A Morning with Purpose
Arriving early at Hyeopjae Beach, I was greeted by the crisp scent of the ocean and the soft hum of waves rolling gently onto the shore. The salty breeze brushed against my face, carrying with it the faint aroma of coffee from a nearby café. It would have been easy to settle into the peaceful atmosphere, but we were there for a purpose far greater than leisure.
Beneath the postcard-perfect view of white sand and turquoise waters was a hidden layer of reality: plastic bottles, straws, scraps of receipts, half-buried soda cans, and tangled fishing lines. They told a quiet story of human activity — the traces of visitors who had left behind more than memories.
Cleaning the Beach — And the Ocean
Gloves on and trash bags in hand, our team began combing through every corner of the beach. One member headed toward the tide line, another navigated the rocky outcrops, while I knelt by the uneven sand near the seawall, uncovering tiny plastic fragments buried beneath the surface. Even small pieces mattered, because over time they break down into microplastics that enter the marine food chain.
In one particularly challenging spot near the water’s edge, we discovered a large knot of abandoned fishing line tangled with seaweed, a plastic float, and a rusted hook. Working together, we carefully untangled and removed it. One teammate’s shoes were soaked in the process, but they laughed, calling it “our biggest catch of the day.” That moment reminded us that every piece of debris we remove helps protect marine life from injuries, entanglement, and death.
Shared Laughter and Silent Impact
The cleanup wasn’t just about trash — it was about shared effort and small joys. Occasionally, someone would hold up a strange item and spark laughter: a mismatched shoe, a faded bottle from another country, a broken toy. We joked about their origins, letting even the waste become a brief source of connection.
During breaks, we sat quietly on the sand, watching surfers glide across waves and children race along the shore. Tourists strolled by, unaware that the cleaner beach they were enjoying had just been tended to. It felt like we were the unseen crew behind a performance, preparing the stage so others could enjoy the beauty.
What We Left Behind — And Took With Us
By the time the sun began to set, our garbage bags were heavy and our skin was kissed by sun and wind. The section of beach we focused on looked refreshed and vibrant. The sand regained its natural color, the shoreline looked open and inviting, and the breeze skimmed across it without obstacles.
The photos from that day show smiling faces and bags full of collected waste, but the most meaningful result wasn’t what we carried away — it was what we left behind. No bottles. No wrappers. No fishing lines. Just clean sand and open space where nature could thrive.
As we drove home under a golden sky, we knew that the next visitors to Hyeopjae Beach might never know who cleaned it. And that was perfectly fine. Our reward was in the quiet satisfaction of knowing the beach could breathe again, in the feel of the wind on our faces, and in the deeper understanding that protecting the ocean begins with small, deliberate actions like these.
Arriving early at Hyeopjae Beach, I was greeted by the crisp scent of the ocean mixed with a salty breeze. The sound of gentle waves reached the shore, and from a nearby café, the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted into the air, almost tempting us to forget why we were here. But our purpose was not leisure.
Beneath the postcard-perfect image of white sand and turquoise waters lay the quiet aftermath of tourism—plastic bottles, straws, scraps of receipts carried by the wind, and half-buried soda cans. They told an unspoken story of hurried visitors who had left their traces behind.
With gloves on and large garbage bags in hand, we took our first steps onto the sand. The crunch of shells underfoot mixed with the rustle of the bags in the breeze. One teammate headed toward the shoreline, another combed the rocky areas, and I ventured into the uneven corners tourists rarely visited. There, I found tiny fragments of plastic hidden beneath layers of sand, each one freed by my fingertips while startled little crabs scuttled away.
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