Zing, purr, purr Zing.
Ah the sound of a circle mill cutting through two nails in the only place on the log that wasn't scanned.
Grr, slap, slap, ##!!##, the sound of the sawyer hitting his forehead with his hand because he recognized the sound after seeing what he thought might be iron stain and knows he can't get the blade loose with the tools he has to change the blade.
Maybe it's a law of nature about metal being where you don't think it should be. On a jet flight line they call it FOD, foreign object damage.
But I did find two monster (40+" on the stump?) black walnut trees on the way home that have been laid down because of rot and the owners are talking about making furniture out of the wood. Might have been a good day.