I looked over the water. The first light with hints of yellow and orange was on the surface. My head hurt a little from want of coffee and sleep. The pond appeared a little chilly. I was not ready. Low tide was at dawn. After a small bowl of cereal with a banana, I headed my truck for the parking lot of the Tisbury town boat launch, near the drawbridge. I brought my gear to the beach.
There was no sense in waiting around till I felt in the right mood. I stepped into the comfort of my waders. The feel of a heavy blanket increased my spirits. I waded in with my clam rake and basket. The water was about waist level. I dropped into some sort of depression and the water went to my chest. I backed out and continued away from the beach. I found a place to start, and put my rake into the water. The cold stung my bare hands.
I scraped the sharp teeth of my rake over the bottom. I felt the hard, roundish body. I dug down and pulled the teeth through the mud. I brought the basket of the rake up, and sloshed it back and forth through the water. There was my first quahog.
I tossed the clam in my basket. Two noodles tied around the top of the basket keep it afloat. The quahog dropped this way and that through the water to the bottom of the basket. I made a few more passes, and brought up a few more. Then I moved on to find a more productive area. I have learned over the years as a recreational shell fisherman to look for the quahogs. They are found in ridges and batches. One needs to cover ground.
The pond was quiet this morning. There was the slightest of breezes and the smallest of seas. A ripple was between and on top of the waves. There was little activity at the launch. I scratched through the surface of the bottom with my rake. The teeth ran up against a jumble. A bit of excitement ran through me. I dug the teeth in as deep as I could go, and then pulled with all the strength of my body through the heavy resistance of the mud. I brought the rake basket up. I sloshed it clean of the mud. Six or seven good quahogs rattled in the steel basket.
In recreational clamming, running one’s rake into a whole mess of quahogs is as fun as it gets. Worthy comparisons could be finding a peaceful cove in a kayak, or making the peak of a hill or mountain. I looked with satisfaction at the catch.
A truck with the friendly green of the shellfish department caught my attention as it rolled into the parking lot. I watched it come to a stop and stand still for a moment. The door opened and the driver stepped out. I was hoping I would not be called onto the beach. Not because I did not have a valid license. Not because I had undersize clams. And not because I did not want to say good morning to Danielle, the shellfish constable, or one of her staff.
I did not want to be called in because I had found a good spot, and because I was 50 yards out. I was hoping not to have to wade in to the beach and then back out to where I was. Though, of course, I happily would have done so if asked.
I made a few more passes, and brought up a few more rake baskets. The quahogs glistened with the seawater. They gleamed colors of deep white, gray, and dark purple. It was time to move again when seaweed and rocks became my main catch.
I was very comfortable in the cold water. My waders kept me insulated and dry. Nelson, a member of the shellfish department, had recommended the Grundens to me some years ago. I was glad for the advice.
The sun was warm in the sky. I would have liked to take off a layer. I had on a wool jacket under an old foul-weather-gear top. My hands no longer were cold. I moved around. My basket began to fill. I kept an eye on it. Soon it began to sink from the weight of the catch. It was time to be careful. I grabbed the line tied off to the basket. I did not want to lose the basket filled with all of its treasure to the murky bottom of the pond. When the basket did sink to the bottom, I knew it was time. I wanted to stay out longer. The pond was peaceful and cathartic. But I had enough quahogs. I made a few more passes, and then I headed in.
I decided as I towed my basket of clams for the shore that it would be nice to treat myself to a coffee and Boston cream doughnut from the Black Dog bakery. With that thought in mind, I loaded my gear and catch into the truck. Shortly later, I was biting into the Boston cream and taking a sip of coffee.
Back home, I hosed the saltwater from my rake and waders. I hung the waders to dry and changed into dry clothes. Some water had leaked over the top of the waders as I had leaned into the rake. I transferred the quahogs from the basket to my large cooking pot.
I have the book “James Beard’s New Fish Cookery.” The recipes are simple and delicious. I filled the pot with water to cover the quahogs, put the top on, and turned on the burner.
The clams all had steamed open after about half an hour. I removed the meat from the shells. With that task complete, I began to chop the meat into small pieces. This is the most arduous part of the process. Their bodies are tiny, and tedious to chop. There were about 70 of them, to boot.
I was in the kitchen all morning and into the beginning of the afternoon. (I was short a few ingredients, and needed to take a time-out for a walk to the Stop & Shop.) I reserved one portion of the chopped clams to freeze in the broth for a chowder base. I then began on the stuffers. I mixed in the gluten-free breadcrumbs, some melted butter, chopped green pepper, and onion, and I added some broth. I cleaned the half-shells I would use. I filled the shells with the stuffing.
Three or four of the stuffers will make a meal. I like them as a sort of goulash, with steamed peas and homemade applesauce all mixed in. They have a hearty flavor, and are all the better for the knowledge of their origin. My efforts yielded about two dozen of the stuffers, one base for chowder, and the enjoyment of an early morning hour on the pond. In my opinion, it was a super way to spend part of the day.
