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Clam Diggin'

.....I don't have a lot of memories of my clam diggin' days at family camp since I was still pretty young when we switched to chili cook-offs. Why did we switch to chili cook-offs you ask? Much to our parents' chagrin, the razor clams of Washington were becoming endangered and the state no longer allowed clamming on Camano Island. Anyway, for many years family camp was around the first week in July, which just happened to be the peak of clam season on the Washington shores. I remember getting up at an ungodly hour to catch low tide at the beach on Friday morning. I’d watch our group walk around like hunchbacks, peering into the sand and under rocks just waiting for that tell-tale sign of clam life - streams of clam spit.
Yep. You see, clams tend to stay pretty shallow in the sand until they sense trouble, and as soon as they do they spit sand and water either as a defense mechanism or as some sort of a propulsion, I'm not sure which (at least, I always preferred to think of it as spit and not something else). As soon as you see that gleaming stream of clamminess you’ve gotta dig like mad after it because those clams are nothing if not professional tunnel diggers. Once we’d caught enough clams for roasting and for chowder we'd head back up to the campground to start the competition. One vivid memory for me is how much I hated the smell and taste and texture of those clams! Once we moved off the beach and over to the campfire, the adventure was over for me. I'm pretty sure my little kid brain was so disgusted by those slimy, rubbery blobs that I blocked the rest of my memories permanently. My Mom has filled in some of the gaps:

"The clams would be dug up and placed in buckets of water along with some cornmeal and left overnight. The cornmeal was to be consumed by the live clams in the hopes it would force out all the sand from their tiny little digestive tracts. The next day we would steam them alive in a big steamer pot we had and then eat them right out of the shell. Later we figured out we could just put them on the grate over the campfire until they popped open. They were so delicious dipped in a little butter but we also saved lots for the clam chowder cook-off, which became a chili cook-off when we could no longer get clams. One of the great family camp mysteries is what happened to the steamer basket from my clam pot--it just vanished into thin air one year at Camano."....

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