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The Oysters of Hood Canal

are the pearls in a visit to Western Washington state

By Maria Shimizu ChristensenPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
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Grilled oysters. Photo by author

I hate raw oysters. This is odd because I’ve been eating raw seafood my whole life. I’m part Japanese. It goes with the heritage territory. But there’s something about raw oysters that alerts every taste bud that something bad is coming their way, and tells me, don’t even go there. That said, put those same oysters on a sizzling grill and drizzle any kind of sauce on them and I am all for that. This plays a role in my love affair with Hood Canal.

Despite the name, Hood Canal is actually a fjord. This is special because there are only two fjords in the lower 48 states of the U.S. The other one is Puget Sound, and Hood Canal is actually a large offshoot of the sound. Carved by retreating glaciers a really long time ago, this region is home to salmon, evergreen trees, orcas, rain, many islands, and oysters. Sure, there are also clams, mussels, and geoducks (which rate their own narrative), but it’s the oysters that kick it all up a notch.

Photo by author

Many years ago I took my kids on a camping trip to the Seal Rock Campground on the west side of Hood Canal. There was nothing unusual in that — all of our vacations were camping trips because I love it and because it was the only kind of vacation I could afford as a single mother. Good place for oysters, the online descriptions mentioned. They didn’t say that oysters littered the beach, covering every small boulder left behind by that long-ago glacier, and that you couldn’t walk the rocky beach without crunching on oyster shells.

Where are all the oyster lovers? I wondered. The campsites were full but the beach was empty. I proceeded to show my daughter how to shuck the oysters her brother brought to her. We had a shellfish permit that I thought we would use for clams, but the beach was far too rocky to dig for them, and why bother when there were oysters just laying there as far as the eye could see.

See all the oysters? Photo by author

Again, why aren’t people flocking to this beach instead of paying 10 times the cost of a permit for oysters on ice in some fancy Seattle restaurant? I never figured out why.

We grilled those suckers with lemon and butter on our campfire, and went back to Hood Canal pretty much every year after.

Closer to the southern end of the fjord there’s a tiny town called Hoodsport. Clever, right? It’s a cute, tiny, ambitious village, boasting two winery tasting rooms, a distillery, a hand roasted coffee and ice cream shop that overflows in the summer months, and the obligatory adorable antique and souvenir shops (but not many). There’s a public beach dotted with oysters, and a public pier, and the scents of seaweed and seagulls linger everywhere. You want to visit on a sunny day, but stormy days also have their charms.

Photo by author
Photo by author

This is my happy place. It’s where I turn off the main Highway 101 and head toward the Olympic Mountains to go camping every year at Skokomish Park at Lake Cushman. It’s where I buy groceries and coffee, and replace the camping gear I forgot to bring. Like a sleeping bag, one year. Yeah, seriously. I spend an afternoon wine and spirit tasting, and the early evening roaming the beach to walk it off. Despite the beautiful views all along Hood Canal, this is the place that tells me, you’re here. This is my jumping off point to heaven on earth.

Lake Cushman. My happy place. Photo by author

In places the forest-clad mountains seem to head straight down into the water, only separated from their goal by the thread of a 2-lane highway hugging the shore. Highway 101 makes a glorious loop around the Olympic Peninsula, passing by wild beaches on the Pacific Ocean that look the same as they did 500 years ago, and a moss-hung temperate rainforest, but this small stretch of it is what’s taking me north to my favorite place for oysters, so I love it most in this moment.

The small mountain of oyster shells at Hama Hama. Photo by author

The Hama Hama Oyster Saloon welcomes you with an enormous midden of oyster shells, smells of the sea and wood fires, and weathered wood picnic tables overlooking the water. When I visited the time before last, it was in the company of a group of young 20-somethings — my kids and their friends. They went nuts over the food and we wandered the oyster-strewn beach before and after eating an almost unreasonable amount of oysters and clams.

Photo by author

It was the last summer we were all able to do a camping trip like that — me and a bunch of young’uns. They were old enough to go wine tasting with me, and we spent days swimming and floating on the crystal clear waters of Lake Cushman. I spent the nights reading a book while trying not to listen to their Cards Against Humanity game, a campfire crackling in the background, with the promise of S’mores to come.

They all have the lives and schedules of full-blown adults now, so while my daughter and I have an annual trip together, the days of group trips are over for now. It’s bittersweet, but I do cherish the trips I take alone. I don’t mind having all the oysters to myself. I go inside the Hama Hama store and pick up a bag of clams to grill on the campfire later. They’ll go perfectly with the bottle of wine I picked up earlier at the Hoodsport Winery. I like a little glamping with my camping.

Hoodsport Winery on Highway 101. Photo by author

On my drive back to camp I pass the Glen Ayr Resort, and my heart stings a little. It was the site of a girls’ trip a few years ago, and one of the girls is no longer with us. That hurts. Cancer sucks. But the rustic place is beautifully sited across the road from the water and the dock was a lovely place to watch the sunrise. A little piece of my heart is lodged there forever.

The dock at Glen Ayr. Photo by author

I come here year after year, for the town, for the lake, for the views, for the oysters, for the memories. I am not usually a creature of habit, and I spontaneously bought a plane ticket to California to visit family just a few weeks ago. I like to travel, far and wide. I like new places and I like exploring. But, I return here always.

Photo by author

The bedrock is close to the surface here on the western banks of Hood Canal. It often juts through the surface as enormous boulders randomly placed on the hilly landscape. The Olympic Mountains are right here, just a hike away, and they’re right under your feet.

And perhaps that’s what draws me. I was born in this region, and while I’m currently a city dweller, I grew up in the country and I miss it. This place represents my foundation. My bedrock. A place where the water is clear, the air is clean, and the oysters are cooked.

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About the Creator

Maria Shimizu Christensen

Writer living my dreams by day and dreaming up new ones by night

The Read Ink Scribbler

Bauble & Verve

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Also, History Major, Senior Accountant, Geek, Fan of cocktails and camping

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