Beach Bums

   You have probably heard that the basic vacation question is “Mountains or beach?” If you posed the question to Shirley or me, the immediate answer is likely to be “Mountains, of course!” Smokies, Blue Ridge, Adirondacks, Guadalupes, Rockies, Big Horns, Sawtooths, Sierra Nevadas, Northern Cascades. 

   But give us a few minutes to think about it and the answer could just as easily be “Beach, of course!” Assateague, Tybee Island, St. Augustine, Cumberland Island, Santa Rosa Island, Padre Island, Key West, Pacific coast, Hawaii. Generally speaking, we are inclined to prefer the mountains in summer and the beach in winter. 

    Right after Christmas we are headed to someplace warm. Before retirement, St. Augustine was about as far as we could get in the vacation time available. 

Anastasia Island is just across the Bridge of Lions

from historic St. Augustine.

St. Augustine brags that it is "40 miles of Beach and the Rest is History."

That history part is based on the claim it is the oldest continuously

occupied city in America. (That claim is disputed by Santa Fe.)

The ratio of birds to people is just about right--especially when that

person is barely visible in the distance.

You can tour the lighthouse, Castillo San Marcos,

and the Historic District. Or just hang out in the

numerous bars and restaurants. Even the Alligator

Farm is not nearly as cheesy as it sounds.

   In retirement, we could go all the way to Everglades National Park at the tip of Florida for a couple months. The birds, gators and other wildlife were simply amazing. There is no beach but at least it is reliably sunny and warm at the tip of Florida with day trips to Key West pretty easy. We have done that last part a couple times but, frankly, we are not big fans of crowds and raucus behavior.

It's just a rooster but they run wild in Key West the way squirrels do in Toledo.

   As many of you know, our travel plans rarely involve a straight line to our destination and back. We prefer more circular routes that allow us to visit different places going and coming. If we are headed directly to South Florida, we may return via the eastern route; i.e., St. Augustine, Savannah, and Charleston. Or we might take the western route across the Panhandle to Pensacola, through New Orleans to Cajun Country, and then up the Natchez Trace to Nashville. We did that last winter so, in '23, the plan is to do it the other way around beginning with a week at Fort Pickens in Gulf Islands National Seashore, just a couple long bridges from Pensacola. 

   The National Seashore is about half of Santa Rosa Island. The other half is your basic Florida resort community with hotels, pastel-colored condos, "quaint" shops with nautical stuff, seafood restaurants and bars. Most tourists prefer these amenities. The island is quite narrow so it is an easy walk to either the Gulf side beach or the Pensacola Bay side.  The beach has miles of powder sugar sand with a chance to stay a quarter of a mile or so from other visitors. We might tolerate a dog or two chasing tennis balls in the surf. Not that I am anti-social. Well, maybe just a little. There is a lot to be said for peaceful solitude. Even so, when it is time for a couple cold ones and a fish sandwich, all that touristy stuff is just outside the park gate. 

The soft, white sand at the National Seashore is a joy to walk on,

especially if you have it all to yourself. Or one agreeable companion.

Little ghost crabs scurry quickly into their holes when you approach.

Even when they can't reach their holes, they are hard to see.

When the British burned Washington D.C. and attacked New Orleans, 

President Madison became sensitive to the need for coastal defenses

and began construction of a series of forts. Fort Pickens, built in 1829,

is one of four that protected Pensacola Bay and the naval yards there. 

During WWII, modern defenses were built to protect the yards from

German submarine attacks.

Today, the Coast Guard concentrates on rescues and drug interdiction

and the Naval Air Station is where the Blue Angels train.

We always stay in the campground but...

...there are hotels and condos just outside the park.

The quality of the sand is the same outside the National Seashore

but you can't expect quiet stretches like this.

Santa Rosa Island runs east-west.

So, the beach is the place to go for both sunrise and sunset.

   For about ten years, the choice of routes was influenced by the weather. Even the Florida Panhandle can get a little nippy at the end of December so we might save Gulf Islands for the return depending on the forecast. 

   Before COVID, travel could be flexible that way. What changed is the requirement for campground reservations that force us to commit not only to specific destinations but to a fixed schedule. Spontaneity is out the window. In the middle of the week, even if there are plenty of campsites available, you can't just show up and pick one. The staff at the gatehouse will not let you in without the preapproval of recreation.gov or reserveamerica.com. Campgrounds are probably fully booked on weekends up to six months in advance. You might find a place for Monday through Thursday but then what? Still, these are First World problems. Oh, woe is me! We have to make reservations in order to spend all winter in Florida. How will we ever survive? That is nearly as bad as the trip to Hawaii that was totally ruined when one day the maid forgot to put chocolates on the pillow.

   In 2012 we went to the Everglades for a couple weeks and then followed the coast around to Gulf Islands. From there, instead of turning north, we continued to Padre Island just offshore from Corpus Christi, TX. It was marvelous. We were having such a good time, we just kept going across Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. There are wonderful attractions all across the Southwest: national parks, historic sites, Spanish missions, wildlife. I started to make a specific list but soon concluded that it would take up too much space.  

    When we had gotten as far as Phoenix we decided that we might as well head up to Lake Mead and then on through Las Vegas to Death Valley. (It was September last time we were in the area but temperatures were still in the 108 to 110 range.) That 2012 trip convinced us that the Southwest in winter was even better than South Florida. From '12 to '21, our go-to place became Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, right on the border in Arizona. The border is now overwhelmed by the drug cartels, human traffickers and other risks to personal security in the remote locations we prefer. So, it is back to Florida until things get fixed. But I digress. 

   At Padre in 2012, Shirley learned that some rescued sea turtles were to be released so we joined the crowd behind a rope line on the beach. Park rangers and trained turtle rescue volunteers carried 70 turtles along the line so everyone could get a close look before they were released back into the Gulf of Mexico. Small children went nose-to-nose with turtles rapidly flapping their flippers in anticipation. (The turtles, that is, though the kids were pretty animated too.)

   The turtles had been rescued because a cold snap had reached as far as south Texas. Turtles and other reptiles can adjust to the cold if it comes gradually. But an Arctic blast swept down like a NASCAR driver coming out of the pits and the turtles did not have time to adapt. As a Midwesterner, you can undoubtedly sympathize.

   There are other sea turtle rescues unrelated to weather. All five species in the Gulf are endangered. In the 1940s there were upwards of 40,000 identified nests on Padre Island. By the 1980s there were only about 800. Clutches of turtle eggs may be dug up by predators such as snakes, raccoons and coyotes or pilfered by humans or stomped on by tourists just roaming around in the dunes.

   The Park Service and their volunteers carefully collect eggs for artificial incubation. Three days after they hatch, young turtles are in a frenzy (that’s the technical term) to enter the water.

   But there is much more on the beach than sea turtles. Us, for example. During the 2019 government shutdown when Malaquite Campground was closed, we parked right on the hard-packed sand beach. It was so nice we did it again in '20 and '21. Lulled to sleep by the sound of surf. Awakened by sunrise over the water and the calls of gulls and terns by the hundreds. We particularly like the royal terns with their bright orange beaks and black caps that sweep back like the original D.A. haircut. (Ask your grandfather what a D.A. was.) Plovers and sandpipers probed the sands for something to eat. Larger shorebirds included the godwit whose long beak curves slightly up and the curlew whose beak curves down. 

   After finishing our breakfast coffee outside in the sunshine, we always went for a long walk on the beach. There were cobalt blue Portuguese man ’o wars washed up. They are fascinating to look at but not to touch. Even a dead man ’o war can give you a painful sting.

   If you watch closely, you may even spot little gray ghost crabs scurrying back to their holes in the sand. If you come between a crab and its hole, it may extemporize a hiding place by tossing sand onto its back.

   Back in the dunes, above the high-water mark, we saw some leaf cutter ants hard at work. Their steady anty traffic had worn a clearly defined highway resembling a bicycle track. There was about ten feet of track between their leaf harvesting site and their underground nest. We watched for a while to see if there was a division of labor between the lumberjack ants who cut leaves and the teamster ants who transported the cuttings. Couldn’t tell for sure because all ants look alike to non-ants but it seemed to be a you-cut-it-you-carry-it operation. Some had a hard time when a breeze would turn their piece of leaf into a tiny green sail. Ants got tossed about quite a bit but they persevered and soon righted themselves.

   The curious thing about cutting leaves is that the ants don’t eat their harvest. In the nest, they grow fungus on the decaying plant material and feast on their version of gourmet mushrooms.

A washed up Portugese man o' war may look harmless but even

dead stingers are painful.

At first, we had the beach all to ourselves.

Then the neighborhood got really crowded.

A Caracara, or Mexican eagle, hunted from the dunes right behind us.

   Some beach residents are much, much larger and always manage to attract attention of visitors. At Assateague on the Delmarva Peninsula (shared by Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia) is a herd of wild ponies. One theory is that they descended from horses that swam ashore after the Spanish ships they were in were storm wrecked several centuries ago. Some claim that are just the offspring of farm animals that wandered off during colonial days. Either way, the ponies continue to reproduce enthusiastically. Stallions compete for herds by kicking and biting. And not just other stallions. These are wild ponies not just pets on a beach vacation. Visitors are encouraged, one way or another, to maintain a safe distance. Even if there were no ponies, Delmarva has a wonderful wide, long beach for sunning, walking, or surfing. Frankly, though, we would not have gone there just for the sand.

Note the hoof print on his belly this stallion acquired in an
 encounter with a rival--or perhaps a reluctant mare.

Who does your hair?

   Diagonally across the country in the northwest corner of Washington is a beach with no sand at all, just rocks and gravel. Huge old trees are tossed ashore by Pacific storms. Visitors are encouraged to be careful during high tide. The surf can lift tons of logs and smack you with them. Picturesque sea stacks and other offshore rocks dominated the rugged coastline. The gravelly beach is not quite as pleasant for romantic strolls as powdery sand. But there is recompense.

   Shirley learned that the gravel contains pretty agates in numbers that justify the effort it takes to collect them. If you know what an agate is. And how to look for it. A man and his daughter quickly taught her the rudiments of agate hunting.

   Personally, I think there are more interesting gems to hunt for in tidal pools. Star fish. Limpets. Anemones. Sea urchins. There is plenty of sandy beach along the Pacific coast in addition to the marine life and scenic shoreline.

Just for perspective, note the size of the driftwood

tossed up on the beach at the northern tip of Washington.

You could make all kinds of artsy-craftsy things with that

much wood--if you could get it in your car.

Interesting residents in the tide pools. A ranger said

it was OK for her to touch. She pretended to like it for

the sake of the photo.

Marine mammals in the thousands

There are two Haystack Rocks that I know of.

This is the other one.

There are state parks every 8 to 10 miles along the NW coast but

the locals love their parks. Sometimes we were forced to camp in the 

national forest on the in-land side of Rt. 101. That is called roughing it.

We consoled ourselves with a little port after supper.

You would never guess that crowding is an issue.

Face Rock is a profile looking upwards towards the right.

   Shirley and I usually choose to avoid resort communities with hordes of vacationers engaged in various forms of debauchery. Still, even in Hawaii you are not required to plop down on Waikiki Beach with Diamond Head off to your left and shoulder-to-shoulder hotels behind you. On Maui, we stayed a couple times at a small hotel that is a whole block from the great banyan tree and the waterfront. A drive out the infamous narrow, twisty, turny cliff-side Road to Hana takes you to several quiet beaches and waterfalls. Some have black volcanic rock gradually being reduced to black volcanic sand by unceasing wave action. The pebbles get their rough edges worn down as they are tossed back and forth by the surf.

   On the Big Island, we had a room with an overhanging balcony that looked directly down into water where colorful fish were swimming. Out the back door was a sheltered lagoon where we could swim with those fishes and feed them frozen peas by hand. A much more pleasant experience than that of Luca Brazi who was sent to "sleep with the fishes." Out the front door, along the entrance road, was a line of local farmers selling fresh fruit. 

Fish in the lagoon knew that a bag of peas meant a free meal

 and would come to eat right out of your hand.

Fortunately, sharks are not vegetarian. No, wait. That means....

   Surf in Hawaii can hit the beach gently or it can come pounding in. Gidget and Moondoggie always looked forward to “Surf’s up!” conditions that result from storms that roar across several thousand miles of open water all the way from Alaska. Where, by the way, there are other examples of our favorite beaches. 

   The Homer Spit is a narrow band of gravel that extends five miles into Kachemak Bay. We were there when the locals celebrated July 4 with noisy but invisible fireworks. Invisible because on July 4 it never gets really dark.

   On the Spit is a marina for hundreds of boats because Alaskans love their halibut and salmon. About a third of the Spit is shops and small restaurants for tourists. (A pattern may be emerging here.) The rest is campground space where you can park your rig with the front wheels just a few inches from the water. The attraction is the spectacular view of snow-capped mountains that plunge right down into the water. Beautiful but not a prime spot for spreading your beach blanket.

   You can have pretty much the same experience at Seward where, again, the RVs line up right on the water as if it were Battleship Row at Pearl Harbor. Also at Valdez. 

                                        

          Five-mile-long Homer Spit has a road down the middle so

           you could make the case that it has ten miles of beach. 

            

             

        At the end of the Spit, you have gone as far as you can go.

            

           Unless you have a boat.

                                     

  Fishing is pretty good in Alaska.

Eagles will pose with you for selfies if you leave 

something in the tip jar.

Our neighbors in the campground caught more halibut than they

could eat so they shared 10 lbs. with us. Even in Alaska, halibut

was going for $20 lb. so their generosity was appreciated.

In Seward, the city campground is just a long row of

parking places right at the edge of the water.

This is what qualifies as the beach right out your front door.

Many tourists, like a couple we know, prefer to arrive by cruise ship.

Bob said the most interesting place they visited on their trip to Alaska 

was the Boeing plant in Seattle. So, for some, the answer to "Mountains

or beach?" is "None of the above."

   Even so, perhaps your next trip should be to the beach instead of the mountains. Whichever kind of beach experience suits your fancy. Miami Beach where the Great and Near Great gather in Gucci attire. Panama City where families compete with college spring breakers. What the heck, you might even want to give Waikiki a shot. Put on your flip-flops, slather on the sunscreen and make the beach of your choice just a walk in the park.