West Florida 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.
While there are some spots that break farther north (Honeymoon and Caladesi islands, as well as Three Rooker Bar and Anclote Key), few surfers venture out that far, and Clearwater is generally considered the beginning of the Florida Gulf's southern breaks. From there, this region can be divided into three parts: North Tampa Bay area, which runs from Clearwater through Upham Beach; South Tampa Bay area, stretching from Bradenton Beach to Boca Grande; and the Southwestern Gulf, starting on the offshore isle of Sanibel/Captiva and finishing around Naples. Though the beaches below Naples may get surf on occasion, the only spot that's accessible by land, Marco, is generally crap, and trying to tackle the surrounding, shallow passes by boat is sheer lunacy.
With basically two surf conditions -- flat and bumpy -- wave riders along Florida's lower Gulf Coast ain't too proud to beg. Call it the Grovel Coast. Most surf spots are beachbreaks with an outside sandbar for the longboarders and an inside bar for the shortboarders and spongers. In the summer months, the occasional tropical storm may roll up the Gulf and produce chest-high to overhead waves, but with these storms comes a strong littoral current that can make paddling dangerous for all but the fittest of surfers. Winter season brings these surf-starved maniacs a dozen or so strong cold fronts, which come in from the north or northwest and kick up two to three days of ridable waves. The best West Coast surfers can often predict the quality of a cold front-generated swell by how hard it blows from the south the previous day -- old-timers call this phenomenon "feeding the front" -- but the Gulf is also famous for its no-name storms, which appear without warning and always produce waves. With a surf window of only eight to 12 hours at times, it pays to stay informed. The local shop report may say it's flat, but, two hours later, there can be ridable waves. You never know until you go.
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
The dreaded jellyfish is probably the Gulf Coast surfer's worst nightmare. There are three varieties, and they're in Gulf waters year-round, with the high season being late summer or early fall. 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. Statewide, only 18 people have died from sharks in the last 118 years. There were three attacks and two deaths in Pensacola, one attack in the Destin area and nine attacks and two deaths in Panama City. The last one was in 1988 at Shell Island, Panama City. 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
People don't think it gets cold on the Gulf, but it does -- especially along the Panhandle, where air temps drop below zero quite often, and it snows for about an hour every five years. Still, water temperatures hover around 58 degrees for the whole coast, requiring a 3/2 fullsuit and booties -- sometimes even a hood, once air temps dip into the 40s.
Not surprisingly, winter produces the most consistent surf on the Gulf Coast. 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. Further south, the north swells push into the Indian Rocks and Venice Beach breaks, giving them their only chance at surf outside hurricanes.
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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BIG WEDNESDAY
(09/17/04) Florida's Gulf Coast goes fairly mental with Hurricane Ivan |
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