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| Anastasia State Recreation Area |
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Location: Anastasia Island, along A1A and S.R. 3. 3 miles east of St. Augustine, FL. The sea: a paradox of permanence and transformation. Tides ebb and flow; sand dunes shift into new formations. I’ve heard that the cadence of the pounding surf sounds like a mother’s heartbeat to the fetus; it’s no wonder that I’m mesmerized when I sit quietly on a beach, listening to the crash of the waves. I find myself awed by the power of water and wind when I visit the beach. The sea will last forever; I won’t. It makes me ponder my mortality and the winds of change that sweep through my life. Last spring I was in Florida for my brother’s wedding, and my sister Sal and I headed up the east coast in her Pittsburgh-escapee ‘77 Caprice wagon for a day on the beach. We spread out the towels at Flager Beach, but the clouds looked too ominous. It was late May, with lots of sun and warm temperatures, so we figured -- why not head north? The sun was still shining up in that direction, so we packed up our things and struck out for St. Augustine. We stopped for tacos at one of those weird little drive-through Taco Bell-in-a-gas-station things we found along the coast so we’d have something to munch on when we got to the beach. Anastasia Island has always been a favorite destination for my family. Over the years, we’ve seen the waves wreak havoc; A1A was rerouted around the park after the road washed into the sea. On our trips to the beach decades ago, you could walk far out into the ocean on sandbars at low tide; that isn’t possible anymore. The waves give, and the waves take away. Far enough off the beaten track from the heavily promoted tourist beaches, Anastasia is a popular spot for locals to fly kites, wind surf, and lounge about. It’s also a Florida State Park, which means it costs $3.25 per car (8 passengers) to get in. It’s a $1 fee if you show up on foot or on a bike. And like most Florida beaches, you can drive on it if you feel the need (I prefer to leave the fragile ecosystem alone, no matter how much the park rangers say it doesn’t hurt). The park contains over 1,800 acres of sand dunes, beaches, scrub palm forest and tidal marshes, much of it reachable by foot. We paid our fee, drove out to the parking lot next to the dunes, and plunked good old “Clarence” into a slot -- Sal wasn’t about to park on the beach, what with the tide coming in and all. We grabbed our food, towels, and books and hiked over the dune trail to the beach....and were just about blown over! The winds were incredible! The poor little sandpipers looked like tumbleweeds. I stubbornly sat down to eat a taco and got a face full of sand. Bummer! So I turned around and looked at the dunes while I ate. Sal lives in Greece, but I don’t live anywhere near a beach, so I wasn’t giving up. We tied our towels to the dune barrier fence, and headed into the surf. The water was warm, and as long as you kept your shoulders under the waves, the wind was tolerable ... after all, the sun was still shining! After bobbing about like otters for a while, we tried to lay out and immediately got coated with sand. Finally, when the shorebirds took flight, we threw in the towel. We had to shower at the cold outdoor spigot because we were utterly coated with sand. We cruised up to Old Town, walked around and played tourist a bit, and finally settled into the “St. George” bar, a hole-in-the-wall with cheap margaritas where the guys swarmed over Sal like flies on honey. Typical. After fifteen minutes of fending off the crowd, she decided we’d be better off at a beachside bar, so we drove off to a place called the “Parrothead” (yeah, there’s Jimmy Buffet mania all over St. Augustine) where we could watch the wind drive in the dark clouds and could sit and drink luscious daiquiris all evening long. Lucky me, I didn’t have to drive us home! Sal left for her home in Europe; I headed back to (brrr!) Pennsylvania. But I felt cheated out of my day at the beach. So in October, when my husband and I drove down to visit with my family, I insisted we go back to Anastasia Island for a day in the sun. The ocean wrought its inevitable changes in my absence. After a lengthy road trip, we tumbled out of Dad’s van and asked, “where’s the beach?” Hurricane season reconfigured the landscape. As far as the eye could see, mud flats and oyster bars dominated the zone between the “driving” area and the “swimming” area. Hey, isn’t that what the park brochure meant by the “Real Florida”? Perfect for critters, no fun for sun lovers. I didn’t mind; I like walking along the hard-packed sand; others in our party were not as easily amused. The area teemed with new life; a perfect opportunity for stalking the wild shore with my trusty Nikon. The mud flats and oyster bars created large tidal pools at low tide. Here, tiny fish swam, trapped until the tide came in, making great snack bowls for the sandpipers and gulls. I saw a scurrying and a big billow of mud puff out of the bottom of one of the tidal pools, so I sat down and waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually, the culprit emerged -- a huge blue crab! I followed him up and down the tidal pool, trying to get a clear shot. Visions of a good seafood dinner danced in my head. Mmmm...garlic butter. I finally left the crab alone (God knows what I would have done with it if I’d actually caught it!) and started poking around looking for shells. The oyster bars looked beautiful in the sunlight but the oysters were firmly glued in little clusters. No luck there. Walking further down the mud flats, I came across a few jellyfish that had come in with the tide. Good thing I was watching my feet! The storms that sculpted the beach must have washed all the great shells away. I wasn’t finding any, but I did a great job of scaring sandpipers away from their feasts in the surf. I’d heard that dolphins often played in the breakers between this barrier island and the next one to the north, but I saw no evidence of them today. Off in the distance, the Mantanzas Lighthouse stands sentinel over the tidal marshes and the bird sanctuary, keeping errant ships from crashing into this fragile ecosystem (for the ship’s sake more than the park’s sake, I’d reckon). The lighthouse is at the end of one of the side roads off A1A outside the park; you can climb to the top if you dare. It’s possible to walk for a few miles along the beach, beside the dunes. Spanish conquistadors once roamed these shifting sands; Ponce de León landed here in 1513, searching for the apocryphal Fountain of Youth. St. Augustine boasts of being the nation’s oldest city, since the first Spanish settlement in this region began in 1565. Just past the park entrance, you can walk to an old Spanish coquina quarry tucked away in the scrubby woods; the Spaniards pulled stone from the island here to build the impressive buildings you’ll find in the old town, including the fortress Castillo de San Marcos. Coquina stone consists of a conglomerate of ground shells held together by a calcium “glue,” and it’s unique to this area -- unique enough that the law frowns upon you taking any home. The lagoon behind the dunes shelters thousands of water birds. Wind surfers find it a fun place to pull out their sailboards and go, go, go! There’s a rental shack for sailboards and canoes along the entrance road. Or, you can bring your own canoe or rowboat and paddle through the lagoon and marshes for no additional fee. When we left the dunes and drove off the beach, I noticed large numbers of large birds roosting in the scrubby trees near the boat ramp into the lagoon, so we stopped. I fought off sand fleas while creeping up to herons and cranes to snap some photos. The mooches were hanging out around the ramp because a fisherman parked there, throwing back small fish that became “easy pickings” for the birds. If you have a Florida fishing license, you can compete with the waterfowl for a catch out of the lagoon; they’ll be waiting for your castoffs. Camp with the salty tang of the sea air in your tent! A full service campground with 100 campsites hides under the wind-swept trees at the southern edge of the park, across from the tidal marsh. Call for information and reservations. There’s raccoons, field mice and rabbits that lay trails through the scrub forest, so keep your food out of reach. Park hours for day use are 8 a.m. to sunset. For more information, contact: Anastasia State Recreation Area www.floridastateparks.org/anastasia Published 1996 in Vagabond Magazine Reprint rights available |
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