Let's pick up where we left off--camping on Sapelo Island with 17 literate (LITERATE!) high schoolers from Atlanta. Have I mentioned that most of these children had never traveled out of their city or state or zip code? Ever, in entire their lives? Do you know what it means, then, when you take kids to a scarcely populated island off the Southeastern coast of Georgia and plop them onto a beach? I will do my best to explain.
Large patches of blue on a globe are just large patches of blue until you walk into an ocean with bare feet and trust that it will let you walk back out. Large bodies of water can be scary in that way, especially the cloudy, sandy part of the Atlantic that we were swimming in. Our kids did not have a whole lot of experience with the ocean, like none at all, but I have to admit that once they got used to saltwater, they cared less about us adults and more about underwater headstands. Who can blame them? I cannot wax poetic and even begin to do Sapelo's beaches justice with mere words. Imagine expanses of flat sand with almost seven miles of unobstructed beachfront. No volleyballs, no lifeguards, and no popsicle stands. The isolation is intoxicating.
Over the course of the weekend, we would spend time in the marshes and on the beaches, once simply for a leisurely swim and the other to catch our dinner. At dayclean, we set out fishing but not in boats and not with poles, hooks and worms. Instead, we dragged a 50-foot net into the ocean as far out as we could, standing on our tiptoes to keep our heads barely above water, then turned 90 degrees and walked parallel to the beach for 20 yards, and then, just when our thighs and calves were burning like mad from a steady fight against current and we'd swallowed enough saltwater to make us hallucinate, we made another 90 degree turn towards land and dragged that heavy, soaking net back to shore step by slippery step, trying to find traction in unforgiving sand and mud and stepping barefoot on slimy flounder and pinching crabs and god knows what else, all the time praying that our bounty would be plentiful, enough to feed every man, woman and child on Sapelo.
"Dayclean... My tale begins just before the rising of the sun, in that brief instant of time when the night clouds are being cleared away and the rays of light are streaking across the sky. Dayclean, we call this, when the day is new and the world is made fresh again." — Cornelia Walker Bailey
Justin, Hakeem, Tony, Marquez and Jake (Mr. Hackett) keep their heads above water. What you don't see is the loop of rope around Justin's waist. The other guys have wrapped their hands around the rope and are pulling like crazy.
Jake tries to keep the pole straight up and down so that the net scrapes along the bottom of the ocean and doesn't let the fish escape.
This might just be the hardest part. Legs are burning, you can't find a foothold, and you're pulling a 50 ft. net and whatever living things you've caught up onto shore while the undertow taking it back out to sea.
Jake looks over at the kids on the other end of the fishing net. After the towers have made a giant "U" with the net, the folks on the other end must keep their pole steady and then drag it to shore.
Mr. Pete lives on Sapelo Island. He's a Saltwater Geechee, an artist and a fisherman. He led us into the water in the early hours of Saturday morning and then ate fish and grits with us that night.
The kids shake horseshoe crabs, blue crabs and mullet free from the net.
Dinner.
Will, Jamie, Glendarius, and Chase sprint from the water to where I'm standing.
Glendarius takes a spill. Mr. Hackett (hands raised in the water) appears to be celebrating.
This was our private beach--miles of coastline and no people with inflated things.
Behind our campsite was a marsh. We explored it almost every day and night, mostly at low tide.
Mud.
Nadia and Raven freaked but eventually liked the marsh.
Justin was afraid to get dirty. Then he took his shoes off.
When Justin stepped barefoot in the mud and his toes sunk in, he was so happy standing there, screaming to the sky. One of my favorite moments.
The marsh went on and on.
Crab.
I think Jamie brought one home.
Glendarius tiptoes. 
In the south end of the marsh was a river, which swelled in high tide and led out to the ocean.
Mecca (Ms. Handy) casts a net into the river. We fished all afternoon and didn't catch a thing. Later that same day, Mr. Hackett went out with Jamie and netted a dozen fish. So they say.
Chase takes a breather. The heat was merciless. We stood in near boiling water up to our shins.
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