Clam Digging

Every year, Dad would watch the tide charts for the lowest tides of the year, usually called a minus tide. These Tides came around the middle of June and the lowest ones were a –3.0 feet. This meant that the tide was going to go waaaay out and the best clam beds would be revealed.

We would pack up our gear, (which in our case consisted of a short handled shovel and burlap bags, and a good pair of throw away shoes. These shoes were like tennis shoes, that were too worn out to wear to school, but had a good bottom on them so that we would not cut our feet on the barnacles.) and head for the beach. In 1956, there were not too many people on the Island, and Dad knew of a really good place on base, that was loaded with clams.

We would trudge down the path down the cliff, and out onto the sand bar. Dad would tell us to look for the squirt holes, and when we would find some that were squirting he would dig. He would put a load of sand and rocks up on the bar and us girls would sort through it looking for the right size clams. We would fill the burlap bags, fill in the hole and then head back up the cliff to the car.



Once home, we would fill the galvanized tubs with fresh water and cornmeal and leave them alone in the tub for a day. It was fascinating watching their necks come out to expel the sand and take in the fresh water.

One of our favorite things was fresh steamer clams (the small ones) dipped in garlic butter. Then eaten hot. OH YUM!! For city girls, we did good with new foods. Mom would take the bigger clams and grind them up for chowder, or clam fritters. Oh I have not eaten clam fritters in years!!!!

Every Once in a while the Minus tide would hit in the middle of the night, but that did not stop us. Mom would wake us up, get us dressed, and off we would trudge, grumbling at the late hour. Dad would have the red Coleman lantern, and when we hit the beach, he would pump it up and the hissing of the gas and the burning of the wick was a welcome sight. I was not fond of the dark, and this lantern chased away the goblins. Dad would dig, and we would sort, until the tide started back in, then back we would go to the house and our warm beds, while Mom and Dad feasted on the steamers.

The clam shells were always relegated to either the trash pile, or the back yard to be used as doll dishes, once the ants had picked them clean. When you were raised in the Navy you did not have many things, as back then we were not allowed a lot of household effects, so we made our own toys, and clam shells were used as dishes, furniture, clothes, utensils etc.

Yesterday driving into town, I noticed the tide was out again, but the good sites have either been over dug, or are closed because of contamination. The site on Base was closed because it was depleted, and the ones in the cove were closed because of either fecal contamination or red-tide which is an algae bloom that can paralyze you if you eat the shellfish. I thought back to the good old days when we could go down and get what we wanted without fear of contamination. Before Rachel Carson’s SILENT SPRING, before the Island was “discovered” and over populated. When we could safely wander the back roads on our bikes and not be afraid of speeders or weirdo’s. I wonder if there are any places left like that? SIGH!