Food Afield

Food Afield Food Afield™ is a wild food podcast about hunting, fishing, foraging, and cooking seasonal ingredients. Hosted by John Fraser

Learn how to find, harvest, and prepare wild food in real conditions.

Most people look beneath a sailboat and see water, maybe some minnows or a starfish.I see groceries lurking in the darkn...
06/10/2026

Most people look beneath a sailboat and see water, maybe some minnows or a starfish.

I see groceries lurking in the darkness.

These are coonstripe shrimp, caught in a simple trap beneath the dock where we live aboard.

They’re small. They’re rarely mentioned. Most people wouldn’t consider them a destination species.

But wild food isn’t always about the famous ingredients.

Sometimes it’s about learning to recognize opportunities that others overlook.

A patch of clams hidden in plain sight.

An oyster-covered shoreline.

A shrimp trap hanging quietly beneath a dock.

The Pacific coast is full of food like this.

The funny thing is that these foods aren’t hidden because they’re rare.

They’re hidden because most people never think to look.

This catch was served simply, with fried potatoes, lemon, and a simple herb sauce.

The overlooked food beneath the sailboat.

06/09/2026

I didn’t find these clams by covering more ground.

I found them by stopping.

We spend a lot of time moving through the landscape—walking beaches, hiking trails, drifting shorelines, looking for the next thing.

But some of the best clues reveal themselves when we slow down.

Sitting quietly on this beach, I started noticing small spurts of water from buried clams beneath the sand. A detail that would have been easy to miss if I’d kept walking.

The same principle applies whether you’re gathering shellfish, looking for game sign, or trying to understand a new piece of water.

Observation is a skill.

Sometimes ten minutes of paying attention teaches more than an hour of wandering.

How many clam spurts did you count?

Patience is one of the most important ingredients in cooking wild game.Tough cuts spend their lives working. They aren’t...
06/09/2026

Patience is one of the most important ingredients in cooking wild game.

Tough cuts spend their lives working. They aren’t meant to be rushed.

Given enough time and gentle heat, they become something entirely different.

This venison stew simmered low and slow for hours, transforming a hardworking cut into a rich, satisfying meal.

The longer I spend around wild food, the more I realize that patience isn’t just part of the cooking. It’s part of the entire process.

What’s a meal that’s worth waiting for?

Most people assume improvement comes from intense repetition.More arrows. More casts. More shots.Sometimes that’s true, ...
06/08/2026

Most people assume improvement comes from intense repetition.

More arrows. More casts. More shots.

Sometimes that’s true, but sometimes it creates bad habits. Things like target panic. Habits that will haunt you for the rest of your archery life.

But I’ve found there are times when the opposite approach works better.

Shoot one arrow.

Then walk down and retrieve it.

Every shot stands alone. There is no rapid-fire correction. No settling into autopilot. No chance to hide a sloppy release among a dozen better ones.

One arrow demands attention.

You notice your stance. Your anchor point. Your grip. Your breathing. The quality of your focus.

It slows the entire process down.

I’ve used this approach once I had the basic form memorized in my muscles.

Sometimes the fastest path to improvement isn’t more repetition.

It’s making every repetition matter.

And if you want a real-life practice session, decide to shoot one arrow only for the day. That helps create the attention to detail that’s required from a shot taken from the treestand.

05/31/2026

Most people walk across a beach like this and hear nothing.

But kneel down for a minute and listen.

The little pops, squirts, and clicks aren’t random sounds. They’re signs of life beneath the sand.

Clams filtering water.

Small creatures moving through the sediment.

An entire food system hidden just below the surface.

One of the things I enjoy most about gathering wild food is that it changes the way you see—and hear—the landscape.

A beach stops being scenery and starts becoming habitat.

The more attention you pay, the more the coast reveals.

Have you ever stopped and listened to a beach? It is pretty darned cool. 😎

05/31/2026

There’s a tendency to think of a trout as the beginning and end of the story.

But a lot happened before this fish.

The fly was tied in camp, from rabbit fur and mule deer hair gathered in previous seasons.

The rod is split bamboo built by hand.

The landing net was bent from hazel.

Then came a quiet evening, a first cast, and a willing cutthroat.

One of the things I appreciate about traditional fly fishing is how different seasons and different skills eventually come together in a single moment.

A trout may only take a few seconds to catch.

Sometimes the story behind it takes years to build.

05/27/2026

There’s a particular feeling that comes with finding food for yourself.

A patch of clams beneath wet sand. A tide pulling back. The realization that an empty-looking beach is anything but empty.

Something happens in the brain when that connection clicks. Attention sharpens. Curiosity wakes up. The search itself becomes rewarding.

The latest episode of the Food Afield Podcast is live now wherever you listen to podcasts.

In this episode, Kevin from , Mary from , and I head onto an open beach in the Southern Gulf Islands in search of clams. We get into shellfish history, beach selection, handling and care, and the fundamentals of getting started harvesting clams for yourself.

For a long time, shellfish fed coastal people with remarkable reliability here in North America. In many ways, they still can.

Kevin also composed and performed the music featured throughout the episode.

Search: Food Afield Podcast

05/23/2026

What feeds folks here isn’t just the landscape.

It’s the weather.

The tide that exposes a beach for two hours before disappearing again.
The crossing you almost turn around on.
The wind that decides whether you make it home loaded with food — or empty handed.

Out here, wild food is tied to conditions.

Not supermarket certainty.
Not convenience.
It is almost always about movement, season, weather, and attention.

That’s what the Food Afield Podcast is built around.

Stories from rivers, coastlines, forests, marshes, mountains, and oceans.
Wild ingredients gathered in their season.
And the people still learning how landscapes actually feed us.

The podcast is just getting underway.

Come aboard early.

05/12/2026

We often imagine wild protein as something that must be chased deep into mountains or hesitantly pulled from finicky water.

But along the Pacific coast, some of the most efficient food gathering systems on earth are exposed twice a day by the tide.

Shellfish offered coastal people something rare: reliable protein with relatively little energy expenditure compared to many forms of hunting and fishing.

That doesn’t mean it was effortless.
It required seasonal knowledge, tide awareness, safe beaches, and an understanding of place.

But the return was extraordinary.

There’s a reason ancient villages, shell middens, and sea gardens are found beside beaches like these all along the coast.

The tide feeds people differently.

Food Afield is currently exploring the wild ingredients of the Pacific coast. There is a shellfish guide as a link in the bio.

05/10/2026

Sea gardens—often called clam gardens on this coast—were highly sophisticated Indigenous mariculture systems built and maintained for thousands of years along the Pacific Northwest coast, including British Columbia. Far from simply gathering food from nature, coastal First Nations actively shaped shorelines to increase shellfish productivity, food security, and long-term sustainability.

Most clam gardens were constructed by building low rock walls at the low-tide line. Over generations, people moved stones from the beach and stacked them into terraces. This trapped sediment behind the wall and gradually created a broad, gently sloping intertidal shelf—ideal habitat for clams like butter clams, littlenecks, cockles, and horse clams.

The result was simple but remarkably effective:
more productive clam habitat,
better growing conditions,
easier harvesting,
and reliable food close to home communities.

These beaches were not wild in the modern sense. They were cultivated landscapes.

Families and communities maintained them carefully:
turning the sediment,
removing predators,
redistributing shell hash,
managing harvest pressure,
and passing knowledge down through generations.

Archaeological evidence suggests many clam gardens on the coast are well over 1,000 years old, with some likely much older. Oral histories from Indigenous knowledge keepers have long described their construction and stewardship, long before archaeologists began formally documenting them.

Today, many sea gardens are still visible if you know what to look for:
unnaturally level shell beaches,
linear rock walls exposed at low tide,
or shorelines dense with shell fragments accumulated over centuries of harvest and habitation.

They stand as evidence of something often misunderstood:
that Indigenous coastal cultures were not merely living beside nature—they were actively managing and enhancing ecosystems with deep ecological knowledge.

Address

Pender Island, BC

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