Oysters on the Straits of Juan de Fuca

Last week we were actually lucky enough to get some time free from work, pack up Alecia and one of her young friends, and voyage north for a real vacation. Our journey took us on a side trip through Wolf Haven outside of Olympia Washington and then up the west bank of the Hood Canal. We picnicked and drove and enjoyed the 70ish weather and the views of blue water and green firs and orange barked madrona and little cottages hugging the banks. Our destination was Sequim (pronounced Skwim) where we'd reserved two nights in a rustic cottage. We reserved two more nights in a less rustic vacation house right on the Straits. We made excursions to Hurricane Ridge in the National Forest and across the water by ferry to Victoria BC. We walked under the stars and at dusk and in the early morning. It was lovely all around.

However, the crowning experience of the getaway was hunting oysters on Sequim Bay. We'd heard that clamming was a preferred activity in the area when we arrived. Mar and I both like clams and the girls were intrigued by the idea of the experience, so we went down to the John Wayne Marina and asked the fella behind the counter if we could get a clamming license. He said we could but didn't know if clamming was 'open' or not. So we drove to the ranger hut at the nearby state park where we were told that clamming, everywhere, was closed. However, the ranger said, "you can harvest oysters." So we went back to the marina and asked about a license for oysters. Turns out it's the same, and we added $1 for the crabbing permit because the area is known for its Dungeness crab and we thought we might get one or two. "So," I asked the clerk, "is getting oysters pretty much the same as getting clams?" He looked at me kind of funny and said "Yes, I suppose. I don't go after oysters much though." Earlier he'd recommended that we not buy a special clam shovel but that we go to the hardware store and get a regular shovel. So I was now the proud owner of a shovel something like a 'coal shovel'. "Is the shovel useful for the oysters?" I went on, just to get clarity. He grimaced slightly. "I guess you could use the shovel," he said.

So it was that we found ourselves at the State Park at 7am the next morning with shovel in hand, a tupperware container and some plastic bags for our prey. I had my swiss army knife because the license said clearly that we had to shuck any oysters on site. The tide was way out and so we expected to have good access to the sea creatures. I was navigating according to my understanding from the Ranger as to where to look for oysters. We drove all the way to one end of the park and left the car. Arriving at the beach, we began squishing our way north through the mud and the seaweed. There were clam shells everywhere. There were green starfish. There were little tidal crabs. There were creatures spurting water up from the sand as we walked by. We couldn't decide what they were for sure. Alecia waded out into the water looking for crabs. There was not a single oyster shell to be found.

Finally, at the far opposite end of the beach we found ourselves in an area strewn with oyster shells. My knowledge of oysters came flooding back. Oh yeah...oysters are in beds. You don't dig them. Harvesters gathered oysters with rakes. We started picking through the clusters. Many of the shells were empty. Some clusters of the critters had five or six or more oysters all grown together in a knot. One or more might be a legal size but it was hard to find where to open the shell. The edges of the shells were sharp and tended to be a fair defence. One by one, though we found oysters of the right size which could be pried open. Our tupperware container floated gently in the incoming tide. When all was said and done, we had ten oysters, enough for dinner that night. Alecia had found a full size crab and displayed it, much to its chagrin, but we didn't keep it. She'd also discovered a species of strange crab we'd never seen before with horns and a diamond shaped carapace.

We tromped back to our vehicle with our booty, scraped, a little sunburned, muddy, but savoring what had been a two hour adventure in real life. As I've come to believe over the years, most of the things I treasure on expeditions are unexpected and unplanned.