Panhandle Introduction
One of the great truths about living on Florida's Gulf Coast is that you never have to worry about unwanted visitors. Sure, surfers sometimes cross back and forth between neighboring states, but the rest of world basically thinks of the Gulf of Mexico as having zero surf, ensuring crowd control like nowhere else in the United States -- except for maybe Alaska or the Great Lakes. Actually, locals commonly refer to the Gulf of Mexico as the "Lake of Mexico," as swells are generated hundreds of miles away -- instead of thousands -- and an offshore wind erases it all in a hurry.
Still ready for a road trip? No sweat -- it only takes a few hours to hit the closest spot, and a 6-foot swell can go to a dribbling waist-high in less than six hours. Such excursions are just far and risky enough to keep even East Coasters at home, despite their relatively easy striking distance. Keep in mind, however, that, over the years, a few lucky ones have timed it perfectly for a hurricane swell or nasty winter cold front, and these explorers' tales have given the Gulf of Mexico a mythic reputation along Florida's other coast. They speak of emerald-green, crystalline waters and miles of unspoiled, sugar-white sand beaches, of fast-breaking waves dredging out of deep water on a shallow sandbar shelf, of powerful, spitting pier and jetty beachbreaks and 300-yard reeling point walls.
It's no myth. The Gulf does produce some of the finest waves in Florida -- in terms of quality. Quantity? Well, that's a different story. Gulf Coasters endure the longest flat spells, the most onshore days and the longest drives to surf in all the Sunshine State. Fortunately for travelers, the surf spots are concentrated into two sections: the Panhandle, which runs from the Alabama border east past Dog Island until the state starts to bend; and the lower Gulf Coast, which begins more than 200 miles south in Clearwater, where the swampy shoreline finally returns to sand.
The Panhandle is bordered on the west by Alabama and stretches eastward to Dog Island, with the best surf concentrated between Perdido Key and Panama City. Highway 98 is the main coastal road in this area and will get you to all but a few beach towns. Past Panama City Beach, navigation gets trickier, as the stretch from Mexico Beach to Apalachicola sticks out into the Gulf like a large elbow and is protected by a series of barrier islands. Recently labeled by some realtor as The Forgotten Coast, this large area below Tallahassee is your last chance for surf before the west coast of Florida turns south toward Key West, in an area called The Big Bend. Made up entirely of saltwater marshes, this region offers no surf at all. It's a great area to go fishing, but the real beaches don't reappear until Clearwater, nearly 200 miles down the coast.
On the Panhandle, swells predominately come from the east and southeast winds associated with winter cold fronts, so, if there are waves, the wind is almost always onshore, and it gets bigger the farther you go in the direction of the wind. There are west swells, but they rarely get big, because the Mississippi Delta is too shallow and there just is not enough distance over deep water to generate waves. The delta also blocks any hurricane swells generated in the northwestern Gulf. Another unusual feature to remember is that the Panhandle is home to one of the least significant tide changes in the world -- a variation of only six inches. While the waves are slightly affected by movement of the tides -- the pass, point and jetty breaks are more susceptible than the beach and pier breaks -- it is mostly an insignificant factor; however, always watch for offshore winds, which are rare and fleeting. If it starts glassing off, get on it before it's gone.
Crowds
There are as many surfers in the Gulf Coast as anywhere, and each town has its own crew of hardcore guys. When it's good, there can be as many as 80 surfers at one spot, especially at the piers and jetties. If you want to surf alone, however, there are miles of deserted beachbreaks between the epicenters. Despite the potential for crowds, there is surprisingly little localism, and dedicated surfers show up at the best spots enough that their faces are just as familiar as the townies'. Sure, it can get aggro at times, but Southern hospitality holds strong in these waters, especially along the Panhandle. Not only do outsiders rarely venture this far, but the Panhandle's main cities -- Pensacola, Fort Walton/Destin and Panama City -- have military bases, and people are constantly migrating, so most locals are actually from somewhere else. On the other hand, the southern Gulf crew gets more protective at times, usually when a storm is brewing in the Gulf and half the East Coast has crossed over to test the rumors.
Hazards
JELLYFISH
Cannonball jellyfish are the size of a football and are harmless, except in large numbers when you trip up a fin on one. The deadly Portuguese man-o-war appears occasionally, but the purple, air-filled sacs floating on top of the water makes them easier to avoid. The moon jellyfish are the most feared, and they are everywhere once they arrive. It's usually the first good hurricane swell, and everyone is desperate for waves. Like floating mines, they strike, torturing each victim with random regularity. You know it from the screams in the lineup: another poor wretch got one draped across his arm or chest. The sick irony is that the Moonies' stings are just bearable enough to stay out surfing, burning for about 20 minutes and then progressing to incessant itching for 20 more.
SHARKS
Makos, hammerheads, white tips, bulls -- you name it. They're everywhere, yet just a handful of attacks have been documented for the entire Florida Gulf Coast since 1882. For years, the last one was in 1988 at Shell Island, Panama City, until the summer of 2000 when a St. Petersburg man was attacked in the Intracoastal Waterway. But the real danger is dodging the tourists and snowbirds (retirees from Canada) while driving to the surf.
RED TIDE
It's rarely a problem, but surfing in it is torture. Symptoms are red, stinging eyes and a burning, hacking, dry cough. If you start coughing uncontrollably when you walk up on the beach, red tide is present. Then, there are more subtle signs, such as dead fish littering the beach. It's probably best to hit the couch and watch a surf video on these days.
STINGRAYS
They are everywhere and can inflict the pain of a nasty, stinging barb in your foot, followed by an agonizing 45-minute ride to the nearest hospital. The best bet is to keep your feet off the bottom as much as possible. Smaller days in the summer are more dangerous. Stingrays seem to avoid the big waves.
LIGHTNING
Florida is the lightning capital of the world. More deaths occur from strikes in these areas than anywhere. The best advice is to vacate the water during a thunderstorm, no matter how good it is -- period.
SUNBURN
Gulf Coast sands are as white as sugar and reflect the sun very strongly. Wear a rash vest, sunscreen and a hat, or suffer the hellfire.
The Seasons
Summer
Typically, the surf in June, July and August is very small or flat, unless a tropical storm or hurricane comes through. There are many days when you can catch pathetic ankle- to waist-high slop on a longboard at any beachbreak, and the jetties may have a small, bouncy, back-washy peak to hop around on; however, in most respects, this is the season of misery for surfers, better known as "100 days of hell."
Florida is considered sub-tropical, and that means hot and humid. In summer, expect 100 percent humidity and average daily temperatures in the 90s. The white, powdery sand is so reflective that it inflicts some of the most severe sunburns anywhere, and the Gulf is like bath water, staying in the mid-80s. Relief only comes when an occasional afternoon thunderstorm blows in to cool things off. These violently powerful lightning storms are spectacular. Large, boiling, black clouds roll through as cooling winds clock around from the north. Afterward, the air is filled with steam rising off the roads.
Every year, during the first week of June, the aptly named June grass appears like aqua-green slime from a '50s B-movie. Surfing in it is like paddling through green, stringy pudding. There are also large quantities of sargassum weed filled with sea nettles. These invisible devil nettles are much like underwater no-see-ums, and make your body itch all over -- not to mention, they cling to your leash like an anchor. The hated jellies show up in July and August and hang out through September, and the grass, weeds and jellyfish finally wash ashore and rot on the beach by October. Still want to come?
Fall
While it's true that the tropical season starts in early summer, the real storm action normally hits September through November. There's nothing like a Gulf Coast hurricane swell. Prevailing winds in October are from the north, and if a tropical groundswell hits the Panhandle as an offshore is blowing, the results are spectacular. It will be big and hollow almost everywhere. The beachbreaks are great -- as long as you can make it to the outside sandbar. Next to the piers, it's even better, and the jetty and point spots are awesome. Plus, the water is still warm enough to require a springsuit at most, and you can wear shorts on most sunny days.
Sadly, hurricanes are a double-edged sword: they bring the best waves, but have a drastic effect on the quality of the sandbars. A classic example is the demise of the Destin Pass. In the '60s and '70s, this place was legendary for producing a perfect 200-yard wave. Following a hurricane in the late '70s, sand filled the mouth of the pass and the place never broke again. For Panhandle surfers, it was like losing Malibu.
Winter
Cold fronts begin sending waves around the first of November and continue through February. Normally, you can count on some kind of surf with almost every cold front, which is about two to three days a week. The cold fronts on the Panhandle slice along the coast, perpendicular to the beach. The heavy east and southeast winds preceding the fronts build the surf up to around 4 feet, and occasionally as big as 6 or 8 feet. As the front passes, the winds clock around to the northwest, providing offshore winds for Destin and Pensacola, and side to offshore winds for Panama City. The problem is, a lot of the cold fronts pass through in the evening or at night, and it can be flat by morning. An early morning offshore wind is a gift from heaven, providing a rare full day of perfection. Further south, the north swells push into the Indian Rocks and Venice Beach breaks, giving those areas their only chance at surf, aside from tropical systems.
Spring
Spring brings the last of the winter storms, with milder conditions and some of the best waves of the year. The last fronts usually peter out by April, but the water becomes warmer -- just make sure you have a springsuit. These last cold fronts move slower, promising more days with waves and, occasionally, calmer winds. The only problem with spring is that it signals the onset of summer and the ensuing battle with flat spells.
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