Just over a year ago, when I was on holiday in Florida, I wrote and published two posts about touring the Gulf of Mexico coast from Clearwater Beach (near Tampa) as far south as Sarasota. Here are the links to those two posts, if you'd like to revisit them.
At the end of the second one, I promised shortly a Part 3 about the area from Sarasota down to Fort Myers. And then procrastination set in, accompanied by a strong dose of other trips.
I'm back in Florida again, and although I didn't really expect to put up any posts this year, I changed my mind. Actually I made a snap decision to change plans and head for Fort Myers when the weather in Clearwater stayed obstinately cool.
Before I get to that, though, I want to show you what can happen when major storms hit this coast. Almost all of Florida is very low and flat, and when land is reclaimed for development you end up with houses and apartments built on controlled sandbanks. However, there are a few nature sanctuaries which show us what all of the coast was like before the tourism boom struck. Last year, I visited Fort de Soto park southwest of St. Petersburg. I shared a couple of these pictures before, but here they are in comparison with this year's versions. Quite plainly, Fort de Soto has had at least one dandy storm, maybe more than one, and a good deal of the North Beach has migrated inland.
The first one shows a tidal lagoon, one of several in the park, at mid tide.
Now, the same location after the bad weather. The lagoon is filled in with sand, cut off from the sea, and almost dry except for a couple of rain water puddles. And this was at high tide!
Before the storms, the beach was lined with a dense growth of trees and shrubs.
Now, much of the growth has been killed, uprooted, or snapped off and the sand has pushed all over the ground growth that was there before. Beyond the trees, you can see what looks like a wooden patio railing. That was a footbridge across the narrow inner end of the tidal lagoon. It's now resting on a solid sandbank, buried right up to the level of the walkway.
All the area beyond the dead trees was a grassy picnic ground. A good-sized area of it is now covered in sand.
This can happen because the sand, which looks so much like snow, also acts in the same way. All along this coast, the sand is a very light, fine powder. It picks up and moves in the wind, drifting like snow. When hit with high water, such as storm surges, the sand easily suspends in the water and can be moved great distances before the wind drops again.
The other major change at Fort de Soto? In my previous post I proudly advertised that the park was free for day use, apart from the 50-cent toll on the access bridge. Tempora mutantur. Fort de Soto Park has now been taken over by Pinellas County and there is a $5.00 daily fee per vehicle, collected at the entrance station. Pity. But even at $5.50, it's well worth anyone's time and money as a place to visit, walk, bike, picnic, swim, or just laze in the sun on one of Florida's most beautiful beaches.
Well, with that out of the way, what is there to see as you travel south from Sarasota? The area from here to Fort Myers is far less heavily developed than other regions of the Gulf Coast. There are the usual shopping malls, condos and neighbourhoods arranged around canals, but far less of them than in better known regions. The towns as a result are much smaller.
The historic district of Venice is an interesting place to walk and shop, and with many interesting places to eat as well. It's a bit of a detour off the main Interstate, but well worth while. Farther inland is the sizable expanse of Myakka River State Park, while the Myakka River State Forest sits by the mouth of the river on the Gulf side, offering riverfront camping sites.
Interstate 75 actually crosses two major rivers along this stretch. Both are very wide waterways. First is the Peace River, between Port Charlotte and Punta Gorda. Then comes the Caloosahatchee River (say that three times quickly!) on whose banks downtown Fort Myers stands. Fort Myers brings us back to the world of major Florida development with a bang. It's another huge, sprawling collection of endless suburbs with endless shopping malls, gas stations, and fast-food joints, all knit together by a network of major arterial roads -- most of them with a 45 m.p.h. speed limit.
The road that matters the most is Summerlin Road. Find that one, and you've found the way to the beaches. Fort Myers Beach is reached by turning south on San Carlos Boulevard from Summerlin. It's crowded, noisy, boisterous, traffic-ridden, and busy as hell.
Get there early in the day and you may find a place to park where you don't have to pay. Maybe. You might even find enough space on the beach to spread out your towel, especially on warm weekends! Right at the bottom of the bridge connecting the beach island to the mainland is a poorly planned street intersection which is guaranteed to create traffic jams all day long, in every direction. If you plan to just stay at Fort Myers Beach for a week, and never take your car out at all, then one round trip through that morass of traffic might be considered an acceptable penalty.
However, if you skip that turn and stay on Summerlin all the way to the end of the road, you'll come to a toll station. For $6.00 you can cross the causeway to Sanibel Island, and enter a different world altogether. Sanibel has managed the near-miraculous feat of maintaining a very natural appearance in spite of development. The main highway running the length of the island is thickly lined with trees and shrubs. Houses as often as not are concealed behind greenery. Small shopping centres and their parking lots alike are shaded by large overhanging old trees. Even along the south shore beaches, no apartment, condo or hotel stands any higher than three stories. All are set behind a strip of natural greenery designed to protect the beach.
The big black one by the toe of my shoe is called a pen shell. They're all over the place, usually broken -- the shell doesn't seem very thick in relation to its size. If the sun catches them at the right angles the shell can give off a bronzey glint. The interior of some pen shells is lined with mother of pearl and occasionally they can grow pearls.
Sanibel and its even quieter attached neighbour, Captiva Island, between them post a collection of pretty fabulous restaurants. Many of the best, as in other resort areas, are housed in old wooden buildings of quaint Florida character. One of my favourites, the Island Cow, is decorated with dozens of ceramic and plastic cows (and other critters) of every shape and size on ledges around the upper walls. Apologies that the picture is a tad blurry. My phone doesn't much like working indoors.
For me, the real highlight of Sanibel is the J. N. "Ding" Darling National Wildlife Refuge. It takes up much of the northern half of the island, a preserved slice of the Florida coast before the arrival of the invasion of real estate developers and agents.
Because it is largely made up of a mangrove swamp, alternating with stretches of open water, the Refuge is hugely popular with sea birds. There is a scenic drive through the reserve, all paved, with a $5.00 admission charge ($1.00 for cyclists or walkers). In busy seasons, there are also tour trams that run through the refuge for those who want to concentrate on the views. Not the least of the attractions is the quietness of the place. Along the way, there are numerous spots with good views of the waterways, and there are always at least some birds to be seen. The first pictures are from two years ago, and show a pretty typical view of the Refuge. These egrets were standing barely twenty feet from the road and seemed utterly unperturbed by the horde of camera-swinging wildlife spotters and cars.
This picture, taken from a boardwalk, gives a great view of the water-and-mud-dwelling mangroves which have literally given so much of Florida its shape.
This sandbar in a lagoon is a popular haunt of several species -- including a couple perched in the trees.
Now for this year. For whatever reason or reasons, the Refuge was really popular this week with the birds. Here's the same sandbar, as seen yesterday.
In a tree shrouded bayou, dozens and dozens of egrets were on a fishing expedition, all squawking like mad.
This fine specimen obligingly posed for my phone's camera.
While these two managed to get themselves caught on the fly, so to speak.
I spent almost two hours there before realizing that I was getting hungry and perhaps ought to be considering my own lunch.
I keep meaning to visit other points of interest around the Fort Myers area, but somehow I always end up back on Sanibel and Captiva Islands, and especially at the Ding Darling Refuge. After these pictures, I hope my faithful readers will understand why.
