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We are bound for northern Florida's Riviera, some 250 miles
of bayous and barrier dunes that protect the Panhandle, stretching
west roughly from the coastal town of Carrabelle to the bustling
port of Mobile, Alabama. This is the land of Forrest Gump,
where pickup trucks, shrimp boats, and Baptist churches predominate,
a place where people practice Southern hospitality, fly the
Confederate flag, fish obsessively, and sail some of the country's
least-celebrated yet spectacularly beautiful
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Between the mainland and these sandy barriers, the ICW wends
east-west, affording an alternative to sailing in the open Gulf
of Mexico.
Our journey along the Panhandle spans 12 days in late
April and early May, when the air temperature averages 80 degrees
and the water slightly less than that. We are aboard Déjá
Vu, a C&C 30 provided by Emerald Coast Yachts in Pensacola Beach.
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cruising waters.
Florida locals call the region LA, for
Lower Alabama, because the seamless boundaries are more political than
cultural. This is the Old South, graceful and unhurried, enlivened
by a Jimmy Buffett soundtrack and mellowed by a lack of pretension.
Boiled peanuts, key lime pie, barbecued chicken, cold beer, and tie-dyed
sunsets are part of everyday life, as is condominium development along
the sugar-white sand beaches.
For cruisers, LA offers countless opportunities
to explore uninhabited islands surrounded by transparent emerald water,
both teeming with wildlife-- dolphins, rays, blue crabs, pelicans, herons,
hawks, and eagles. Marinas are plentiful along the Intracoastal
Waterway (ICW), and civilization is never far out of reach, but in most bayous it's
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The boat draws 5 feet and is roomy enough for my wife, Christine, our 13-year old son, Zack, daughter Juliana, 9 and me. More important, its 43-foot
mast will fit under the region's 50-foot fixed highway bridges, giving
us access to Choctawhatchee Bay, among the highlights of our float plan.
Déjá
Vu is well-outfitted for subtropical cruising, with a rail-mounted grill
and a refrigerator, but Bill Crouch, who runs Emerald Coast Yachts and
its sailing school, says a vital provision must be brought aboard before
our departure. Smiling, he hands us a Jimmy Buffett CD "You can't
go sailing around here without this," he says, and it turns out
he's right; every time we get near a port, strains of "Margaritaville"
and "Changes in Latitude" waft across the water.
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possible to anchor overnight in settings of such natural splendor that docking seems absurd.
Most of the Panhandles northern shore is framed by stands of yellow pine and woodlands on land that is U.S. military property, while grasses, palmettos, and low-lying vegetation cap the barrier islands. The latter are part of the Gulf Islands National Seashore, an 11-segment, three-state archipelago that includes Perdido Key, Santa Rosa Island and Shell and Crooked Islands with their unspoiled beaches.
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The prevailing south wind is blowing 15 knots when we leave Pensacola Bay, sailing west toward Fort Pickens, a restored brick fortress that predates the Civil War. Near the fort the water depth drops abruptly, so it's possible to nose the bow a few feet from shore and lower an anchor. We're amazed at how closely boats hug the beach, but, as we remind ourselves, it's all sand. If you run aground, you reverse the engine and back off. The kids are thrilled
to climb the massive cannon and investigate the fort's labyrinth of passageways and subterranean rooms.
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