Last week, I joined in a shellfish tradition of the Columbia River-adjacent beaches: I dug a razor clam. Yes, exactly one. For the experienced, the limit is 15 or 20 depending on place, but that’s assuming the ease of pulling them from the sand.

Clamming, I found, was an art of observation, made more or less difficult by the skill of the clam at hiding itself.

Northwest of Oysterville, searchers lined the beaches with cars, buckets and nets. Most, including me, tried out heavy wading boots despite the bright, hazy blue sky and 80-degree heat. Most also ventured into the surf, looking carefully for markings in the sand before pulling up the occasional 6-inch Pacific razor clam.

My one catch revealed itself ever so slightly as the tide pulled back, with a momentary dip in the flat, densely-packed sand. This was on the second to last day of the Washington razor clam season. Thousands, I reasoned, had combed these beaches since early spring. The few clams left to dig must have had some skill at avoiding the net.

Thanks to having gracious hosts and clamming guides, though, I went home — after a lesson in cleaning — with a few more clams than one.