Their aim had been to save the world. But now, huddled around a kitchen table in Sandy Springs, teenagers Julian Gindi, Jonathan Gaynes and Adam Augenstein explain that they've scaled things back a little.

The new goal: help rescue Atlanta's dwindling water supply.

Joey Ivansco/ AJC (ENLARGE)

Julian Gindi, left, Jonathan Gaynes, and Steven Klarman, put on plastic gloves before venturing out to pick up trash along the banks of the Chattahoochee River.

Photos Georgia and metro news More Living news MORE ON THE DROUGHT: • Map: Heavy demands on our water • Photos: April showers bring ... • Photos: Lake rises dramatically in January RELATED: State lifts strict outdoor watering restrictions  Ban lifted on new Lake Lanier boat docks  Drought's over and Lake Lanier gets lively  Water wars judge stays patient, with Atlanta's future in his hands  Judge: Lanier use should have been decided long ago  • More on coping with the drought

The trio from The Weber School, a private Jewish school north of Atlanta, plan to distribute water-conservation flyers, sponsor river clean-ups and lobby state lawmakers.

"I definitely think we can have an impact in the Georgia legislature," Julian says, sounding, as he often does, like a politician himself. A self-described "dreamer," he wears a John Lennon T-shirt, complete with peace sign eyes.

"This is like our generation's Vietnam," Jonathan says, a seashell necklace set against his flannel shirt. "We're running out of resources fast, water included."

The high school juniors are part of a water awakening among metro Atlanta youth. The region's historic drought has connected more young people to Lake Lanier, the Chattahoochee River and other oft-overlooked places where land gives way to water.

Teens are learning to make rain barrels from Athens to Atlanta. Elementary school kids are competing to see whose family can cut water use the most. And waist-high activists who once nagged mom and dad to recycle are now putting a stopwatch to their showers, too.

"The river itself is seen as not just a resource but the lifeblood of a region," said Lynn McIntyre, community development director at the Chattahoochee Nature Center in Roswell. "I think the connection of the dots has taken place in many people's minds since the drought. Students, particularly, are paying attention."

Water has vaulted from obscurity to the top priority for Georgians, according to recent surveys. And when Ellen Harrison asked her Dawsonville 8th graders what they'd like to analyze with Excel spreadsheets, the response was resounding: Lake Lanier. Many of the keyboarding students at Riverview Middle School had stared into the dried-up coves near their homes and pondered life without adequate water. "They said let's look at the lake," Harrison said, "because there is no lake."

Farther downstream, in Sandy Springs, Jonathan says he grew up thinking of the Chattahoochee as a catchall for factory emissions, sewage plants and oily runoff. "I was more aware of the fact that the Chattahoochee was disgusting," he says. "My parents would say 'Stay out of it!'"

Then, one day last year, he, Julian and Adam were interviewing passersby at a local office park as part of a project for film club. They asked what people were doing to improve the environment and gave each respondent an energy-efficient fluorescent light bulb in return. But, standing amid reflective glass, the question bounced back: What were they doing?

"We said 'we want to do something about it,'" Jonathan says. Adam nods. "Our generation is the first to understand that this is really, really bad."

Julian and Jonathan became vegetarians (Adam remains an "omnivore"). The friends grew an organic garden of watermelons and peppers. And they vowed to create an environmental nonprofit that would get more students involved. Inspired by Al Gore's documentary on global warming, they initially wanted to name the group Students Against Global Warming.

Then the drought hit.

Despite outdoor watering bans and calls for conservation, it seemed metro Atlanta would suck the Chattahoochee system dry. The teens couldn't deny the "Inconvenient Truth" flowing past their Sandy Springs neighborhoods. The water-focused Student Ecology Movement was born.

Today the nonprofit's Website features a picturesque sunset over a lake and the slogan "Protecting the world in which we live in now to ensure a healthy planet for our children." The trio have created a downloadable brochure with tips such as "turn off the water while shaving" and "shorten your showers: 10 minutes, OK. 5 minutes, great!"

The water warriors don't rest at home, either. They've set buckets in showers, installed low-flow shower heads and pressured their families to fix leaking toilets.

Jonathan and Adam follow Julian as he walks past his neighborhood pool toward the Chattahoochee, where a fly-fisherman casts from a thin line of hardwoods on one bank. Julian has parked a couple old pool chairs on a bluff. It's his favorite place to think, write poetry and appeal to the sensibilities – environmental and otherwise — of young ladies.

Julian, who calls himself a "transcendentalist," listens to the river gurgle over fallen trees and smooth stones. In it, he used to hear a call for global action. "But it kept narrowing down and narrowing down," he says, "until it was in my backyard."

Julian, as usual, admires the river's beauty from his perch. But these days, he doesn't just peer out from the bluff. He looks straight down, too.

The water level, he notes, is low.