Night draws hunters for wily Washington razor clams

COPALIS BEACH, Grays Harbor County — The last rays of setting sun gild ripples in the sand as the tide slinks low down the beach, and clammers light their lanterns, ready for the gathering night.

Even after sunset, as the winter dark closes in, so do razor clammers, savoring their first night of a four-day December season, a signature delight of the Washington winter beach.

A full moon presses bright against a ceiling of clouds, its silver light leaking through seams between quilted humps of gray. On come the headlamps and flashlights; flickering flames of kerosene lamps, and beams of camping lanterns, throw small circles of light on the wet sand.

The sound of the tide, invisible in the dark, is the clammers' only clue as waves sneak up the beach, giving a cold, wet surprise.

Part treasure hunt, part contact sport, razor clamming is a hands-and-knees affair for some, digging barehanded, and plunging shoulder-deep in cold, wet sand to pursue their gourmet delight. Chowder, fritters — it's all good, they'll tell you, when it's made with fresh razor clams.

From Yakima, Bellevue, all over, some clammers traveled hours to get here Thursday night, reveling in an unseasonably beautiful night, warm, without a puff of wind — an extra bonus for veteran clammers used to roughhouse winter weather.

"Usually the raindrops don't hit the ground until they get all the way to Seattle, they are going sideways," says Herb Zile, 64, of Longview. A retired construction dump-truck driver, he grew up in Pacific County, skipping class as a boy to dig clams for 4 cents a pound.

"In January, the wind will knock your head off," Zile says, but he hardly ever misses a clam tide. "It's a challenge. And it's the fresh-clam taste." He likes his clams fried, smoking hot, with a little lemon and salt. "I use two forks, that way when one is empty, I have another on standby."

His sister Rusty, she of the clam shovel painted with the motto "Rusty's digging machine," digs her limit of 15 clams in about as many minutes. Copalis is known for its abundance — and bigger clams, often reaching 5 inches long.

Using flashlights to find clam dimples in the sand — called shows — the clammers move over the beach like sandpipers, sometimes tapping with a shovel or stick to make the clams squirt, revealing their location.

All squish and salt air, the dark makes the sounds and smells of the digging more evident, for not being able to see much. Clamming alongside his father, Shingo Yamazaki, 21, of Bellevue, says he likes digging at night. "It adds to the mystery," he says, shining a lantern as his father Norio, 64, holds out a clam, long as his palm, soon to be sashimi.

Nearby, Josh Preble of Olympia, digs down on his hands and knees, using both hands. "So much of society cuts us off from the rhythm of nature," he says, splashed with wet sand that glints with mica in the lantern light. "I like being in tune with it."