From the look of the photos, you would think we didn't catch a single shrimp that day on the Lady Jane off the coast of Georgia.

The crew pulled on the ropes, swinging the doors of the net together and hoisting it above the stern of the boat, allowing the water to drip before yanking on the line and releasing the catch onto the deck. I expected a light load of shrimp (the season ended in February but typically ends Dec. 31st), however I had no idea the other animals would end up being such a large part of the experience. I held a shark, puffer fish, stingray, horseshoe crab, flounder - the list goes on (see photos).

Last time I was in Georgia on Eagle Island,I learned how to kill and clean crabs for a seafood boil. This trip, as we sorted the catch and pushed the shrimp into the corner, the guide taught me how to dehead them with one hand. It's like handling a tube of near-empty toothpaste: You run your hand up from the bottom until you build up the proper pressure, and with a quick squeeze the head pops off.

If that's not appetizing, how about this: Georgia shrimp are significantly sweeter than any other I've tasted - it's truly noticeable. The crew boiled them right there on board, and after the first few I realized there was no need for the cocktail sauce (especially considering they were in the water ten minutes prior... it sort of redefined the idea of something being "fresh").

There was a part of me that felt sad about the entire process, for the small fish that would never recover from the fight against the net. The industry has made several strides over the years to reduce the collateral damage - they've redesigned the nets to allow small fish and sea turtles to escape. Still, you hate to see any sort of unnecessary life loss.

Although it may not be natural selection, I was happy that nothing went to waste. There were so many birds surrounding the nets and circling the boat, swooping down to feast on whatever was discarded overboard. There's a sadness in the beauty that's tough to stomach - the circle of life - but I think it's good to be reminded of such realities from time to time, to understand that our survival comes at another's cost.

That all said, it was nice to see the joy on the faces of the crew during the whole process. The traditional shrimping industry is all but nonexistent these days due to the emergence of seafood farms, and I think it made them happy to see us enjoying the quickly diminishing pastime. The numbers are stunning: In the 1970s, there were approximately 400 registered shrimping boats in Georgia. Last year, there were 60.

I haven't been able to firmly confirm those exact figures, but you get the idea. One crew member I talked to, Cliff, told me he remembers shrimping with his father when he was little. Today, there are no footsteps to be followed - it's as if they have all been washed away by the Georgia surf. The harvesting and farming of shrimp has driven the market price way down, and local fishermen simply cannot compete.

Which is why the experience was so special for me. You have to figure it will only get worse - where will we be in another ten years? Standing on the deck that day, I felt like I was a part of a past generation, like I was enjoying an art that will be lost with the ones to come.

The Lady Jane shoves off out of Brunswick (on the mainland, 10/15 minutes from the King and Prince on St. Simons), and it's the only game in town (and on the east coast) as far as shrimping tours go. Make room for this excursion the next time you find yourself in the area, whether you're driving down the coast or staying on St. Simons.

Photos (courtesy of Tom Ski):

I mentioned in a previous post that I was significantly full – that writing about the food was something I wanted to wait on – yet now I’m realizing that moment may never come so long as I’m still on the island (St. Simons). There are so many incredible food choices here, from seafood boils to barbecue, and my mind and body are engaged in a constant war – the latter at times feeling unable to stomach the opportunity.

I had helped prepare the shrimp and grits welcome dinner and feasted on the other bounties of the sea the next day at lunch, and that night I was to eat at Southern Soul BBQ – nationally recognized and often featured in the media (Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, for example).

I’ve always found that the solution to a food-related self-imposed guilt trip is exercise, and after we returned from golfing with gators we walked up the street from the King and Prince to Ocean Motion Surf Company to rent some bikes.

St. Simons has over twenty miles of biking trails and limited traffic on most streets, making it a great place to hop on a beach cruiser and explore. The best part for me was riding underneath the oak trees that often canopy the quiet streets, looking up and seeing the Spanish moss draped over the branches. I took it easy at times and picked up the pace at others. The goal was to relax and enjoy the peacefulness of St. Simons, however I also wanted to earn my dinner that night.

Mentally and physically recharged, we made the five-minute drive to Southern Soul from the King and Prince, and as we approached I could see the wood stacked next to the smoker out in front of the restaurant, the people sitting at picnic tables under the large overhang (the building was once an old gas station).

Southern Soul cooks over locally gathered seasoned (aged) oak, nothing else. I really like that sort of approach - it adds a truly unique aspect to the cooking process (not to mention the taste). I ordered the Southern Sampler: Ribs, pulled pork, stew, and collared greens ($15). I threw in a local brew, the Georgia SweetWater 420, and I grabbed a spot outside at one of the tables.  There's a bar and a few tables inside, but I'm not sure why you wouldn't want to post up outside where you can see and smell the smoke. It was turning to twilight and the stars were coming out, and it was a very warm evening with a nice breeze that fluttered the napkins.

When they brought the food out I immediately noticed that they don't drown you with sauce - they actually don't put on any at all (you add it yourself at the table). I think this is one of the signs of good barbecue, a focus on the flavors of the meat rather than a spotlight on the sauce.

An even better sign is when you taste it and it doesn't need any. I sampled some of both the sweet and the spicy, but I never felt like I needed to glob it on. As you have probably experienced, that is not always the case, and you have to appreciate it when you find yourself at a place legitimate enough to understand this concept.

Looking at the photo still makes my mouth water. I said this at the table and I have to add it here: That stew might have been the best I've ever had in my life. Light and tomato based with chunks of pork, it was a perfect complement to the stacks of meat (it is a must try when you visit).

Overall: An amazing backyard feel stationed on the side of the road on a kicked-back island. I'm really not sure how someone could drive by and not do a double-take, not pull an immediate U-turn given the character it displays.

I would highly recommend getting that exercise in beforehand. The portions are large, and you will definitely charge through all of it.

Photos: