Cockling in Korea
By JL Copeland
Alright? Cockling in Korea? Whatever next?
The holidays are finally upon us. As you read this, I should be mopping up the last of my linguini in Rome and about to hop on a plane to spend the summer in old Blighty. If any of you are around the Lake District in July/August, give me a shout and let’s grab a cappuccino.
I can’t promise the posts will be as regular as I enjoy my Pimms and lemonade in the shade, but I’ll try. For extracurricular reading, check out the blog for previous newsletters and posts you may have missed.
Music? Don’t like Mondays? Neither do these guys:
A few weeks ago, we had a public holiday. The evening before, I asked the kids what they wanted to do. The girl immediately said 갯벌 (get-bol).
What’s that?
Scraping up seashells hidden under the sand into a bag, she says. She showed me pictures. She meant cockling. To my surprise, I said yes.
It’s difficult to get The Girl to come on family trips these days; it’s usually her way or the highway, or requires lots of promises/bribes/threats.
Most of her suggestions usually also involve spending money we don’t have or something inappropriate/uncomfortable/awful, and are usually refused. Cockling fell into the latter.
As a blonde (once upon a time), pasty, white dude, I avoid the sun like the plague, never mind standing out in the sun for any length of time. Never mind standing out in the sun for any length of time and working like a dog.
Yes, cockling is hard. My friend Alison and I gave it a try in the Morecambe Bay cockling boom of the early 2000s, when Flookburgh fishermen were making a thousand pounds a day and driving around in Ferraris and helicopters (well, not quite, but close enough).
Ali and I lasted a day. Or it might have been a couple of hours. At the end of our ordeal, having managed to scrape together a single bag between us, our gang master gave us 20 pounds each (more out of sympathy than actually having earned it).
But back to the present day.
What to do in Korea with kids?
Good question.
I said yes to The Girl because I was out of ideas. I was sick of doing the same things and going to the same places. I said yes quickly because if I gave myself any time to think about it, I would definitely say no.
Cockling in Korea? Why the hell not?
My wife was quite surprised I’d agreed to The Girl’s request, but she was leaving for a mini-holiday at her sister’s, so what did she care?
The kids have wellington boots. I don’t. I have hiking boots, which I thought would be adequate.
But when we get to the place, they’re hiring out these big galoshes. When Koreans organize things, they do it properly. cockling in Korea is no different. Some Koreans had even turned up in their own custom boiler suit and wader combos, some so sophisticated they look like they’re about to enter a reactor to retrieve a rod of plutonium.
I look down at my hiking clogs.
You’re going to need a bigger boot.
I hire all the kit, and most importantly, the net and the scraper thingy.
Then we tramp out onto the mudflat. Many punters are queuing up to pay for a tractor and trailer to ferry them out from the beach. Of course, the kids want to ride. No dice, kids, I’m not that old …yet.
We get a kilometre or so out. I’ve brought a parasol (yeah, a parasol. I don’t care, I told you I hate the sun) and am sun creamed and covered up to the max. Then the kids begin digging.
I sigh, check the time. How long am I going to have to wait until they’ve had enough?
Cockling in Korea is popular. This mudflat has been picked over by thousands upon thousands of tourists, like ourselves. Naturally, the kids are finding slim pickings: it’s 10 minutes before they find their first cockle.
Bored, I set down my parasol and have a cursory rake of the sand. I find a cockle and put it in the bag.
After half an hour, the kids have finally had enough.
But I haven’t.
I’m in my element: hacking at the sand like a madman, sieving the sand through my fork, waiting for that telltale scrape of shell. Backwards and forwards I go like a wind-up toy.
dig dig dig nothing
dig dig nothing
dig dig dig dig nothing
dig dig dig cockle
I’m relentless, and I’ve already filled half a bag.
What can I say? I’m a dreamer, and cockling in Korea is the closest I’ll ever get to treasure hunting. About a decade ago, I bought my dad a metal detector. I’ve always avoided having a go with it, and now I know why: I’d never stop.
The kids are so fed up waiting for yours truly to find his next big score; they walk off, abandoning me.
On the way home, I had the following exchange with The Girl:
“Daddy, Se-Jin’s Mum had an operation so she can’t have babies anymore. Why?”
“Well, maybe they don’t want any more children, but they still want to have sex.”
*Look of repugnance* “Why would they want to do that?”
Exactly, dear daughter, when they could be out cockling instead.
I gave the shells to my mother-in-law. I’m still waiting for my cockle chowder.
We had a great time, or at least I did.
The lesson learned? The obvious one. Next time you’re about to say no, try saying yes and see what happens.
Before I finish up, just a quick shout out to the readers who have replied to my newsletters and blog posts recently.
When I started this website, aside from writing inanities and flogging books (the book’s coming soon, I promise), my intention was to use it to connect with people.
Korea is a lonely place for a socially awkward, introverted dipshit like myself, so having someone hit me back genuinely makes my day.
Replies have been rare (in the first six months from launch, I was lucky to receive one a month), but lately things have been picking up.
In recent weeks I’ve had both short and long exchanges with peeps about writing, drinking, Switzerland, to name but a few.
If you ever want to tell me something as simple as how you spent your morning or shoot the shit about anything, I’m always awaiting your reply.
Each one makes me feel a little more human.
Anyway, enough waffle.
Have a great summer.
Speak soon,
JL
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