In addition to thousands who make the trek by car, dozens travel by boat and make a weekend of it. In addition, there are exhibits focusing on the nature of Hood Canal, with hands-on activities for young and old.Ĭlams, anyone? Fair Harbor Marina is the host of Grapeview’s annual Art & Water Festival. However, our canine friends are not allowed access to the trails.Įvery August, the North Mason community gathers together to celebrate the “Taste of Hood Canal.” This event combines a host of mouth-watering food booths, wine-tasting, vendors, a chain-saw carving exhibition, live music, entertainers, and vintage cars. Four separate trails are open to the public free of charge during daylight hours, seven days a week. Photography enthusiasts enjoy a kaleidoscope of opportunities as the trails give access to plants, birds and animals in their natural habitats – forests, wetlands, saltwater and freshwater marshes, swamps and river estuaries. Complimentary maps, brochures and personal assistance are offered in both the Visitor Center and Belfair Licensing.īelfair is also home of the spectacular Theler Wetlands, a wildlife sanctuary and popular spot for runners and jobbers, or those who simply seek a refreshing stroll in nature. The Chamber also manages Belfair Licensing and the Visitor Information Center, which is a popular resource for travelers headed to nearby state parks and the Olympic national Park and Forest. The North Mason Chamber of Commerce is located in the center of town, just south of Harrison Medical Clinic. Local citizens enjoy two major shopping centers, several financial institutions, various medical, dental and chiropractic services, a variety of restaurants and shops, and the Mosquito Fleet Winery, which is open to the public. Located at the head of Washington’s scenic Hood Canal, Belfair sits as a gateway with access to both the south and north shores of the canal.īelfair serves as the area’s main commercial center, and is one of the county’s largest designated urban growth areas. From grilled oysters to live music and a beer garden, it has something for everyone. I also detect a subtle note of retribution, but that’s probably just me.Belfair is the home of the Taste of Hood Canal, which is an August tradition. The raw ‘duck is crisp like a cucumber and mildly sweet like a clam. The foot-long siphons he sliced thin and served raw, marinated in lime juice, scallions and Thai peppers-basically geoduck ceviche. The rest he’s turned into creamy, dilly, geoduck chowder. Part of the belly, the soft body inside the shell, he’s chopped small, panko-breaded and deep-fried. Properly prepped, it’s enough to feed us all, and at the current rate of $30/lb., would cost close to $100 store-bought.Īt Matt’s the following night, Ryan cooks us a lavish geoduck feast. Over the course of five hours and three six-packs, we bag two geoducks, both around 2.5 lbs. We spot 20-some spurts and dig 20-some shoulder-deep holes. This bit, the only part visible aboveground, resembles a fleshy nostril. Lugging shovels, buckets and state-mandated permits, we range across the beach under looming grey skies, seeking the telltale spurt of brine from the exposed end of the geoduck siphon. Ensconced three feet underground, filtering nutrients from seawater like a suggestively shaped pool pump, wrapped in a protective limestone shell, the ’duck has no natural predators. When it’s a few months old, the baby geoduck wiggles its way into the sand of the intertidal zone, and there it stays its entire life, which could extend into triple digits: Legend says the oldest geoduck dug from the Sound was 150 years old. But the geoduck is adapted to its environment in a way that suggests either a divine plan or evolutionary absurdity. Yes, an immobile mollusk with no brain or central nervous system is getting the better of four able-bodied and determined humans. The four of us-me, Dan Bugge, owner of Matt’s at the Market Shane Ryan, chef at Matt’s and Jeff Bledsoe, manager of Pike Place Market’s City Fish-are hunting for our dinner. The scene out here on the tidal flats of Harstine Island in the South Puget Sound would be funny if the stakes weren’t so high. These are the sorts of exclamations that come out when you’re digging for geoduck, the big-game animal of native Northwest shellfish. “I got my hand around it it’s really big!” All four of us are yelling into the hole. A fourth guy stands above us, using a shovel to hold back wet sand as it collapses over our arms and hands. Somewhere down there our fingers entwine in gritty, groping knots. Two other guys-burly dudes, men’s men-are also splayed on their bellies, right arms reaching into the hole. I’m laying facedown on the beach with my right arm thrust shoulder-deep into a hole in the sand. And, fittingly, it’s Salish for “dig deep.”
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