It's Bill, 9/20/25: Clammin'

Desmond Haskell
Sep 21, 2025
2 min read

Finding Lubec’s Shoreline Start Point

When you finally get to Lubec, turn right on to South Lubec Rd. toward West Quoddy Station. Actually, along the shore, it’s the start of Lubec Channel, with 4 miles of beach starting at Mowry Beach in the village. Four miles of clam flats stretch up to West Quoddy Head. If you are there at low tide, you will see trucks out as far as a ¼ mile, usually two or more trucks—just in case of mechanical or tide issues. The buddy system.

A wide view of Lubec’s clam flats during low tide with distant houses in the background. — Low tide exposes miles of rich clam flats along South Lubec Road.

The Clammer's Craft & Culture

Clammers have many places they dig, each with a special honey hole they keep to themselves. They rotate their digging spots like a farmer rotates crops. Clamming has been a way of life in The Real Downeast for generations. Low investment: a clam rake, tote, a strong back, and time. Time is everything: 2–3 hours before and after low tide. During summer full moons, some clammers work two tides. Prices vary. A full-time clammer can harvest up to 200 pounds per tide, with prices ranging from $1.85 to over $4.00 per pound.

An Invitation to Return to the Sand

Now, I’m back on Deb’s porch, overlooking West Quoddy Head, sitting, drinking, not thinking. Deb, just stepping out, says, “Hey, do you want to go clammin’ again?” I mumble indistinctly.

My first time was a few months ago with Deb and her friend. It was work. And I’m not in the shape I think I am. So Deb calls yesterday morning at 8: “Are you ready to go? Tide’s right.”

Back to the Beach

We go to a new spot, right in front of where she grew up. She knew this beach well—her childhood woven into the sand. It was wonderful: sun in our eyes, gulls touching down, great beachcombing at low tide. We walked about a half-mile. Zen for me.

White chairs facing the ocean with the lighthouse visible in the background. — Where her memories were born, and I found a little peace of my own.

The Art of Digging

Then it started. I had to clam. Deb is serious. She finds the round holes. “Look, that’s a big one!” she says, and digs it up in less than a minute. Five minutes later, I found mine—about a foot down—and split it. Deb is on her fifth, no splitting. The technique: dig in front of the round hole, then behind it, filling the front cavity. Bingo—there’s the clam, growing vertically, about 10–12” down. You have to pry it out. “He does not want to leave.”

Deb wears beach water shoes—perfect for walking the sand and water where clams live. I have short boots. Not so perfect—wet cuffs. Deb has gardening gloves. I have bare hands. Sand gets in every line and wrinkle.

Dinner Worth the Work

We dug steamer clams, mussels, and picked periwinkles—aka “wrinkles” (yes, escargot). On Sunday night, Patricia and I prepared three different pasta sauces. Our favorite: steamers sautéed with butter, garlic, and pepper, reduced with a spicy Gewürztraminer. The sea-fresh steamer sauce was perfect over angel hair pasta. Of course, this called for more glasses of Gewürztraminer.