Winter is quiet at Washington's coast, but hardy diggers don't relent in their pursuit of the luscious razor clam

LONG BEACH PENINSULA — This is one of the longest beaches in America. And on those spring mornings when the weekend tides are at their lowest, the lines of parked pickups and four-by-fours can stretch for miles, up to six rows deep.

They bring razor-clam diggers. So many come that some locals have quipped that a Chamber of Commerce theme is in order: maybe "Spring Break Forever." Or a Frankie-and-Annette "Beach Bash" theme.

But I envision stress where others see tourism dollars. I picture rowdy kids and unleashed dogs barking under the sun.

Which explains why I had donned a yellow raincoat and beanie on a November night under a full moon, my arms sinking into the cold, mushy sand, with the murmur of the tides and winds rather than the boom of car stereos.

Clam digging in winter has its advantages: smaller crowds and less competition if you're willing to trade in shorts and sandals for rubber boots and winter gear.

It's also for those who aren't morning people. Winter clam digs start in the late afternoon and stretch into nighttime — when requisite low tides occur — not at 7 a.m., as in spring.

One of five beaches

Long Beach is among five state-designated razor-clam digging beaches on the Washington coast, along with Twin Harbors, Copalis, Mocrocks and Kalaloch. But for overnight clam-digging excursions, Long Beach offers more activities and restaurant options than most of the other coastal areas.

This peninsula, on the southern coast, stretches 24 miles, from Beards Hollow near North Head Lighthouse to Leadbetter Point State Park. Thousands — maybe even tens of thousands — will dig for clams along the beach when tides get low in the spring.

During winter months when surf hits harder on the southern part of the peninsula, the best clamming is farther north, said Dan Ayres, coastal shellfish biologist for the state Department of Fish and Wildlife, who volunteered to be my guide for this outing.

Nutrients are more plentiful for razor clams on the peninsula's north end, he said. It's farther away from the flushing freshwater of the Columbia River, which encroaches on the clams' saltwater habitat.

So off to the north end we drove, Ayres and I, toward the mouth of Willapa Bay. Ayres is one of the bigwigs who decides when and where folks can dig clams in Washington. He is Yoda in all matters relating to razor clams.

Healthy ocean, good clamming

Driving in the pickup along the beach, Ayres said I was lucky. This was a good clam-digging evening. Look at the water, he pointed.

It looked like an oil spill to me.

"Those are brown planktons. Razor clams like to eat them. It's a sign of a healthy ocean," he said.

In other words, clams were feeding just below the surface, he said.

His words proved prescient. One by one, clam diggers came up to the driver's side of our pickup, bragging what easy pickings it was out there.

A giddy couple said they didn't know what to do with themselves since they each got their allotted 15-clam limit before sunset.

One local told Ayres he prefers smaller razor clams because he thinks they taste better. "Everybody has got their stories," Ayres said as we pulled away.

I was eager to haul my own bounty.

We drove farther, past the community of Oysterville, then pulled over and grabbed the buckets, shovel and clam gun from the pickup bed.

I saw a dozen clam diggers near the water or knee deep in it. I thought we were headed that way. But Ayres dug 30 feet from our parked pickup. Few folks were within shouting distance.

Yet, in under 15 minutes, in a space about the size of an office cubicle, Ayres dug up 15 clams. His rubber boots didn't even touch water.

How did he do that? Many clam diggers were out there for at least 90 minutes, roaming back and forth, before bagging their allotted catch.

Ayres, who has tracked razor clams for the state since 1989, explained. Don't look at the crowd, look at the ground, he advised. Look for dimples in the sand or miniature doughnut-shaped indentations that give away a clam's whereabouts a foot beneath the surface.

Most folks don't trust their instincts so they just follow the crowd, he said.

It was a great study in the human condition. Every time a car came along, that party always parked where everyone else did, dug where everyone else did. All competed in the same area, leaving hundreds of yards of untouched beach full of razor clams.

Except for Ayres.

And despite what many clam diggers believe, there's no proof that the clams are bigger when you dig 10 feet from the water or right where the water recedes, he said.

The clams Ayres caught — under five inches — were the same size as everyone else's bounty.

The methods

By my count, only a handful of folks used a shovel, while 50 diggers we met used clam guns.

The clam gun seemed much easier to me. Contrary to its name, this is not a firearm, but a simple tubular device with a handle. When plunged into the sand around a clam hole, it creates a vacuum. When pulled back up, clams come along with sand. Little effort. You don't get dirty.

But Ayres is old-school. He digs with a shovel and a bucket because that's the way his dad taught him, he said. Takes him five seconds to dig one clam. He scoops up the sand and then snatches the clam out of the hole with his bare hand — just sweeping the grainy sand until his fingers touch shell.

Ayres, 55, has never lived farther than a two-hour drive from the coast. He grew up in Aberdeen and now lives in the Grays Harbor County town of Montesano. He taught his two daughters how to dig clams. It's a tradition in coastal communities, he said.

"Moms and dads roll out of the truck and hit the beach and hours later build a bonfire and fly kites and play around with the dogs on the beach."

Clamming is a perfect family activity because it requires little skill, he said. It took me 10 minutes to figure out how to dig razor clams, with both a clam gun and a shovel.

We headed back to the truck before the sky was pitch dark. I was lucky — no gusty winds or sideways rain, which can happen to winter clam diggers. The weather was clear, but with enough of a breeze to remind me of the season.

It felt peaceful. The coastal vista was majestic. The scattering of headlamps and lanterns looked like lightning bugs in the distance. The sounds of wave and wind were comforting, like a steady hum instead of a snore.

Ayres knows what I'm talking about. It's his favorite season to go clam digging. You feel like you have the place to yourself, with "the light of the lantern and the sound of surf," Ayres said. "I love the hissing sound that a Coleman lantern makes."

"One night, I saw the Northern Lights with Dad. We quit clam digging and watched the skies."

Tan Vinh: 206-515-5656 or tvinh@seattletimes.com