St. George Island: a gem along Florida Panhandle's Forgotten Coast

By Laura Reiley, Times Staff Writer
In Print: Sunday, June 21, 2009

Members of the Apalachicola Historical Society enjoy a party after a tour of a historic home that was restored by owners Bill and Lynn Wilson Spohrer. The Queen Anne Victorian home was built in 1898.
	[Photos by SCOTT KEELER | Times]

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APALACHICOLA

It was late, the wine had been mostly dispatched, and the candles had begun to weep crazily across the patio table. It was end-of-the-party conversation, desultory and rambling, about our favorite places. Favorite place in Florida, my husband mused. That's easy, St. George Island. Everyone but me looked at him blankly.

Finishing each other's sentences, we painted the picture: Some of the darkest, most star-filled skies in the continental United States, partly because of nighttime light restrictions to aid the nesting loggerhead sea turtles. Paved bike paths the length of the island, a gorgeous and underpopulated state park beach, flounder fishing off the Bob Sikes Cut.

And then there's the charming historic port of nearby Apalachicola, founded by 19th century cotton and lumber barons, with its Georgian and Victorian manses and its oyster bars. It was an idle comment: We should all go sometime.

Then the e-mails started. Were we serious? How expensive would it be? Could we find a house big enough for all of us?

Thus, the first week in May, five families loaded up five cars with beach essentials. For some this meant kites and sand toys, for others long-deferred paperbacks and quality chocolate. In a house called Afternoon Delight (the Starland Vocal Band hit featuring prominently on our iPod play lists), we spent four unforgettable days on Florida's Forgotten Coast.

A simple approach to life

The Forgotten Coast, about a five-hour drive from St. Petersburg, is bounded on the west by Mexico Beach and on the east by St. Marks. From west to east, it includes the communities of St. Joe Beach and Port St. Joe, Simmons Bayou, Cape San Blas, Indian Pass, Apalachicola, St. George Island, Eastpoint, Carrabelle, Ochlockonee Bay and Panacea. The area is served by U.S. 98, a poky and picturesque roadway that stretches for about 250 miles along the northwest Florida Panhandle coast.

Rolling dunes, miles of white sand dotted with perfect sand dollars and hardly another person in sight — but the area does not offer everything to everyone. There are no multiplexes or amusement parks, few malls, even fewer fast food restaurants. High season here is very different from that in the rest of coastal Florida. It stays cooler here than elsewhere on the Gulf, making it a little nippy in the winter and more than tolerable in the summer.

Summer is peak, with rental prices jumping accordingly on beach houses on St. George and hotel rooms in Apalachicola. Still, the area's overambitious real estate scramble of a few years back means that there are a lot of vacancies and some deals to be had.

Before the Forgotten Coast was collectively overlooked (hurricanes like Dennis contributed to the amnesia), Apalach (that's what the locals call it) was Big Time. Established in the early 1800s, it initially provided the South's cotton plantations an accessible port. The 300-mile Apalachicola River made this an ideal place to collect cotton for transport to mills in New England and overseas to lace manufacturing centers in Western Europe.

Cotton warehouses were erected to house and bale the Old South's most successful crop — at one point the town boasted 43 warehouses, making it the third-largest cotton port on the Gulf Coast (behind Mobile and New Orleans). After that, it was sponge diving, timber and turpentine from slash pines that kept the region afloat, followed by the St. Joe Co.'s paper mill. St. Joe has turned its attentions toward developing its massive landholdings in this area to environmentally conscious residential and resort communities. The indigenous fisherfolk and oystermen don't pay these tourist enticements much nevermind, concentrating instead on their Crassostrea virginica, or eastern oysters, crabs, shrimp and fish.

Some down, some on a rebound

We drove west through Carrabelle, its weathered pickups sporting the bumper sticker "A small drinking village with a fishing problem," and then on through Eastpoint. "For sale" signs as common as weeds, Eastpoint looks a little down at the heels these days. Hurricanes and red tide have threatened the local bounty, but the oyster industry has been more affected by drought in Georgia to the north. Reduced water flows down the Apalachicola River mean saltwater encroachment upriver into the estuaries where the gulf seafood spawns.

Continuing to St. George Island and Apalachicola, though, there's a palpable feeling of optimism. On the island, the new Cape St. George Lighthouse had its dedication ceremony in April, the white tower a testament to civic pride and perspicacity. In 2005 the lighthouse, built in 1852 on nearby Little St. George Island, collapsed into the gulf. Volunteers cleaned the mortar off the thousands of old bricks, lugged them to a safer location and, with the help of state and federal officials, erected a new lighthouse in the center of town. Seventy-two feet, 92 stairs and a gasp-worthy view.

In Apalachicola, the 900 historic homes and repurposed cotton warehouses (most now containing antiques shops and darling seafood restaurants) were honored last year by the National Trust for Historic Preservation as one of its Dozen Distinctive Destinations. Many of the regal old homes listed on the National Register of Historic Places are available to tour each May during an open house. The rest of the year visitors can zip by the Apalachicola Bay Chamber of Commerce (122 Commerce St., (850) 653-9419) and pick up a self-guided historic walking tour map.

Stroll past the little white Greek Revival Trinity Episcopal Church, the sixth-oldest church in the state; Orman House, an original 1838 home of cotton merchant Thomas Orman; and then take a swing through the Gibson Inn.

Built in 1907 as a hotel, never a private residence, the inn is another source of hopefulness these days. In February, seriously decorated chef Michael Feil set up shop in the inn's restaurant, launching Cafe Momi, which has garnered raves near and far — local seafood, but with sophisticated Hawaiian touches.

Something for everyone

Afternoon Delight was a monster, three-story, six-bedroom affair on stilts in the gated community called St. George Plantation, which stretches from gulfside to bayside on the island's west end, with slow, winding roads and lots of speed bumps to keep the pace leisurely. We settled in, unpacking groceries and racking up the Scrabble board. The latecomers got the worst bedrooms, but even the couple stuck with the curtain-instead-of-a-door room had to admit it was a good deal (Thursday to Sunday, each family paid under $400).

The Plantation contains the island's swankiest digs. The four miles in the center of the island are called the Gulf Beaches area. In this, the first populated area on the island, the architectural styles are all over the map, from little Cracker cottages to huge windswept wooden structures on stilts, kitted out with widow's walks and zany decorative fillips. Farther east is East End, comfortable-looking houses widely spaced, and townhouses in a community called 300 Ocean Mile. And then there's Sunset Beach, a gated community of Spanish terra cotta tile and stucco villas, densely packed.

Like the less-crowded Nantucket or Cape Cod of a generation ago, St. George is about easy, beachy pleasures, the toughest decision of the day whether to head back to the beach or take a dip in the pool instead. A drift of flip-flops accumulated in the foyer, sand found its way into the sheets and a few of us dropped a bundle chasing spotted sea trout and whiting out in the pass. There were sing-alongs and fierce games of Spoons, night beach walks and morning Ashtanga yoga for the early risers. We frittered time deliciously, each in our own way. I'd wager for the next "my favorite places" conversation, St. George and Apalachicola won't be forgotten.

Laura Reiley, the Times' food critic, can be reached at lreiley@sptimes.com or (727) 892-2293. Follow her on Twitter (@lreiley). Her blog, the Mouth of Tampa Bay, is at www.blogs.tampabay.com/dining .

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St. George Island: a gem along Florida Panhandle's Forgotten Coast

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