Clams, Mussels And Crabs...Oh,My!

Today is Friday, Carl’s Day to become involved in something he‘s interested in. He is so patient with me while I drag him from one end of the island to the other, traipsing up and down the beach in search of a band doing something other than being horses, or stopping on command as we pass something of interest on the way to somewhere else. At each National Park we have visited, they have ranger led programs geared mostly to families with children and Assateague is no different. Carl wanted to get involved in clamming and crabbing along the beautiful waterways of Maryland’s barrier islands. The best time to dig for clams is actually high tide because they have much less grit and “clamminess”. During low tide, they “clam up” clamping their shells together and won’t release anything for fear of drying out. They also prefer sandy bottoms and not the marsh mud we normally associate with clam digging. Who knew? Ranger Sara did. Carl also learned it is much easier to harvest mussels which attach themselves to the grassy stems at the water’s edge. Clams must be dug with a rake, backbreaking work that can wreck arm strength for days. In fact, Carl harvested about 4 pounds of mussels which he proceeded to clean, steam and eat for lunch. You can’t get much fresher than that, from bay to table in about an hour. He didn’t catch even one legal Blue Crab.

When he was through with lunch, we gathered all the shells, papers and other trash to haul to the dumpster which is all of 20 feet from the camper by the way. We forgot one item so I opened the door of the camper to hand it to him and behind him was one of the pinto mares from yesterday, followed by a second and third. I grabbed my camera and slipped into my crocs so I could get some photos. Bringing up the rear was the Mahogany Bay stallion who was being attacked by these huge horse flies. I call them B-52s because they are so massive and we've seen them swarming all of the horses. They’re so huge they appear to be birds in the photos I've taken. The small band meandered across two campsites, checking for edibles on the tabletops and stopped where the pit toilets and water faucets are located. A couple of the horses seemed to be checking to see if anyone had left water while the others grazed on the grass nearby. Park volunteers called the “Pony Patrol” routinely drive the roads and campgrounds to make sure both humans and ponies  behave themselves. One patrol member arrived and I asked about the band we were watching. He told me the stallion was one of the oldest in the park, having been around for more than 20 years. That’s a ripe old age even by domesticated standards. We also found out this band has the nickname of “ the picnic robbers”. We didn't
realize that just 15 minutes later we would find out why.

Carl watched the band of horses cross over the dunes and head back towards the beach. I grabbed my camera and walked two sites down to the boardwalk as us humans have been instructed to do. Only half way out to the beach, a lady came from the beach and approached the campground hosts. It seemed a group of horses were on the beach molesting a family for their snacks. The lady also reported the animals were attempting to “eat” the blankets they were sitting on. I crested the hill, just in time, to see, yes, you guessed it, the picnic robbers all standing within inches of the vacated blankets. The people tried to hold their ground but not wanting to be cited by the rangers for being too close or feeding the horses, they retreated. The camp hosts radioed the rangers who sent someone to gently convince the horses to move on but by that time, the people had gathered their things and left the beach. The band led by the Mahogany Bay didn't seem the least bit contrite for all the fuss they had created.

Someone mentioned last night these animals are more feral than wild. By definition, feral means existing in a natural state, not domesticated, having reverted to a wild state or characteristic of wild animals. When applying these definitions to these horses, I find they are not domesticated but also are they not wild. They have become habituated to humans and their foods most likely through no fault of their own. This is not their natural state. When a person can walk to within a foot or two of a “wild” animal and it is not afraid, there is danger for humans and animals alike. It’s the same with bears who become too accustomed to climbing into dumpsters, raiding bird feeders and even busting down screen doors to get into kitchens for the food on the table. It usually ends up badly for the bears. I certainly hope that our love of these hardy and adaptive horses doesn't end up being the cause of their eventual demise. Incidentally, the definition in my dictionary of the word “wild” reads very similarly to the word “feral”.