yew YORK SHELL CLUB NOTES No. 238 January 1978 __Page 
We collected some beauties, and I know that I 
than Cherita because I Na By Pegbor rage, was a better collector 
My chance to play with mud legitimately as an adult 
to Sanibel and Captiva Islands in Florida, We went with pene way 
a guide who knew when, where and how to collect Cyrtopleura costata 
(Angel Wing). The "how to" is very important in tnis case because 
you have to learn to recognize by surface indications that a live 
angel wing is 12-18 inches below. When you decide to make your move 
you must dig quickly and efficiently, being careful not to damage 
the delicate shell. If the shell eludes you it increases the fun 
(for me) because you get more chances to play with the mud before 
your collecting quota is filled. 
Last year (1976), Cherita and I went on an early autumn trip to Nova 
Scotia. Cherita knew exactly which beaches and fishing coves she 
wanted to explore, as a result of her correspondence with Dr. Derek 
Davis of the Nova Scotia Museum in Halifax. What she most wanted, 
deep-water Neptunea and Colus, she did not expect to find live. 
That suited me fine because 1 no longer join in the live collecting. 
I resolved that matter of conscience a couple of years ago and now 
devote my efforts only toward those shells whose ex-inhabitants 
have joined that great big shell show in the sky. On this trip my 
biggest successes came because of just that. The collector, viz., 
Cherita, intensively harvests the tidelines, crawling along the 
seawrack for meaningful "debris" and microscopic species; the non- 
collector takes a walk and investigates the topography and various 
objects in the vicinity. What I found were stacked-up lobster traps 
(September is off-season for lobstering in Nova Scotia). And in 
many of these traps were long-since-perished Neptunea lyrata decem- 
costata, Buccinum undatum, and Colus species. Lobster traps are 
cunningly designed so that what goes in seldom gets out on its own 
power. How I "liberated" most of the good shells without harming 
an innocent lobsterman's property is a secret that should only be 
passed from father to son. 
Few among these shells had opercs. This was of little consequence 
to me but it did matter to Cherita. Then we got lucky. Again, Dr. 
Davis' letter provided the location of a cove and my wandering did 
the rest. While Cherita concentrated her expertise on two square 
centimeters of driftline, I investigated the fishing shacks and the 
colorful painted boats, some of which were at steep angles on launch- 
ing ramps. What I found underneath those ramps were hundreds (thou- 
sands?) of Neptunea, Colus and Buccinum, discarded as garbage by 
fishermen and lobstermen during a season's catch. When I realized , 
what I was looking at, I felt I was living through a Hollywood cliche 
where an ivory hunter stumbles into the legendary elephants' grave- 
yard. I yelled to Cherita to come quickly with her bucket and all 
her plastic bags. 
For the next couple of hours we searched through this treasure, elim- 
inating what didn't seem to be perfect. It was ridiculous -- at 
Ditch Plains near Montauk over the last few years, Cherita would be 
ecstatic at finding fragments of Colus, and here we were, casually 
tossing aside intact shells because we had room only for the best 
Specimens. From the smell of things, it was apparent that some of 
the shells hadn't been there long enough. But I enjoyed myself so 
Much that I didn't mind that the decomposition process was still go- 
ingon. If any of you try your luck in the same way, you d do well 
