Paradise for Shell Hunters 



story and photographs by Robert P. Holland 



TURN a child loose on a beach and he'll hunt shells. Turn a 

 grownup loose on a beach and he'll hunt shells, too, only 

 he'll have a title. He'll be a conchologist (pronounced "kon- 

 kologist"). To be konked is to be shell crazy, and quite a few 

 people are. They are readily spotted by their conversation, 

 containing words like univalve, pecten, scallop, and coquina. 



Say Voluta Junonia to a conchologist and his eye will gleam. 

 Every collector has his favorite, but "Juno's volute," a good- 

 looking, pinkish-white snail, identifiable by rows of squarish 

 chocolate-colored spots, is a prize for any collection. When first 

 discovered, a good specimen brought up to a hundred dollars. 



Seashells have been among our most revered whatnotia for 

 generations. Shells made up into wampum belts were currency 

 among coast Indians until some of our settlers counterfeited 

 them, thus forcing the Colonies off the shell standard. The 

 species of clams that furnished these shells have since received 

 the apt scientific name Venus mercenaria mercenaria meaning 

 "money"; Venus, because all clams of the genus were noted for 

 their attractive shapes. 



It is precise labeling that establishes the value of any collec- 

 tion, but if you can't be bothered spelling names like Amphi- 

 neura, Scaphopoda, Pelecypoda, Gastropoda, Cephalopoda (in 

 plain English, the five classes of mollusks chitons, toothshells, 

 clams, snails, and squids), don't worry about it. Most collectors 

 consider place and time of discovery as most worth recording. 



Among the best shell beaches are those near the tip of Florida 

 on the Gulf side. Sanibel Island, off Fort Myers, is famed hunting 

 ground for conchologists. Here the warm tropical waters add 



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