Happy As A

 

Ann was clamoring to get back to the beach, so we again headed west, packing the Claminator, of course. I must disclose that Claminator is the actual product name of our clam gun, which I should also disclose is more like a post-hole digger than a gun. There is a lot of terminology to learn when one hunts the razor clam.

When we drove out onto the beach at Twin Harbors and we only saw a couple of other trucks. Ann said, “Where is everybody?” We then parked near one of the other trucks, and as I was shutting off the engine, we heard what sounded like a substantial pride of enraged lions.

“Is that the wind?” Ann asked.

I tried, unsuccessfully, to open my door. “Apparently so,” I replied.

The wind was harsh, and had just enough rain in it to immediately turn our glasses into speckled mosaics. Nevertheless, even though we were a little early according to the tides, we managed to spot a donut show fairly quickly and got our first. Then we got another, and another. Once we had three spotted at once. Then nothing. It was a long stretch of nothing. If I had a towel, I would have been ready

to throw it in. Right after I wiped off my face with it. We did finally concede, even though we still had a good half an hour of daylight remaining.

It initially looked like we would hit our 15-clam each limit in short order, but we left the beach with only 15 clams between us. We stopped at the Tap Room in Aberdeen and probably got the most calories per dollar we have had since we left Missouri. Pizza there was $12, two toppings brought it up to $17. This was no personal pizza, it was 14 inches, very thick and more than we could eat, even after a couple hours of clam digging to build our appetite.

We were sharing a clamming experience with some friends a week ago, and one was a little taken aback. This is because Ann was vividly describing how the clams scurry away for the lives, digging up to a foot a minute to try to escape the digger. The friend was sympathetic to the clams just out there living there best life until we showed up.

It’s true, the life of the clam is joyful. They set the standard of happiness above any other species. And why wouldn’t they? They spend every day at the beach. Mary is as happy as they are when she’s at the

beach. My beach happiness is more weather-dependent.

To properly honor the clams not skilled enough to hide and too slow to escape, Ann used them as an ingredient in a very special dinner, complete with linguine noodles that she made from scratch. Everything has to die sometime, and I think this was a good way for the clams to go.