Learning Clamming on Oregon Coast
And a celebration of one year of this journey
One year ago, this Cramming for the Apocalypse journey began.
The seeds of the project were planted well before that, but life and work and the world (and if I’m being honest, the lack of accountability) kept the project mostly in my head for quite awhile. For those months of that stagnant I’m-writing-a-book-but-not-really period, I ogled classes from the Portland-based Wildcraft Studios, a unique company built on teaching traditional crafts particularly through textiles, Native arts, and nature-based workshops such as a clamming and seaweed class in Garibaldi, Oregon. Their mission – “Expanding textile traditions. Sharpening creativity. Seeing culture through craft. Learning from nature” – spoke to me in that, while skill-based, there was something deeper involved in learning these activities.
When they announced their spring classes in late 2021, I realized it was time I need to get this journey going. But I didn’t want to do it on my own. So, I urged my friend Lindsey—a lover of all things Oregon Coast and as eager to learn about foraging and the wild harvest as me—to join me on my inaugural activity learning about clamming and seaweed on the coast. Lindsey, of course, was game and suggested we make a weekend out of it.
When I registered for the event in December–a full four months before the actual class—I began to picture myself walking barefoot and zen-like, sinking my toes in soft, wet sand with a bunch of fresh clams in a bag slung on my back. In that vision, I had the expression of satisfaction and complete comfort in that setting.
But then as the class got closer, it occurred to me that a lot of clamming actually takes place in mudflats. That we would be digging in the mud. And that it would very likely be rainy. It had been a very wet, very gray, very dreary winter and spring. The week before the class was no exception and all I could do was picture myself standing gloomily in the middle of a mudflat, wearing soaking wet clothes, digging with great effort for whatever clams I could find. This, of course, would be a rain-or-shine event. I was not very excited about the rain.
What I believe I was experiencing was dread. Not only was this my first wild harvest experience, it was also my inaugural learning experience for this whole damn project. As such, the experience loomed large in my psyche. It represented a whole lot more than this one-day experience. It represented a whole shift in this project and, hopefully with it, the trajectory of my preparedness. That scared the shit out of me. So did digging in the mud in the pouring rain.
And then the weekend arrived. And y’all, it was resplendent with sun on the forecast the entire weekend. The kind of first-sun-of-the-season weekend where being indoors feels like a crime. On clamming day, despite being a tad hungover from our first night at the coast sans kid and catching up over wine in the hot tub, I was actually excited to get out there. Nonetheless, I carried a few first-time butterflies with me worrying about how far out we’d have to trek and such. Upon seeing a guy with a clam gun–a tube-like contraption that sucks up clams and mud deep below the surface–I worried that I wasn’t prepared at all.
“We won’t need a clam gun,” said Alanna Kieffer, our clamming teacher for the day. She noted that we’d be looking for cockles, which are pretty close to the surface. Clam guns are great for other clams, like razor clams, that you’ll find deeper under the surface. Not only did Alanna’s words ease me, but so did her demeanor. Smiling as she talked, seemingly dying to tell you all the cool facts about the ocean and coastal foraging, you can’t help but get as excited. Her white skin was sunkissed, signaling her constant outdoor existence, her skin grabbing every bit of sun on the gray Oregon coast. Her words felt like she was about to take your hand and eagerly lead you out to place that she loves so much. (Y’all got to hear from Alanna a few weeks ago in the inaugural podcast episode).
As Alanna introduced herself, you knew she held a deep kinship with the ocean. Having finished high school in Seaside, Oregon, she started her marine educator role at a young age as an environmental educator for the Haystack Rock Awareness Program in Cannon Beach, Oregon, about 30 miles north of where we stood that day. After studying marine biology at OSU, working as a marine science educator at Catalina Island, and becoming a diver and aquarist, she now lives and works in Garibaldi as the sales manager for Oregon Seaweed, the seaweed farm we’d be learning about after we dug for some clams. She also teaches classes, such as the one I took, with WildCraft. And more recently, she started a new company dedicated specifically to educating about coastal foraging and food called Shifting Tides Northwest.
As she began her introduction, Alanna pointed to the mud flat at the Garibaldi Harbor literally right next to where we stood, and said, “That’s where we’ll be clamming.”
A wave of relief flooded over me. The clams were mere yards from where we stood. I realized then that I had no concept of clamming and what it entailed other than digging in the mud. I assumed we’d be walking a lot and moving around a lot to find those clams. But of course, we’d be just right there, our cars in sight the entire time. Mudflats don’t just appear in the middle of the damn ocean. All we’d need to do to get to the clams was to walk down the rocky seawall onto the mud and, ya know, go. Alanna walked us through some of the safety rules and gave us tips on how to read the tide tables.
Alanna noted that cockles were pretty close to the surface and often gather in groups, so where you find one, there are likely more. And occasionally, the barefooted might even just step on one, no digging necessary. Just a rake to comb those muddy surfaces and your hands.
With that, we all set off to the mud flats. I began walking confidently into the mud with excitement knowing that I’ll come home with a bucket full of clams (well, full of the maximum allowed amount of 20 per person). And then with one of my excited steps, my right boot began to sink into the mud as if some kind of mud witch were grabbing onto it pulling me down toward her. I yanked my foot up from the mud, yet the boot stayed where it was. Balancing myself with my rake, I placed my foot back in, grabbed the top sides of my boots, and then pulled myself out of the sinkhole. By that time, my other foot was now in the predicament. I used the same method on that side and then did the awkward mud-sucking boot pull dance until I made it to where the group had decided to start raking. Alanna’s group the previous day had luck with that spot closer in, so that’s where we began.
No one seemed to be finding anything. We were out there for 15 or 20 minutes and not once did my rake hit something hard. Not even a damn rock. Although in all honesty, it could have, I was so distracted by my boot-sucking situation that I was hardly paying attention to the act of clamming. Folks had started giving up on that spot hoping to find today’s good spot, they began fanning out to different spots farther into the mud flat.
Meanwhile I was still locked in my pull the boot, rake the mud, pull the boot, rake the mud dance. I watched them, my heart sinking knowing that if I was going to find a clam, I was going to go out farther risking even deeper sinking.
I followed Lindsey, who seemed to be having more luck with her boots which stayed more securely on her feet A few yards into the flats, I realized both my boots were completely cemented in and being sucked farther down. Because they were both sinking at the same rate, I didn’t have enough leverage on one side to pull one down. Every time I tried, it just pushed the other one farther into the mud.
I pictured all the 80s movies depicting quicksand as I was being pulled slowly, slowly into its muddy depths. “I will be living with the cockles now, " I thought, only half joking. Lindsey recognized the real fear in my eyes and calls for “Lindsey, help me get out of this fucking thing.” As she did her own boot-sucking dance as she came toward me, I felt the cold, wet water seeping in through the bottom of my old found-on-the-side-of-the-road boots. As Lindsey helped provide leverage, I gave up the boots and extracted my foot from the boot stuck halfway in the mud, peeled off the wet sock, and threw it into the boot. I did the same to the dry foot and then placed my bare feet onto the mud. It was icy at first touch, but with the warm sun shining down and the eventual numbing, it started to feel fine pretty quickly. Lindsey, who was also struggling, decided to do the same. And soon most of our crew was barefoot too. I threw my old boots into my empty bucket and continued to walk out to the middle of the flat with a whole lot more confidence.
And holy hell, it felt like I was walking on water. Not being pulled down by the boot-loving mud witch has that effect.
Having regained full use of my feet and legs, my brain was freed up to concentrate on raking and cockles. Which, for quite a while didn’t result in any cockles. But with the freedom of being bootless, I was more able to roam, and about 15 minutes later, Lindsey found her first cockle joining the others who’d yell “I found one!!” with such excitement as if they struck gold.
It was another 20 minutes later of raking, but it eventually happened, I found my first cockle. And then the next and then the next and then the next. Within 20 minutes, Lindsey and I had handily acquired our maximum of 20 cockles each. At that point, we started to become choosy and agreed we’d steam half the clams that night and save the rest for clam chowder. Meaning we needed 20 small ones (steamers) and 20 big ones. So we started placing the hand-sized clams back into the mud opting for the itty bitty ones.
We realized at that point how necessary the Oregon Department Fish & Wildlife clamming limits were. While I’m sure cultures where foraging and the wild harvest are very much a part of the way-of-being, there’s a natural inclination to only take what you need. But even for a conscious person, being raised in capitalist society–one built off an illusion of scarcity and individualism–it’s easy to just keep collecting.
When I talked to Alanna later about this, she said how helpful it is to really be conscious about what it takes to process these animals. You can get so caught up in the moment, you can forget and you risk wasting so much. Even some of the limits are beyond what we most need. Mussels, for example, because they are so abundant the limit is 72 per person. But can one person actually eat 72 mussels in the two days they’ll last in your fridge?
“Every time I'm out there harvesting things, in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about the amount of time it’s going to take to process the food that you take home with you,” Alanna said. “And that amount of time plus the fact that you have to do it within two days, seafood doesn't stay good forever in your fridge, you know, so you need to process or eat it within about two days. And so it often depends on what I'm doing that night or if I have plans the next day and what I even have the ability to process that day.”
And so, when we did reach our limit, Lindsey and I walked over to the shore to revel in the beauty of it all as we waited for the rest of the group to gather. We still had a bit more to do that day to learn about seaweed farming (will save that for another time or check out Alanna’s interview). But I was content. I had done the thing I came to do. I had not hated it. I had loved it and vowed to come back with Finch and Cory someday.
Alas, I have not gone clamming since. This seems to be the theme for a lot of the classes I take. I’m a convert the moment I leave the class, but integrating the skill into my everyday life feels damn near impossible. But the journey continues. And I've proven with every class where the butterfly-in-the-stomach dread decreases as each class approaches that it’s not as bad as I make it out to be in my head. I may not say the same thing when I get to the gun part, but with the nature-based stuff, it’s always transformative.
In the meantime, you’ll continue to read about that journey here.
Learn more about WildCraft’s classes here and for all the cool Oregon Coast classes offered by Shifting Tides Northwest. And listen to this podcast interview with Alanna Kieffer to learn more about her and her work.
Congratulations Elizabeth for completing one year! I also reached one year milestone last month :).