Last week, I took my son camping and clamming on his “spring break” from preschool. Both firsts for him. The clamming was new for me, too. The hunting and fishing scene is usually so tough out here that when I can actually bring home anything to eat and tangibly show my wife, I feel like it’s a miracle. Which is exactly how Bailey felt about digging for clams: there they were under an inch of sand, miraculous little treasures. He giggled with delight every time he found one.

Oysters were also abundant—even more abundant than clams. You couldn’t help but walk on them. I shucked as many as Bailey would let me but couldn’t quite get up to my eighteen-a-day limit. Juan got up to his.   Elk in camp. Juan cooking up the clams, which we ate fireside with bowls of pasta. (Also, not shown: Rich did a marvelous job with the oysters, smoking them slow on planks of cedar.) Bailey and me and on our last day before heading back to Seattle.