July 14, 1988 - He's Happy as a Clammer in the MudJuly 14, 1988/The Suffolk Times /Page I I A
He's Happy as a Clammer in the Mud
By Paul Stoutenburgh
We'd been meaning to get together
with some friends for a long time and
when we finally did we decided to go
clamming. Well, not many people go
clamming any more. Seems it is easier
to just go buy them but for me it's not
the same as if you get them yourself
with a little hard work.
We dug down through the debris in
the garage and found some old sneakers,
saved for just such an occasion, and after
shaking out a few earwigs that had taken
up residence we were almost ready to
go.
The old clam rakes, collected through
attrition from family and friends, came
down from the rafters, a bit rusty but
still workable. Two were the old -fash-
ioned ones with curved teeth forged into
a large, claw -type rake so characteristic
of the early 1900s. The other, more
modern, looked like an extended version
of the garden rake with a metal basket
attached. Our friends brought one of
similar construction. The only other
piece of equipment we needed was the
old five h.p. motor to get us out into
the creek and a bucket, hopefully, to
hold our catch.
Years ago it would have been a
wooden rowboat. It probably would
have leaked, needing a bailing before we
ventured out. Today we'd borrowed our
son's aluminum boat. Fiberglass and
aluminum have pretty well taken over
the boating industry of today. There are
many advantages to the new materials
but something has also been lost -- that
feeling and sound of wood. If you've
ever hit an oar or a clam rake on the side
of an aluminum boat, you know what I
mean. You miss that solid sound of
wood but then you don't have to bail
the aluminum one either.
The Old Spot
We decided to go to a spot we've used
through the years. By now we thought
it might have been worked out, but I
guess we're not that good at clamming
and always leave a few for the next
time. The tide was not exactly what you
want for clamming but half -tide was
better than full, low being the best.
There was no anchor in the boat so we
had to tie it to an oar we jammed into
the muddy bank. It seemed to hold just
fine. One by one we slipped overboard
with the usual oohs and ahhs as the cold
water moved up over our waists.
The old sneakers came in handy as we
found ourselves in heavy mud and old
oyster shells. Without them, we'd have
been cut for sure and I know darn well
we never would have gotten the gals out
of the boat.
When we arrived, a snowy egret
hunting along the marsh edge flew off
to a more secluded spot. He, too, was
resenting the influx of people into his
area. Above, an osprey kept flapping its
wings with the characteristic flight of
his hunting game. They sort of hover in
one spot when they come to an area that
has fish. This usually means they are
ready to dive.
Perhaps it was bunkers we'd been
seeing milling about in the creek. They
are the favorite food of the osprey. There
are plenty of these silvery fish through-
out the bays and creeks this year. This
is one of the main reasons the ospreys
are doing so. well. Food is mast impor-
tant- If .all -went well,, the osprey would
home in on one particular fish, probably
Focus on
Nature
one that was a bit slower and had not
kept up with the school. Then it would
start its dive from about 80 to 100 feet
up, its wings half - folded back. Then,
just as it was about to enter the water,
the wings would fold completely behind
it. Just before impact the claws thrust
forward, ready to close like a vise on its
prey.
Osprey Makes Liftoff
Not every dive is successful but
sooner or later our osprey would make a
hit. For a moment after the dive and af-
ter the spray had settled, the osprey
would seemingly pump itself up and out
of the water. This is the most difficult
time for the osprey to free himself from
the water and rise into the air, still
clutching the bunker or menhaden. It
would then fly a short distance and give
a complete body shake, freeing its wet
feathers of the extra burden of water.
Satisfied with his catch, the osprey
would head for the nest or a favoriie
eating spot. This could be an old tree,
telephone pole or other likely perch. If
you ever find where they dine on their
catch, you'll see a collection of bones
and scales below.
Needless to say we found our spot to
produce clams. It was not a bonanza by
any stretch of the imagination but we
did get three or four dozen nice chorry
stones and a few chowders. Clamming
is an art. Some people literally dig up
the bottom and work terribly hard at it. I
found that by dragging the rake until it
hits something -- and, believe me, with
a little practice you can tell the differ-
ence between a clam and an empty shell
-- then by going back and redigging that
spot you can cut out a great deal of
heavy work. At least it works for me.
Clamming Has Changed
As we clammed we chatted back and
forth, laughing over old times, for we'd
been apart too long. After an hour or
more we collected our catch and put it in
the pail. How good they looked with
their wet, grey shells and creamy, clean
edges. I remembered the many years of
clamming from a child to now and how
I always thought there would never be
an end to clamming but I'm afraid that's
no longer true.
We're getting just too many people
out here and with that kind of pressure
on the clam population the natural pro-
cess of spawning cannot keep up.
Luckily most of the East End towns are
supplementing nature's efforts with a
seed clam program. Without it I'm sure
it would be hard to find clams at all in
our creeks.
Back in the boat we felt content and
later as we ate our catch on the half
shell we felt doubly rewarded for our ef-
forts. Yes, we could have bought them
at the market. Yes, we wouldn't have
filled our pockets and our shirts with
silt and mud. And, yes, we wouldn't
have had to walk through the squishy
mud and be bothered by those greenhead
flies that continually buzzed around us.
But then again we wouldn't have en-
joyed ourselves as much as we did when
.we, went, clamming the.. old-fashioned
way in the creek.
Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
SEED CLAMS -- Southold Town's seed clam program has been supple-
menting the natural population in our creeks for years. In the back-
ground are the rafts where seed clams are raised. In the boat are
bushels of nickel -size clams ready to be distributed in town waters.
±� edge /I/
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