I don't have a picture, but a wonderful memory. I was about 23 years old and had been living out of my 22R Toyota longbed with a cap on the back for about a year, traveling around the west and painting houses and working odd jobs to get by. I stopped just south of the Oregon/California line and hiked down to the beach where a little creek flowed out of the redwoods and across the beach. There was a little sand-bottomed dry shallow cave where I made camp. That evening, still hungry from my meager pot of couscous and freezedried vegetables cooked over my Sierra Zip stove, I walked out to the edge of the ocean. Almost immediately, tens of thousands of small fish, 6 inches long or so, were left flopping on the beach by a big wave. More on the next few waves. I ran back to my camp, grabbed a pot, and gathered a couple dozen of these little fish. They had translucent/see through heads. I fried them up up with oil and salt and ate them whole, like smelt.
Now, of course, I realize that there was probably a run of big gamefish that chased these baitfish onto the shore. But at the time, it was like mana from Heaven! I foraged a lot of mussles on that trip down the coast, too.
