| Shell hunting was a prime pastime on Eniwetok. Nearly everyone had cruised the shallows with mask and snorkel, picking up small shells and stuffing them into a sock. We all had cats paws, cats eyes and myriad other shells we couldn't identify. We would bury the shells in the sand by the tent so that the organism inside could decay. Later they would be dug up, washed and added to growing collections. They were so easily obtained and common that I lost interest and before going home gave away my shells. |  |
But there was another shell hunt, and this was for big game: the giant killer clam. You've probably seen those four foot, 500 pound monsters in museum and decorating commercial bar motifs.
Their white scalloped shells were traps for unwary pearl divers and treasure hunters. In the B grade movies of my youth, I've seen hapless natives and movie heros held by hand or foot in the ocean depths, struggling to be free of its grasp as music rose to a crescendo and their breath slowly gave out. Unless it was the hero trapped, death was eminent. My imagination saw their foot being slowly digested as the killer clam lived up to its name.
Our hunt was to be from the amphibious truck, the DUKW which operated on land and water. The fishing pole was a 50 foot length of rope attached to a short section of chain and ending in a grappling hook. With fins, face mask and snorkel, twelve of us motored north into the lagoon.
About a mile from shore the DUKW stopped and we went into the crystal-clear water to reconnoiter. The bottom was 25 to 30 foot deep with occasional coral heads growing to within 15 foot of the surface. We investigated several of these great prominences which were roughly 20 feet in diameter. They were composed of different types of coral and were an oasis for a thousand kinds of colorful fish which would flit out a couple feet then rush back to the protection of the mass of anemones and crevices. A two foot sea bass prowled the base of one coral head looking for an unwary meal. A friend pointed, and I saw about one foot of Moray eel protruding from a hole in the coral. The head was incredibly ugly, and large. We backed away and got on with our job of hunting the killer clam.
Then we saw it. A short distance from the coral head on the sparkling sand we spotted our first giant clam. One of our group took the grappling hook and swam for the bottom some 30 feet below. The shell was open to a gaping 18 inches. The swimmer approached stealthily and threw the grappling hook into the open shell. In a smooth, fast motion the shell closed. The diver then wrapped the rope several times around the clam and a knot secured it. The entire process took less then two minutes.
With air exhausted the diver kicked off the bottom and rocketed to the surface. Unfortunately the DUKW had drifted over him. In horror we watched as his head struck against the metal bottom. His body went limp. Helping hands dragged him to the surface and into the truck. Examination found no blood but he was dazed and nursed a growing lump on the head.
We then turned our attention back to the deep. The rope was hauled up and the trussed clam rose to the surface. It was a hard pull, and once out of the buoyancy of the water its 500 pounds were almost impossible to pull those last few feet into the truck. Pushing, pulling, and rolling, the creature was at last on the deck. We gathered to stare with admiration. Over four foot long it stood 30 inches high and almost that thick.
I went over the side to scout, and our journey continued. A four inch diameter rope ran around the outside of the vehicle, and by slipping one arm over the rope and with the other hand holding my face mask in place, I could barely retained my grip as the water surged around me. Although the DUKW was moving slowly, it was a difficult ride. My situation was about to become more uncomfortable.
To my horror, I saw about 100 feet away, a manta ray, rhythmically flapping his twenty foot wings, staying adjacent to us. Again folk lore took over my thoughts. Devil Fish some called it. I remembered a cover on a magazine of one of these giants overturning a good size fishing craft while eyeing hungrily the men being flung into the sea.
Here I was being trolled like a piece of bait while this monster contemplated his dinner. I raised my face from the water and attempted with out success to shout above the roar of the engine. I tried to climb up but in the surging water, but could only fall back and hang on. So there I stayed like a minnow on a hook being pulled before the hunter.
The craft at last slowed down, and I hefted myself over the edge falling into the DUKW. When I told the others of the terrible danger below, my friends seemed unconcerned, and a few jumped into the water to catch a glimpse of the behemoth. We evidently did not read the same adventure magazines.
Our catch that day was three large clams and a five smaller ones. I couldn't afford to send home a 500 pound crate of clam on a corporals pay so I claimed a very small one which weighed in at 35 pounds.
| Today when I watch swimmers on television cavorting with giant manta rays, I glance at my 15" killer clam on display by the fireplace and recall that hunt. I now realize that both the devil fish and the killer clam feed on plankton and other small organisms. Still, how did they get those names? |  |
Dick Dunlap
Email:DDunlap2@aol.com
