Tidewalker 2013

Remains of an old fish trap in Squaxin country.

In a week or so, there will be another few days of fairly low tides, but already the minus-3's are a memory. I didn't get out for as many as I had hoped this summer, but I did manage to explore in Birch Bay on Memorial Day, to train some people in the extreme south Sound the next month, and spend another day on another bay in the north Sound.

Clamming near Chimacum

While everyone else is out clamming, I'm wandering around looking for fire-cracked rocks and fishtraps. Some of them tend to be suspicious: a guy in an orange safter vest, taking notes and shooting photos, not digging clams. Must be a game warden or regulator or something. But if I don't approach and ask to count their haul, or if I make small talk and then move on, they just think it's weird, an incredible waste of time. I'll admit that there are times when I'm walking by siphon after squirty siphon, leaving tasty clams in the mud, getting nothing but wet.

Following the clammers is a good strategy for tidewalking archaeologists, though. They dig holes and turn up the sediment, giving me a view. It's a less controlled version of the "shovel probes" that provide the bulk of archaeological subsurface data. From our chats, I often learn about what shellfish do well at a spot (a proxy view of traditional subsistence), and sometimes hear about artifacts people have found while digging the intertidal. Seeing the number and extent of holes from any given low-tide day also helps put in perspective on what an "intact" archaeological deposit is below the high water mark.

Fertility in Lummi Land

Truth is, I don't find a lot of archaeology doing this (although finding the occasional fish trap more than makes up for the usual monotony). Plenty of other things--like this mass of eggs stuck to a rock, or the Van Gogh swirl of eelgrass, or a boulder coated with colossal barnacles--plenty of amazing sights distract me from the lack of sites. A day hitched to the rythm of the tide, timing a walk to skirt the furthest reach at the lowest of ebb, movinng ahead of the flow and covering as much ground as I can, a day in synch like that can be deeply satisfying. Some days, the water is reflecting blue sky, and others everything is a cold metal grey; both have their appeal. Even when a cold rain pelts, I know that in an hour or three, the tide will push me back, I'll get in a warm dry truck, and drive back to a hot shower.

The other time of deep low tides, in the middle of the night in the middle of the Winter, is dark enough that I can rationalize not going out to archaeologize. I make no claim to being anything other than a fair weather tidewalker. Other than flaunting the small chance that one day I'll wander into some mud and get stuck as the tide comes in, there's not much swash or buckle to it. Mostly, there is no excitement, but some day I'll find an amazing artifact, and the few fish traps that have revealed themselves when the tide lays low have been professional reward enough. Someday, though, I may need to bring a bucket and come home with some clams...