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II’m not too macho to admit I rarely go fishing because‚ for one thing‚ I feel sorry for the fish. Getting caught by the lips can’t be pleasant. Another problem is that I have no patience. But the main issue is that I’m as clueless about fishing as an old man at a Fortnite convention. That much was obvious one December afternoon at Clam Creek Fishing Pier‚ off Jekyll’s northern tip‚ when I baited my hook with dead shrimp (easier than worms) and extended my telescopic rod‚ a dusty‚ rusted $20 Walmart contraption I’d found in my garage. It just kept stretching. It was the length of a shuttle bus—ridiculously‚ embarrassingly long—and meant for hauling in very big fish offshore. To make matters worse‚ a winter storm was unfurling off the choppy Atlantic. Hardly idyllic conditions.

Suddenly‚ though‚ I heard a “Bwaaah!” beside me. It was my wide-eyed eldest daughter‚ Lola‚ seven‚ wearing a Santa cap and flowered raincoat, clutching her tiny fishing pole. Through her missing front teeth she hollered‚ “I think I got one!”

And thus our clumsy‚ island-wide fishing and crabbing expedition had begun.

Before hauling my family down from Atlanta for our first Jekyll visit, I’d done some homework. Both Paul Medders‚ a friendly marine biologist with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources‚ and Captain Brooks Good of Coastal Outdoor Adventures pointed me to the pier as the island’s best spot for crabbing—and where a novice angler might get his bearings and hook a sheepshead‚ whiting‚ or flounder before trying the beaches. This barrier island‚ it turns out‚ is a treasure trove of wildlife. It’s the westernmost point on the