Clam Whispers

The weather on the Washington coast has been phenomenal — blue skies, chilly and not too windy. Mr Sutter and I went razor clam digging the last couple days at Twin Harbors. 

Mr. S does the digging with the tube sucking thing, also known as a clam gun.

Noooo this is not the correct way to use a clam gun.
It’s just Mr S’s way to take a little break and plan his next move.

Hundreds of people gather along the beach outfitted in their unflattering clam digging clothes: clunky boots, baggy waterproof pants, hats and sunglasses, gloves and layers of bulky sweaters. We look as though we’ve rifled through everyone’s winter closet and chosen to put on everything.

Children, though bundled tight, are free to dive into the deep clam puddles and roll about the beach in the sandy mud. Luckies.

But the sun makes everything and everyone sparkle. I feel lucky to be included in such a gathering and wonder what else on earth is like this seasonal event when humans are turned loose — literally permitted — to go to specific areas for a limited amount of time in search of one creature — once the creatures are determined to not be poisonous. I guess hunting is kinda like this and I visualize this mass of people on the beach holding rifles. While not exactly wall to wall, we are within 20 feet of each other. Thank goodness we only carry clam guns.

My clam digging is limited because I’ve worn the wrong shoes. Tall rubber boots are the way to go, and while it’s not the end of the world if my hiking boots get wet, Mr S is going through some very deep tidal pools so I lag behind carrying the razor clam bag.

Okay, fare thee well my husband.
I’ll take care of our clams whilst you’re away.

And you know where this is leading.

Yep. Unfortunately I bond with the clams I’m caring for. I find deep salt water pools along the sand and submerse them in the mesh bag. It’s their last swim.

Bag of buddies hanging out in the water.

I’ve become attached to them. What does a clam do all day? Do they have families? I consider releasing them…but that would end my marriage. I’ve put in 33 years! And plan to make it to 40 years and the Ruby Anniversary, so I just try to make the clam’s last hours as pleasant as possible. I swing them about in the sun, but stop in case any of them get motion sickness.

From top left to right:
Stanley, Maureen, Agnes,
Francoise (Frank), Danita,
Shelley, Jim…

A couple has arrived to the digging grounds. The man is very anxious and begins digging as soon as his feet hit the sand. The woman asks, What should I look for? Where should I dig? These are excellent questions. Her partner shouts, You are standing on the clams! They’re underneath you! You’re literally walking on clams! She jumps about like a crab is nibbling her toes. Does this gentleman have some kind of deep sand clam radar? And, if so, how cool would that be? I imagine looking out across the beach and seeing shipwrecks and skeletons and fossils and ancient ruins and all the critters below us. A thriving ecosystem under our feet. Finally the woman regains her composure and starts digging. 

My husband is the clam whisperer. Quiet! he hisses. Don’t move. Just look for their mouths just above the sand. Don’t scare them. Don’t walk toward them. Just point. He squints his eyes and skims the surfaces with his laser vision. I point at a small hole that has just squirted water cuz that’s what I learned to look for. I’m pointing and whispering, Leonard. Leonard! Here. Here! Hey! Here’s one. A hole! Finally he notices me and tiptoes over, rolls his eyes and shakes his head, Nope, it’s gone. It’s too deep now. Then suddenly he turns and plunges the clam gun into the sand, hoists it out and boom — the biggest razor clam yet tumbles out.

So I back off and let him find them. Instead I watch the people and the dogs, and take in all the eco-oceanic-biome while I can.

So not fair he got left behind.

We (he) eventually gets our limit and we head back to Westport to the Best Dive Bar in the Northwest for nachos and drinks and watch WSU lose again.

We are still bickering a lot. I think we have a big communication problem. It’s been thirty-three years, maybe we should just be done talking? I mean, I’m a wordy person, but he catches maybe a syllable I say. So, I’ve added some things to my to-do list when we get home:

• Mr S Hearing Test
• Mr S Memory Test
• Mrs S Mood Stabilizers

Or maybe we need retired couples counseling. Spending so much time together is definitely a test of our patience…and it’s just the beginning.

Shared from SpongeBob SquarePants episode when a giant clam eats Mr. Krab’s millionth dollar and Mr. Krab trades his entire body except his left arm and his head to get it back. Sadly, clams are often represented as the bad guy in the media. I’ve come to know their kinder side.

Chowder recipe to follow…