Raking in a Good Dinner: Clamming in Katama Bay

Anyone can vacation on the Island and enjoy their fair share of local seafood at restaurants or seafood markets. But why leave all the fun to the professionals?

For the second year in a row, the Kyrcz family and our friends the Salzanos decided to take shellfish matters into our own hands. Remembering how savory the dinner was last year with our haul, we prepared for a day of clamming in Katama Bay.

We came to the island prepared for this expedition. Clam rakes: Check. Nail Aprons: Check. Shellfish ring: Check. Clam basket: Check. Appetite: Check!

We left the most important element we left to the last minute: the clamming license. Without this $50 piece of paper, obtained at the Edgartown Town Hall—or whichever town hall governs the body of water in which you’re raking—it is illegal to clam. There’s no getting around it: the shellfish warden was at the ready in the boat launch parking lot to check our papers.

What happens if someone comes down here all outfitted for clamming, but doesn’t have a license? He can do one of three things: politely explain the rules and regulations and send them on their way, slap them with a fine or confiscate all their clamming gear. We were glad we had the license, as none of those actions would have fit into our plan for the day. 

Upon inspection and approval of our license, the warden advised us that they were in the process of seeding Katama Bay with baby clams and the clamming was not too great. We were not about to let that dampen our spirits. So, outfitted in our water shoes and nail aprons, we set out down the beach to the spot he pointed out was the best place to start.

Wading into the chilly, calm water, we all fanned out to start raking the sandy bottom and hopefully come up with legal sized clams. If any clam slips through the ring, it is immediately put back in the water, considered too small to take. We had the ring attached to our aprons, used to hold onto clams until they were dumped into the large basket.

In addition to checking our papers at the beginning of the trip, we knew we would encounter the shellfish warden when we were done. Getting “caught” with illegal-sized clams is never good!

The first 20 minutes or so were a bit ominous.  No one was coming up with anything other than rocks, seaweed, shells and the occasional crab.

“Am I allowed to give up?” whined Ana. 

"No,” everyone else answered in unison. 

“If we don’t get a single clam, I’m going to be mad,” lamented Leah.

A luck would have it, our paths crossed with another clammer, who pointed us in the direction of a great spot. It was perfect!

The whole tone of the day changed as we discovered buried clams with our rakes and maneuvered them to surface.

“Guys, I got one!”, Leah said.

“Is it big enough?”, Ana queried.

Once we started filling our floating clam basket, fashioned out of a milk crate, mesh bag and noodle flotation device, we could not stop.

“You can find them with your hands out here,” Bob yelled cheerfully.  “There are tons of them here!”

In less than an hour we had our basket half full and a sense of true accomplishment.

"It's addictive, once you get the rhythm,” said Rich.

As we called it a day we trudged back to shore with a hearty haul. Lagging behind were Rich and Bob, who couldn’t seem to give up.  Bob, the only one bringing up clams barehanded, was also the only one counting. With 24 counted he worked up until the very last minute to try to get his number to 25.  Alas, no such luck. “There’s always next year,” we said.

“This is not glamorous work,” said Rich as we called it day, “but all in all this was a pretty good haul.”

“We’re going to have a good dinner!” he exclaimed.

He was right. Less than four hours later we were sitting down to a hearty linguine and clam sauce dinner, having already savored the large clams grilled to perfection as appetizers.