When we arrived in Point Estero Beach Resort late at night after a long, diverted flight, we walked on the deserted beach with a full moon overhead. Shells glowed on the white sand, and my five-year-old let out a whoop of joy "We're rich! Rich!" she cried, grabbing up handfuls of shells and stuffing them into her bag.
If collecting seashells by the shore doesn't get you delightfully in touch with your inner kid again, nothing will. Sanibel and Captiva, barrier islands connected to the mainland by a three-mile causeway, both get shells by the boatload washing ashore. In fact, forget downward dog: your new "positions" while you're on vacation are going to be the Sanibel Stoop and the Captiva Crouch. Knees bent, hands combing the sand, eyes scanning for just the right shell. Literally dozens of types can be found, from multicolored scallops to lions paws, lightning whelks and the rare junonia (a once-in-a-lifetime find, locals say).
If you want to try the variety a few feet out from shore, dredged up by the churning surf, buy a shelling net from a local gift shop – they hold up better than anything from Dollarama. But remember: Lee County (which includes Estero, Sanibel and Captiva) prohibits 'live shelling." This means empty shells are fair game, but if you spy any mollusks or crabs living within the shell, immediately put it back where you found it.
One side-effect of this policy in Estero's calm waters has been a boom in sand dollars. Wade out in the chest-deep water and you'll find yourself stepping over a near-solid surface of the flat little critters in some cases. They offer some fun for curious kids. Pick them up gently (they have little spikes all along their sides) and flip them over; many have tiny, baby crabs hiding on their bodies. The sand dollars leave a yucky yellow dye on your hands. Neat-o!
No visit to the area is complete without a trip to Sanibel's Bailey-Matthews Shell Museum, where kids can go on a scavenger hunt, learn about the indigenous Calusa Indians (known as the Shell Indians for their mastery of fishing and use of shells in the making of tools), and see a strangely compelling, if slightly creepy, town fair diorama made entirely out of tiny, painstakingly glued shells.
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