On the road: collecting stuffed quahogs

I looked at the water. The first light appeared on the surface with shades of yellow and orange. My head hurt a little from lack of coffee and sleep. The pond seemed a little cool. I wasn’t ready. The tide was low at dawn. After a small bowl of cereal and a banana, I headed my truck to the Tisbury Boat Landing parking area next to the drawbridge. I brought my gear to the beach.

There was no point in waiting until I felt the right mood. I stepped comfortably into my waders. The feeling of the heavy blanket lifted my spirits. I walked in with a clam rake and a basket. The water was approximately waist level. I fell into some kind of depression, and the water hit my chest. I retreated and walked further away from the beach. I found where to start and lowered the rake into the water. The cold burned my bare hands.

I scraped the bottom with the sharp teeth of the rake. I felt a hard round body. I dug and pulled the teeth out of the dirt. I picked up the rake basket and swung it back and forth across the water. There was my first quahog.

I threw the clam into the basket. Two noodles tied around the top of the basket keep it afloat. Quahog fell back and forth through the water to the bottom of the basket. I made a few more passes and picked up a few more. Then I moved on to find a more productive place. Over the years as a recreational fisherman, I have learned to look for quahogs. They are found in ridges and batches. The ground needs to be covered.

The pond was quiet this morning. There was the slightest breeze and the smallest sea. There were ripples between the waves and on their surface. There was little activity at the start. I scraped the surface of the bottom with a rake. Teeth made a mess. I was overcome with slight excitement. I sank my teeth as deep as I could and then pulled with all the strength of my body through the heavy resistance of the mud. I picked up the rake basket. I threw it clean of dirt. There were six or seven good quaogs clanking in the steel basket.

In recreational fishing, hitting a whole bunch of quahogs with a rake is just fun. Worthy comparisons might be finding a quiet cove in a kayak or climbing to the top of a hill or mountain. I looked at the catch with satisfaction.

A friendly green shellfish department truck caught my eye as it pulled into the parking lot. I watched as he stopped and froze for a moment. The door opened and the driver came out. I hoped I wouldn’t be invited to the beach. Not because I didn’t have a valid license. Not because my clams were small. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to say good morning to Danielle, the shellfish constable, or one of her coworkers.

I didn’t want to be called because I had found a good spot and because I was 50 yards away. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to get to the beach and then go back to where I was. Although, of course, I would happily do so if asked.

I made a few more passes and picked up a few more rake baskets. The Quahogs glistened with seawater. They glowed in colors of deep white, gray and dark purple. It was time to move again when seaweed and rocks became my main prey.

I felt very comfortable in the cold water. My waders kept me insulated and dry. Nelson, a member of the shellfish department, recommended the Grundens to me several years ago. I was glad for the advice.

The sun was warm in the sky. I’d like to peel off a layer. I was wearing a wool jacket under an old weather top. My hands were no longer cold. I moved around. My basket started to fill up. I’ve been keeping an eye on this. Soon he began to sink under the weight of his catch. It’s time to be careful. I grabbed the rope tied to the basket. I didn’t want to lose the basket with all the treasures on the muddy bottom of the pond. When the basket sank to the bottom, I knew it was time. I wanted to stay longer. The pond was peaceful and cleansing. But I had enough quahogs. I made a few more passes and headed inside.

As I hauled my basket of shellfish to shore, I decided it would be nice to treat myself to a coffee and a Boston cream donut from Black Dog Bakery. With that thought in mind, I loaded my gear into the truck. Soon I took a bite of Boston creamer and took a sip of coffee.

When I got home, I washed the salt water off my rake and waders. I hung my waders to dry and changed into dry clothes. As I leaned over the rake, some water spilled over my boots. I transferred the quahogs from the basket to a large pan.

I have a book called James Beard’s New Fish Cooking. The recipes are simple and delicious. I filled the pot with enough water to cover the quahogs, closed the lid, and turned on the burner.

The clams opened after about half an hour. I took the meat out of the shells. Having completed this task, I began cutting the meat into small pieces. This is the most difficult part of the process. Their bodies are tiny and tedious to chop. And there were about 70 of them.

I sat in the kitchen all morning and early afternoon. (I was missing a few ingredients and needed to take a time out to walk to Stop & Shop.) I reserved one serving of chopped clams to freeze in the broth for the chowder base. Then I started with fillers. I mixed together gluten-free breadcrumbs, a little ghee, chopped green peppers and onions and added a little broth. I cleaned the half shells that I will be using. I filled the shells with stuffing.

Three or four stuffers will prepare the food. I like them as a kind of goulash, with the addition of steamed peas and homemade applesauce. They have a hearty flavor and are all the better for knowing where they come from. My efforts yielded about two dozen toppings, one chowder base, and the enjoyment of a morning on the pond. In my opinion it was a great way to spend part of the day.