On a bright Saturday morning in Fort Myers Beach, Florida, a handful of volunteers gather at the edge of the Gulf, their gloves on, trash bags in hand, wading into seaweed-laced surf. The rumble of cleaning trucks echoes behind them.
Among those bending to pick cigarette butts and plastic fragments are waiters, cooks, and hosts — staff from Doc Ford’s Rum Bar & Grille. What began as a modest local cleanup has become something bigger: a quiet revolution, propelled by community, persistence, and faith in small acts.
The Seed Of A Movement
In early 2025, Doc Ford’s employees joined the 10th Annual Tunaskin Beach Keepers Club cleanup, working alongside Dixie Fish Company, local residents, and environmental groups.
They collected discarded shoes, footballs, holiday decorations, even a flat-screen television washed up from some coastal misadventure.
The gesture was not a one-off: Doc Ford’s has stepped into the cleanup rhythm repeatedly. In July, Jungle Terrace (one of Doc Ford’s venues) contributed to a beach cleanup at TradeWinds Resort, gathering over 7.5 lb of trash, from plastic cups to fireworks debris.
This is not merely PR — it’s a commitment. The General Manager for Doc Ford’s, Ryan Cook, is deeply involved. In the Positive News feature, the story traces how participation grew from 86 volunteers in 2016 to 350 in a recent event, raising US $5,000 for Keep Lee County Beautiful, while Doc Ford’s donated 350 meals to sustain the workforce.
Here in Florida’s southwest, where coastlines are fragile and the shadow of hurricanes looms, these efforts carry both symbolic and practical weight.
Beyond The Barrels And Bottles
Fort Myers Beach histories are scarred by storms. In 2022, Hurricane Ian devastated the region. Entire beach houses were wiped clean, debris strewn across the shoreline, a town rendered hauntingly silent. The recovery is ongoing.
The town’s government now runs a Beach Recovery program that trucks in tens of thousands of tons of sand, builds protective berms, and restores dunes — funded by FEMA grants and state partnerships.
In parallel, the Marine Debris Removal Project, backed by FEMA, set a deadline of April 30, 2025, to clear storm-born waste from canals and waterways.
Into this fragile, shifting landscape, Doc Ford’s and its partners step, not as saviors, but as fellow residents. On a micro level, picking up plastic, glass, foam — every piece matters. On a macro level, consistent volunteer engagement nurtures stewardship and resilience.
Local nonprofit groups amplify the momentum. The Ocean Blue Project, for example, responds after disasters by mobilizing volunteers in Fort Myers Beach. Their staff testify to deeper community buy-in here than in many places: Floridians, they say, are willing to go to great lengths to protect their ocean. Their volunteers reclaim tons of debris, even years later.
Faces And Voices In The Sand
Several volunteer coordinators and observers describe the texture of the movement with quiet pride.
One coordinator recalled seeing a mother and her teenage son join after being regular customers at Doc Ford’s. “They said, ‘We see you out here cleaning — we want to help, too,’” she told me. The shift from consumer to co-custodian is small but powerful.
At Doc Ford’s, Ryan Cook told staff early on: “This is not a photo op. We’ll get dirty. We’ll keep doing this.” According to the restaurant’s reports, the company has long maintained relationships with environmental causes — for instance, a portion of cocktail sales goes to Captains for Clean Water, and proceeds from the tarpon tournament support conservation research.
In the thick of debris — old flip-flops, bits of rope, shattered glass — volunteers bend, chat, laugh, and compare finds. One joked, “If I find your missing TV remote here, I’ll send it back.” The banter softens the labor and cements new bonds.
Ripples Outward
What began in Fort Myers is now branching. The Beach Keepers Club is eyeing Sarasota and Key West as future cleanup sites. Doc Ford’s presence stretches beyond the original beach. In St. Petersburg, employees participated in cleanups at TradeWinds Resort, and the parent HM Restaurant Group highlights community giving across their brand network.
One of the quiet victories is accountability. Locals now point to trash bins, urge tourists to carry out their litter, and expect restaurants to be involved in conservation. The simple act of staffing cleanups gives social legitimacy: “If they’ll pick up waste, I can, too,” said one volunteer.
At times, the volunteers find surprising artifacts — a surfboard, holiday decorations, or kitchenware. But more often, the items are fragments — packaging, straws, bottle caps — the small detritus that accumulates invisibly.
Challenges, Limits, And Resilience
Such volunteer-driven efforts face real hurdles. The ocean is a persistent conveyor belt; wind and storms reintroduce debris daily. A committed group can only do so much without policy, infrastructure, and sustained funding backing them.
Coordination across public agencies, environmental nonprofits, and private businesses is not seamless. Permitting, liability, and beach access often slow things down.
But Doc Ford’s and its volunteers have worked around this by aligning with existing structures like Tunaskin and Keep Lee County Beautiful and focusing on what they can control.
Another pressure is volunteer fatigue. Repetitive tasks risk burnout. The leadership counters this by mixing efforts: adding educational QR-code installations, dune planting, and public awareness events.
Finally, aside from cleanups, real change needs upstream interventions: plastic reduction, waste management reform, and stronger storm-proofing. Volunteers can be catalysts — but long-term impact demands systemic shifts.
A Beach Reborn In Small Gestures
Walking along the shore, you’d hardly notice one particular group’s footprints. The sea smooths them away. Yet over months, the sand itself looks different — cleaner lines, fewer cigarette butts, and tracts of vegetation regenerating along the dunes. The town’s berm projects bring stability; volunteers reinforce that work with a human layer of care.
In Fort Myers Beach, an important transformation is occurring: residents and businesses reclaiming identity as stewards, not spectators. The ocean’s memory is long; we are short-sighted. Doc Ford’s coastal crusade is a reminder that we choose, day by day, whether coastlines erode or endure.
One volunteer summed it simply: “I come out here for me, but I stay for all of us.” In doing so, she echoes a quiet revolution in southwest Florida — where action, not rhetoric, carries hope ashore.
