Advertisement

Spoil island yet unspoiled

 
Published June 23, 2006|Updated Sept. 25, 2009

BEER CAN ISLAND - From the east shore of this island, the view is of giant gypsum stacks. To the north, Tampa's downtown. West is low-slung St. Petersburg.

And then there's the view to the south: blue meets blue on the hot distance, and that is all.

"Just look at this," says Richard Platt of Brandon, who has boated here with his wife, Kathy, since 1988. "You don't know where you are."

There are quiet places that exist in the shadows of urban areas, places which feel like wilderness. This is one of them.

Beer Can Island is open to the public only because its shores are not dotted with No Trespassing signs. Most who come assume it belongs to the city or the county. Property records indicate it is owned by Super Test Oil Co.

A buzz around Apollo Beach a few weeks ago suggested the island's owner was considering selling to a developer for premier homes.

True, said J. Styles Wilson, a Tampa attorney who is a registered agent with Super Test.

"There were very preliminary chats," he said, "but there are no plans for them to purchase it or anything like that."

Talk to people here about losing this place to homes and it's quickly clear they would fight for their access. Hike the island and it's hard to tell why.

Look, a shack made of plywood and two-by-fours and a blue-tarp roof. And there, a lawn chair, charcoal, the carcass of a tent, and a mystery: Why did they leave in such a hurry? Toward the center, a scrubby marsh and, of course, faded beer cans.

The island makes the newspapers occasionally for dramatic reasons. Fires, domestic disputes. In 2003, two women and a dog named Quelia were buried in a dirt slide on the island's windward side. The women dug out; the dog did not.

There are benefits to these 7 acres in Tampa Bay, a mile or so west of Apollo Beach: pine trees, purple flowers and the sense of separation from the surges of two nearby cities.

"It's a little Shangri La in the middle of Tampa Bay that nobody knows about," says Vince Widger, 32, who lives in Oldsmar and boats here from St. Petersburg. "You feel like you're a million miles away."

"It's kind of exclusive," says Julie Gettler of Riverview, who was bobbing on a raft offshore. "It's public, but it's private."

The island draws a mismatched crowd of boat people: fishermen, lovers, children, those who collect fossilized turtle shells and shark teeth. They are people trying for a dime to get away from a busy region that is hard to escape.

They find solidarity here. "People who would walk by you on the street and not say anything would see you here and talk to you," Platt says.

They leave with mosquito bites, sun tans and bawdy memories they prefer to keep to themselves.

"Nothing you could print," says Pat Patterson of Sun City Center, aboard a pontoon boat.

That's a common refrain that suggests another of the island's attractions: This is a place where inhibitions are lost. Blame it on the tropical feel. Blame it on the beer.

People take their clothes off, several visitors confirmed. "There were a bunch of naked girls," said Scott Sheppard, who plays guitar for a band called Groovy Tuesdays, recalling a concert to raise money for charity on the island this past Memorial Day. "It was cool."

Homes? Here?

"It would be a shame if we lost this," says Gettler, fully clothed. "That wouldn't be fair.

Ben Montgomery can be reached at bmontgomery@sptimes.com or 661-2443.