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You Are Here: Home » Discover Us » Nature and Parks » Coastal Paradise »
By Terry Tomalin
Fort De Soto Park
Watching the sun rise from Fort De Soto Park over the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, the golden ribs of its support structure glistening in the morning light, I glance at my watch and see that I have no time to waste.
It is 6:35 a.m., and much of the city is still asleep, but I am on a mission. I’ve got about 14 hours of daylight left and I am determined to see how much fun one man can have before the sun sets into the Gulf of Mexico.
I’ve lived, worked and played along Florida’s Beach for 25 years and feel like I know every creek, park, beach and bay like my own backyard. But every now and then I like to get out and explore, to see this place that I call home with a new set of eyes.
“Where do you want to start?” asks Jim Wilson, the chief ranger at this park which many consider to be the jewel of the county system. “You can swim, fish, bike, hike, paddle…you name it…we’ve got it.”
People come from all over the United States to enjoy Fort De Soto’s miles of deserted, sugar-sand beach. Dr. Stephen Leatherman, a.k.a. Dr. Beach, frequently puts Fort De Soto on his Top Ten list of America’s beaches.
“We spent two years at No. 2,’’ said Wilson, who says he makes it a point never to leave this island oasis unless he has no choice. “We have always thought that we have what it takes to be No. 1.”
In May 2005, Wilson got his wish when Leatherman gave Fort De Soto the nod and declared the county park “America’s Best Beach.”
More than 2.7 million people visit this 1,136-acre park each year, but the place is so big, you don’t have to worry about crowds.
I started by day with a sunrise run on East Beach and passed just one set of walkers, a man and woman from Connecticut, who said they first visited in 1963 during their honeymoon and have tried to make it back every year since.
I have probably spent 200 days here myself – jogging, in-line skating, bird watching and wind surfing – and have yet to run out of things to do.
In the summer, I head up to North Beach to fish for snook as they run through Bunces Pass. In the fall, I love to drop my kayak in the sheltered waters on the backside of Mullet Key and explore the mangrove-lined waterways of the 2.5-mile canoe trail.
In the winter, when the north wind blows, I pitch my tent at a waterfront spot in the 238-site family camping area, fire up the charcoal grill and roast marshmallows until I can eat no more.
Then, when spring arrives again, I pack my tribe in the SUV and head back to “The Lagoon” on North Beach and watch my little ones play in the tidal pools, wondering to myself, “My how time flies.”
Time… I glance back at my watch and see that it is almost 10 a.m. It would take days, perhaps even weeks, to experience all Fort De Soto has to offer. But I have lingered too long. I’ve promised a friend that I would meet him a few miles away at Weedon Island Preserve.
Weedon Island
People have been enjoying this patch of heaven hidden away on the shores of Tampa Bay for nearly 2,000 years. In 1924, an archaeologist with the Smithsonian Institution found beautiful, ornate pottery here for which an entire “culture” was eventually named. There is a new, state-of-the-art Cultural and Natural History Center that tells of Weedon Island’s early inhabitants, as well as nature trails and boardwalks leading deep into the mangrove forest, where you can sit for hours in solitude, with a book or birds as your only companion.
But my friend (Darry Jackson) and I have chosen to meet at the canoe launch where we slide our 17-foot Kevlar craft into the shallow water and spook a fat red drum that had been foraging for crabs in a lush bed of sea grass.
“Let’s see how many different birds we can count,” Jackson said, pulling out his binoculars. “There’s a roseate spoonbill, a reddish egret, a blue heron…”
As Jackson adds to the list, I spot a wake like that of a mini-submarine running just below the surface, and point out a bottlenose dolphin swimming through a cut in the mangroves. Suddenly, the dolphin circles back around and with one great sweep of its tail, launches a mullet into the air. No sooner had the fish hit the water then a second dolphin swooped in and grabbed the mullet in its powerful jaws.
“Will you look at that,” I tell Jackson. “It looks like they are having fun.”
It is nearly noon and my stomach is growling. We stop on the shade of some mangroves, drink some cold bottled water and eat a warm peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As we sit in silence, I notice a banana spider spinning a web between two branches. A few feet below, two crabs scamper around the mangrove roots, as if engaged in some strange mating ritual, or perhaps just playing hide and seek.
It has been an hour since we started our paddle along the four-mile canoe trail and we have yet to see another human being. For a moment, I start to worry. Could have taken a wrong turn? But the thought passes quickly. There are worse things than being lost in paradise on a picture perfect, spring afternoon.
Then we round a corner and I spot the canoe launch.
“Gotta run,” I tell my friend. “I have two more stops to make.”
Weedon Island has remained virtually unchanged for 2,000 years, so I know there will still be plenty to explore when I return the following week.
Caladesi and Honeymoon Islands
Now, with my kayak atop my SUV, I head north to Dunedin and the State Parks of Honeymoon and Caladesi Islands. The parks, separated by a narrow stretch of water called Hurricane Pass, have some of the finest beaches in Florida.
Honeymoon, so named because it was once a secluded getaway for newlyweds, is accessible from the mainland by automobile. It is a favorite destination for bird watchers and beach walkers because you can wander for hours with the sand and sea your only companions.
But Caladesi Island, another of Dr. Beach’s favorites (ranked #2 in 2006 and 2007), can be reached only by private boat or public passenger ferry. On a typical weekend, the 108-slip marina is usually filled with pleasure boats that have come to enjoy the park’s famous sugar sand beaches. On a weekday, however, the beaches and trails usually are empty.
The ferry leaves nearby Honeymoon Island on a regular basis, but I have no time to wait. So I carry my kayak down the trail and slip into the water. The incoming tide carries me toward the channel markers which lead to Caladesi’s concession area.
The crossing takes less than an hour, so I am ahead of schedule and stop for a snack. As I eat, I stroll down a three-mile long nature trail, past towering pines and 100-year-old oak trees. I keep an eye out for rattlesnakes – this island has its share – and don’t notice the ice pop dripping down my hand.
I retreat back down the trail and take a short cut to the beach. Crossing over the dunes, I look left, see nobody for 100 yards, then look right, and that direction is equally uninhabited.
Decisions, decisions… so I head straight into the water, rinse my hands and notice a pair of snook resting undisturbed about a yard from my feet. The water is particularly clear on this calm spring afternoon.
So I lean back, rest my head on the sand and leave the rest of my body in the water. Next thing I know a little boy is standing above me with a sand shovel.
“You were snoring,” he says.
“Sorry,” I reply.
Then I remember the time… it’s half past four and I still have one more stop to make before I call it a day. I hustle back to my kayak, and paddle back toward Honeymoon Island.
As luck would have it, the tide is with me once again, and the trip back is easier than I had anticipated. After a quick rinse with a fresh water shower, I change clothes and lace up my hiking boots.
Brooker Creek
I still have three hours of daylight, more than enough time for a hike at Brooker Creek.
At the Preserve, an 8,500-acre wilderness area nestled in the northeastern corner of the St. Petersburg/Clearwater area, Brooker Creek looks much the way it did 150 years ago when Florida “crackers” homesteaded this land.
The creek for which the preserve is named empties into nearby Lake Tarpon, one of the state’s “Top Ten” bass fishing lakes. Much of the preserve is pineland and freshwater swamp. But there are a few horse and hiking trails as well as a new educational center that is a favorite of local schoolchildren.
I start my hike at the end of Lora Lane. The trail is about two miles long and takes about an hour and a half to complete. As I wander through the pine flatwoods and hardwood hammocks, I keep an eye out for critters.
Brooker Creek is home to two species of fox, coyote, raccoon, opossum, white-tailed deer and river otter. The hour before sunset is a magic time in the woods, a changing of the guard, as the animals of day give way to the creatures of the night.
This wilderness preserve, protected from development in Florida’s most densely-populated county, is a good place to come and clear the head. So I decided to sit with my back against a sturdy pine and listen.
I hear a rustling, faint at first, but it gets louder and louder. Perhaps it’s a bobcat searching for a short-tailed shrew? I try to be quiet, and hear nothing but the sound of my own breath.
The rustling has stopped, and I soon discover why. The armadillo doesn’t know what to make of this strange animal it has encountered in the woods.
So I leave the armored denizen of these deep woods to his foraging and head back toward my starting point. The sun is setting now over the pines and I glance at my watch. It is time to go, but I leave knowing I will return another day.
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