layers of analysis that confirmed the result. The evidence was clear: the structure in question predated the Money Pit’s earliest recorded excavations by more than a century.

Alex asked aloud, his voice betraying a mix of wonder and caution:
“Could this be part of the original design?”
“It might be,” Craig replied. “If so, we’re not just looking at searcher tunnels. We’re looking at something much older — and possibly much bigger.”

Marty, standing near the back, folded his arms, considering the weight of the revelation.
“That changes everything,” he muttered.

The discussion turned to strategy. Rick pushed for deepening the Garden Shaft, pressing further into the tunnel system, while Roger emphasized careful exposure and documentation. Scott urged speed, knowing each passing day risked new flooding or collapse.

The team agreed they had to move forward.

But even amid this breakthrough, new mysteries surfaced across the island.

On Lot 5, another investigation unfolded. Rick, Alex, Jack, and Scott met with archaeologist Laird Niven and archaeometrist Emma Culligan to analyze a strange concrete-like substance unearthed from a stone foundation.

Under Emma’s X-ray diffraction, the results were shocking. The composition matched material found at the Money Pit — over 100 feet away.

“This isn’t random,” Emma explained, her voice steady but laced with awe. “This was placed here intentionally.”

The realization rippled through the group. Lot 5, once thought separate, might be directly tied to the Money Pit.
How — and why — would ancient builders go to such lengths to conceal their work?

Scott Barlow ran a hand through his hair, stunned.
“If this is connected,” he said, “then we’re looking at something on a scale we’ve never considered before.”

The implications deepened when Jack raised the theory of William Phips — the 17th-century privateer rumored to have hidden vast riches.

Could these discoveries tie Oak Island to Phips’s fabled treasure?

Rick listened, intrigued but cautious. Every answer only seemed to birth more questions.

As dusk settled over the island, the team stood on the shoreline, the waters of Mahone Bay lapping quietly against the rocks. The weight of centuries pressed down on them — 229 years of searches, legends, and lives lost in pursuit of answers.

And now, with every clue, they were closer than ever.

But Oak Island was never generous with its secrets — and with whispers of an ancient curse hanging over the next discovery, the stakes had never been higher.

What else lies hidden beneath this soil?

Are they on the brink of rewriting history — or awakening something best left buried?