The receding tide reveals a spit of land in the Intracoastal Waterway where beer is plentiful and dogs frolic in the soft white sand.

It's no exotic destination, but to local boaters Disappearing Island is their own kingdom -- a retreat accessible only by watercraft, with an ice cream boat and the improvisational culture required for short-term island living.

On an atypically quiet Sunday, women in bathing suits celebrate Mother's Day with the red Ponce de Leon Inlet Lighthouse in view. Their boys play catch in the water and a random big black dog joins them while the moms sunbathe and chat with beers in hand. They say it's all they ever wanted.

"We may not be able to go to the Bahamas or Cancun, so this is our paradise," said Melissa Layson, 38, as she watched her son, Coby, splash in the water.

Of course, a place like Disappearing Island is just a fleeting beach haven. As you might imagine, it disappears at some point.

The sandbar, also known as Rockhouse Creek Shoals, can measure about three-quarters of a mile at low tide. Most, if not all of it, can vanish at high tide.

No one takes a census, but on a summer weekend or big holiday, regulars say they see hundreds of boaters and families.

"You could walk from boat to boat to boat and never touch the sand," said Max Binz, a detective with the Ponce Inlet Police Department.

Those boats could be filled with partying 20-somethings or grandparents ready for a day of sun and scenery.

Do you have interesting island photos? Submit them to info@three8six.com for our photo gallery. As soon as we've got a collection, we'll post them here. We checked out the island life on a quiet Sunday. Here's a video of what we saw.

Jennifer Jones, 34, has been anchoring here since she was a little girl and said it's become a family tradition for her three sons and husband.

"It's my favorite thing to do and it gets my whole family together," she said. "Where else in the world could you have a day with your family and see such beauty so close to home?"

Besides the usual coolers and snacks, homesteaders use the everything-but-the-kitchen sink methodology. They lug canopy tents, camping stoves to grill chicken, blenders for tropical drinks, bicycle ramps, a generator and have been known to bring sound equipment for the band stage.

ISLAND ANTICS

Authorities from several agencies police the waters near the island, looking for boaters abusing alcohol or pushing the speed limit. But they don't have the time or resources to regularly set foot on the sandbar, even though there are laws against open containers and loose dogs. The boat shared by neighboring cities is funded by a grant to protect manatees, which requires police to focus on water violations.

"The biggest problems that we've had out there had to do with underage drinking," Binz said. "The people out there are very good about policing themselves."

Last year, Binz said there was a fistfight involving 50 to 60 people on Memorial Day that was likely fueled by alcohol. Some charges were made, but were not pursued due to lack of evidence.

"The biggest problems that we've had out there had to do with underage drinking," Binz said.

But regulars say its not unusual to see occasional fights break out or get flashed by drunk young people. (A couple of youtube.com videos show a pretty intense fight between two girls at the island).
 

Officers walk the island a few times a month and patrol it when it's busy. This Memorial weekend was relatively quiet because of the bad weather, Binz said.

Yet there is some form of Disappearing Island etiquette. Mellow people and big boats tend to stick to the south side, where the water is deeper; party people usually gather on the north end.

And the partying gets creative.

With the help of a generator, the Burnin Smyrnans band from New Smyrna Beach assembled on a makeshift stage, complete with bass guitars, saxophone, and a full drum kit, to jam out on Memorial Day last year.

Girls in bikinis boogied on the sand. See the YouTube video for yourself.

People have also been known to set up techno dance tents and bike ramps near the water so people riding old bicycles can get some air time before dropping into a channel that runs on the backside of the sandbar.

Richard Steinhardt, 25, of South Daytona has seen crowds and antics grow over the eight years he's been hanging out at the shoal. It's not unusual to see visitors take a crack at drunken softball games and even try soaped up slip-and-slides that spill into the water.

"People just get drunk, gather around and just start hitting it," he said about the homemade slides.

THE LOCALS

When ice and heat become an issue, popsicle pushers like Michael Nelson have found a niche market in the ice cream boat business.

He captains a red, white and blue pontoon with a flapping pirate flag and blares high-pitched chimey music to lure in customers for $2 and $3 treats.

Wearing his green pirate hat and a Disappearing Island tank top on a recent day, Nelson admits he's got it good.

"If there was a contest for the best job in the world, I think I'd win," said Nelson, 56. "I have a blast."

For the most part Bob Wood, the unofficial mayor of the island, said it's a "family place" where everyone generally gets along. The 69-year-old earned his title about five years ago when another regular said he came to the island so often he might as well be its head honcho.

"I go to different parts of the county and people see me in a store and go 'Hi mayor,' " said Wood, a sunburned man with white hair and a beard. "I say 'Hi' back. I don't mind."

Look out for him on July 4th, when he wears American flag attire and pitches a flagpole in the sand. Piloting the "Woody Who," the mayor heads to the island every weekend to set up in the middle of the shoals for a day of horseshoes. Everyone knows where to find him.

"You can play me, but you won't win," Wood typically warns people.

One of his competitors is Tom Hall, 68, who wears a straw "Cozumel" hat and has been around here so long that friends call him an "island icon."

Thirty years ago, Hall said there were less than a handful of boats. Now there are close to 500, he said, and a gang of about 30 friends that look for his houseboat every weekend as a meeting spot.

He drives the one-room outfit, which he built himself, from Oak Hill on Fridays and stays till Sunday.

Folks crowd the boat and listen to classic rock while a graying poodle and black mini pinscher explore the deck. Sitting on the deck with a beer in hand, he said he likes "watching the bikinis" while his younger female friend watches for hunks.

But what does he love most about Disappearing Island?

"Being outside, feeling the breeze," he said. "If heaven is half as nice as this, we got it made."

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Boating photo provided by Doug Fletcher. Other photos by Kelly Cuculiansky.

DAYTONA BEACH-- At a time when the job competition is fierce, college senior Phil Kudler discovered an unlikely resume builder.

Cheerleading.

Sure, being one of three male cheerleaders at his school helped him build confidence and teamwork skills. But Kudler, 22, who graduates with a marketing degree in May, listed the activity at the bottom of his resume only to be surprised by the edge.

"At most interviews, it's actually been the first thing they ask me about," said Kudler, who attends Saint Joseph's University in Philadelphia. "They bypass all the experience and they go right to it."

So for those who think cheerleading is all pom poms, big bows and lipstick, consider this. By the time they hit the real world, cheerleaders duking it out at the 2009 Collegiate Cheer and Dance Championship have developed skills like leadership and teamwork that easily translate into the competition that matters most: the job market.

Gathered in the Ocean Center, about 5,000 athletes are competing in the largest college national cheerleading contest in the world today and Saturday and drawing nearly 15,000 supporters and spectators. About 220 cheer and dance teams are here from as far away as Honolulu and even Tokyo.

In a place where somersaults, back handsprings, booming music and team spirit abound, it   can be hard to imagine how cheering can help young men and women later in life. But cheerleading is a business like any other, said Karen Halterman, senior vice president of the National Cheerleaders Association/National Dance Alliance, which sponsors the competition. "It's just that we're lucky enough to work in a sport and activity that teaches life lessons."

Just like in cheer squads, trust, timing and teamwork can make any team successful, said Halterman, who has been in the industry 41 years as a cheerleader, coach, judge, mother of two cheerleaders and association member.

Even with their school days numbered, cheering becomes so much of a lifestyle that many say they won't soon let it go and join club teams.

Or in Jeff Martino's case, it became his whole livelihood. He joined his college squad as a freshman, earned a degree in biology and went on to own a gym for cheerleaders and become head coach at Wilmington University in Delaware.

In a sport like this, said Martino, 31, responsibility and teamwork are paramount because it involves thousands of hours of practice for a 2 ½ minute performance. One bad move could cost the whole team a championship.

"When you leave cheerleading, you're better prepared for the corporate world," said Martino. "I think any successful company really depends on everyone working together toward the same goal."

With outgoing personalities that are ready to go outside their comfort zones, Martino said many are better prepared for sales jobs and the business environment.

Taking a break from a stunt where she's lifted into the air, Stacy Eby, a petite 24-year-old, said cheering helped her become less shy and do well in job interviews.

The Wilmington cheerleader not only attends night school for a master's degree in special education, but she is also a fourth grade elementary teacher.

"It makes you learn to push yourself harder," she said. "We have high expectations for ourselves."

 

 

CREDITS AND CAPTIONS: 
Photographs by David Massey
TOP: Wilmington University cheerleaders outside the Hilton, before their performance at the National cheer Association 2009 Collegiate Cheer and Dance Championship, at the Ocean Center, Daytona Beach, Thursday, April 9, 2009. MIDDLE: Quinnipiac University cheerleaders hold up a giant tower of teammates during the preliminary heats of the championship. BOTTOM: Stacy Eby, 24, Willmington University. 

Kelsey's heart was pounding as the police officer pulled her aside and took a whiff of the spirits in her red plastic cup.

Rum and coke -- the 20-year-old's first alcoholic beverage that day.

"I was so scared," she said Tuesday in the lobby of a Daytona Beach Shores hotel. "I heard they take people to jail."

About ten minutes later, though, the Illinois college student was back on the pool deck, worrying about how she would come up with the cash for a $218 citation for underage possession of alcohol. She's one of dozens of spring breakers getting charged with underage drinking and possession of fake IDs throughout the Daytona Beach party scene, which started around Sunday.

Special agents know where the party is at and they want minors to know it. They head to the clubs at night in uniform. During the day, they're in plainclothes, checking hotel lobbies and hallways, pool decks and surveying beach activity.

Statewide last year, agents with the Division of Alcoholic Beverages & Tobacco, an agency of the Department of Business and Professional Regulation arrested 2,874 people for underage possession of alcohol. Locally, they arrested eight minors for possession of alcohol and 31 for using fake IDs on Monday and Tuesday. By Wednesday afternoon, four juveniles were charged with possession.