Happy as a Clam

I was at the fam's beach house all last week. All of my mom's extended family lives down there, and has for generations, so when we're there, we get lots of visitors and lots of weird offers, such as you can only get on the coast. "Do you want some of our left-over Salmon?" (obvi) or "Have you ever wanted to tour the canning factory?" (no) or "Would you like some of our live bait?" (ew). However, from time to time, in months not containing an "R", I am asked if I want to go butter clamming. My great-uncle is one of the only non-commercial owners of Willapa Bay property, meaning that we get to harvest all types of world-famous, top-price clams for free. Now who says "no" to that?!

How does one hunt the wily clam?

You put on rubber boots and a rain slicker, trudge out 1000 feet into the bay at low tide, brave the muck of the bay floor, and bend down for 15 minutes. You dig into the muck with a trowel, hit something hard, dig it out with your fingers and wash off the dirt in the water, and see if it's a clam or a piece of gravel. Usually it's a clam. Then you toss it into a bucket. Repeat 75 times. And that's how you clam hunt. They are the Deadliest Catch, for certain. Then you get to double-boil them and eat them with lemon-butter. NOM NOM NOM.