A last-minute adventure

We were hoping for geoducks.

If you've never seen one before, let me point you to this helpful video. If you already know what these things are and where they live, then you know it's not easy to dig them up yourself.

But we were game, D and I. And so were three dear friends from college (two currently living in Portland, the other visiting them while attending a conference). They told us they wanted to come up for the weekend, do something outdoorsy, and eat exotic food.

We said, why not roll all of that into the same adventure?

Our friends, being of the same slightly crazy bent, heartily agreed that this was the thing to do.

Okay. Here's the disclaimer: I've never been clam-digging and neither has D. We didn't have a clue about where to find geoducks, much less how to go about harvesting them, but since these big bivalves are native to our region, we figured there would be locals in the know if we needed advice.

So D looked up which beaches were specifically recommended for our geoduck hunt, when low tide would hit, and what sort of license we would need (yes, you do need a license in Washington to dig for clams). And he got basic tips on how to locate our prey (more on that shortly) and what kind of equipment to use for proper excavation.

Sunday morning, we headed for the Olympic Peninsula.



We were told that geoducks would be accessible at tide levels of minus two feet and that even then, we'd need to do some serious digging to get to them. So we furnished everyone with boots and various gardening tools (a spade here, a trowel there, and even a collapsible snow shovel). We also stopped at a hardware store to get this:


A garbage can? Oh yes. For shoring up the walls of the holes we'd be digging in waterlogged sand. Just saw off the bottom and ta da! Instant brace. (It was the best we could come up with in place of the metal drum recommended for such purposes.)

We got to the beach about an hour and a half ahead of low tide, looking every bit the first-timers we were. What were we supposed to look for, we wondered. Siphons, supposedly, sticking right out of the sand. But there wasn't much to be seen right away.


A little surface digging, however, turned up great numbers of cockle clams, among other kinds. So we set about harvesting those for a while.

In the process we also unearthed several moon snails (not to be taken home, according to regulations, but fascinating to observe). This one was shy and went into its shell when I pulled out my camera:



This one, on the other hand, was curious. Hard to believe all of that body could fit inside that tiny house!


Then an enormous sea star floated by:


We offered it a cockle in exchange for a look at its tube feet.


Suddenly, there was a shout.

"I saw it! Something squirted water a foot in the air!" said one of the boys, pointing at a burbling hole in the sand.


They dug madly for a few minutes, throwing cockle-loaded chunks of beach aside until --


"I've got its neck!"

"Hang on to it! Let me free up the shell -- "

"Wait, where's the garbage can? The walls are coming down!"

"No time, just dig. Can you rock it loose?"

"Um ... "

(Shouting gives way to organized grunting. The girls step away from the hole, not sure whether the boys or their prey will win.)

And then:


Victory!

Numerous victories, in fact. As the afternoon went on, we started to recognize the holes in the sand that indicated there was something below. I'm sure the other people on the shore could tell we were amateurs by our excitement at each find. But we didn't care. At the end of the day, we had seven giant clams in our cooler.


When we went to have our catch weighed by the warden, though, we learned that they were not in fact geoducks.

"Horse clams," she explained with a gentle smile. And she showed us, in her well-worn guide to shellfish, pictures of our find next to its even larger cousin, which, given the day's low tide of only -0.3 feet, was well beyond reach.*

Both clams, said a fellow digger who overheard the verdict, could be cooked the same way -- the siphons blanched and skinned then sliced thin for sashimi. (The rest of the innards, unlike our 120 whole cockles, were not recommendable for the steamer.)

Yes, we were a little disappointed. But only momentarily. The point of the trip was to experience something we hadn't before, and we certainly had, with much abandon. So we headed for our return ferry still pleased with our adventure.

And the meal that evening?


Well-earned.

* If, after all this, you're interested in trying for geoducks yourself, this page provides excellent tips. Good luck -- and I totally want to hear about your experience if you go!