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About The daily Astorian. (Astoria, Or.) 1961-current | View Entire Issue (April 2, 2015)
CLOSE TO HOME Birthday dinner: Coastal Life Story and photos by DAVID CAMPICHE A feast of oysters on the Willapa Bay mudfl ats W When frigid winter winds bullied their way east and downriver to the mouth of the Columbia, the Chinook Indians donned their winter gear and portaged the isth- mus across the Long Beach Peninsula to Willapa Bay. The natives camped on the shoreline, gathered and consumed baskets of succulent oysters — these a smaller na- tive bivalve than those of today. The tribe steamed them in beautiful, tightly woven baskets, which they filled with salt wa- ter and red-hot stones. Long before Capt. Robert Gray upset the apple cart, the Chi- nooks were a self-sufficient and content people. 7KH R\VWHU LQ IDYRU WRGD\ LV WKH 3DFL¿F oyster, a bivalve originally imported from Japan, a species both larger and less delicate than its predecessor. Overharvesting of the native oyster led to their near demise in the late 19th century. Not to worry: In a close UDFHWKH3DFL¿FUXQVQRVHWRQRVHULJKWXSWR the wire. But no matter how you call it, the 3DFL¿FLVDZRQGHUIXOWUHDW Early on a Monday morning in the month of bare branches, a buddy called and suggested a rendezvous on the state-con- trolled oyster bed at Nahcotta. “It’s Don- ald’s birthday,” he stated fervently. “We need to treat him to his favorite meal,” meaning, of course, the raw, delicate and sublime oyster. “Free raw oysters. You pick ‘em; we slurp ‘em,” and Billy will- fully smacked his lips. Growing up in these parts, we boys hunt- ed waterfowl on lovely and unpredictable Willapa Bay. Unexpectedly, we would con- front clear warm days, a Finn sweat bath, even in the middle of winter. We called hunting on these days “blue bird shooting,” and of course, the bird hunting deteriorat- ed. The ducks sat in the middle of the bay and wouldn’t EXGJHRUÀ\ So, on a still February after- noon, we three amigos stumbled into a fair blue bird day. The generally tumultuous wa- Walking through Willapa Bay mud is always tricky. Locals claim the bay is stabilized by piles of hip boots that have been forfeited to the mud gods. 4 | April 2, 2015 | coastweekend.com Two oyster lovers seek the natural bounty during low tide on Willapa Bay. WHUZDVÀDWDVWKHWKFHQWXU\YLHZRIWKH world. The tide had retreated to its natural composition, unctuous mud. From Nahcotta, one could clearly make out Saddle Moun- tain, some 60 miles south in Oregon. The WHPSHUDWXUHZDVDVXQEDWKLQJGHJUHHV We came prepared with oyster knives, a bucket of clean water, fresh lemons and a homemade red sauce with more Tabasco than horseradish. Walking through Willapa Bay mud is always tricky. Locals claim the bay is sta- bilized by piles of hip boots that have been forfeited to the mud gods. We chose a path over the discarded piles of shells left by other oyster lovers. Each visitor is allowed to gather 18 oysters. But one rule remains very firm: You must leave the shells. In July and August, oyster larvae swim free- ly in the warm bay water. Simultaneously, they attach to discarded oyster shells — and only oyster shells — and then grow rapidly into the delicate flesh we call oys- ter meat. Generally, the oyster is harvested after three years. Each year they are physically moved to a richer feeding ground. If you prefer a smaller bite — a more delicate morsel — persuade an oysterman to har- vest one- or two-year-old oysters. Opening the shell takes skill and pa- tience. A pair of thick rubber gloves and a sturdy oyster knife is mandatory. I pre- fer to come in from the back of the shell and break the hinge. That takes some force and a sudden twist of the thin strong blade. Be warned: One must remain watchful. Wounds occur frequently to the unwary and often enough to an experienced shuck- er to shape the day badly. Donald gathered all his oysters in an or- ganized pile before eating a single one. He Dining on the mudfl ats: half shell and lemon. washed the shells in his clean water buck- et, the same one he lugged begrudgingly across the soft mud flats. Opening the shell slowly, he carefully downed the soft flesh after squeezing fresh lemon juice over the meat. That isn’t my style, but method is madness, and I refuse to judge a human being on the evidence of his or her oyster prowess. Billy followed Donald and extracted all 18, placing them in a glass Mason jar to share later with his lovely wife, Nancy. To show such restraint speaks to her ex- ceptional nature. She must be an angel. My wife remains allergic to oysters. ,GRZQHGWKHÀHVKDVTXLFNO\DV,RSHQHG each of them. Holding the shell in my left hand, I loosened the hinge and the muscle that binds the mollusk to the shell, and then GRZQHG WKH VLON\ ÀHVK LQ D VLQJOH ERXQG Yes, I covered the morsel with my home- made sauce before I consumed the salty delicacy. :LWK D UHOLVK EH¿WWLQJ D WUXH FRXUULHU GH PHU 'RQDOG VDW RQ KLV LQYHUWHG JDO lon bucket and swallowed whole, each and every one. You should have seen the smile on his face: those bared white teeth and the satisfaction that lingered after each and ev- ery mouthful. The sun was settling in the west as we gathered up our oyster paraphernalia. Across the bay, Long Island shimmered in WKHGXVNDULEERQRIVLON\ODYHQGHU$ÀRFN of pintail lifted and curled over the bay. The VXUIDFHFRQWLQXHGWRUHÀHFWWKHVHWWLQJVXQ the rising full moon. We grabbed one last look. The sky had WXUQHGWRWKDWVRIW5HQRLUSLQNOLNHÀXVKHG skin. It darkened as we walked. A lone high squawk from a regal great blue heron skirt- HG DFURVV WKH PXGÀDWV 7KLQNLQJ EDFN WR the Chinook, I realized that some pure mo- ments refuse to change. Distant travelers ask frequently about the appeal of living in the rural Columbia 3DFL¿F,WUHPDLQVGLI¿FXOWIRUPHWRGH¿QH all the assets that lead to a love affair with his stunning place we call home. Willapa %D\FHUWDLQO\GH¿QHVWKLVDIIHFWLRQ Here, now, sitting in my kitchen, I’m re- PLQGHGRIWKHLQ¿QLWHSDOOHWRIFRORUVWKDW, just witnessed. I realize that I am incapable RIGH¿QLQJDOOWKHFRORUVRISDUDGLVHRUDV I call it, the beauty of the Great Tao. Is not such landscape simply too rich for full re- call? I swallow one of the oysters that I re- trieved from the Willapa and smile inward- ly. It slithers down my gullet without resis- tance or complaint. Suddenly the world is at peace, again.