St. George Island is a 28-mile
long barrier island near the mouth of the Apalachicola River in Franklin
County, Florida. The Dr. Julian G.
Bruce St. George Island State Park occupies the eastern most nine miles of
the island, containing undeveloped shorelines and numerous hiking trails. The last
four miles of the island, and the state park, are gated for the protection of an
ecologically sensitive area. It is open to the public but there is limited
vehicle usage allowed. The limited access, the remoteness, and the chance to
observe nature was an appeal: It was the allure of the secluded.
My first inclination was to walk
the five miles to the end of the island; however, a bike ride afforded me more
time to explore once I arrived at the east end and I would have reserved some
energy for that exploration. The adventure began after Angie dropped me and the
bike off at Sugar Hill Beach area. As I rode the bike through the gate, rap
songs from the early 1980s, by the Sugarhill Gang, played through my head.
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| A ruddy turnstone |
The road was bumpy and desolate.
It was a beautiful day and there was exhilaration in exploration of the remote and barren dunes. I am not used to riding a bike, so I stopped after two miles
into the journey to explore. Thus far I had passed three other cyclists going the other
way. They would be the only people I met on my outbound journey. The island was
becoming very narrow, perhaps only 100 yards to the water from either side of
the road. I walked to the ocean side first and saw several shorebirds. A couple
of Ruddy Turnstones were a little wary of me coming too close, but were largely
unconcerned about my presence. Once I remained still, the turnstone went back
to its business of finding lunch beneath the seaweed that washed ashore.
There is something compelling,
and even satisfying, about crunching shells as I walk. They were all largely
broken anyway – I was not denying collectors a great find or animals a
home. But that crunch is a sound that sticks with me. As I explored the bayside
of the island, it was a different sensation. The sand, textured by the rain of
two days before, providing a wonderful tactile experience on the soles of my
shoes.
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| A tree used in turpentine production |
With a few exceptions there are
not many trees, and virtually all are loblolly pines. Beginning in the 19th-century,
and lasting well into the next, these trees had slashes cut into the trunks in
the shape of “cat-faces” as part of the process to collect sap for the production of turpentine. It was a major industry in Florida's history and led to the acquisition
of the island from Creek Indians in 1803. There are still a few trees visual, in the
State Park, that bears the cat-face marks dating from the 1950s.
My smartphone app indicated that
I had rode 4.4 miles when I arrived at the small parking lot near the east end
of the island. I walked from the parking lot to the point in splendid
isolation. Across the strait, I could make out a few houses on Dog Island, the
next barrier island to the east. Although one can buy a special pass to drive
to the end of St. George Island form the state park, I reveled in the decision
to bike to the end. It allows us to observe and appreciate. As I walked the shoreline, careful to avoid damaging any
dunes, I spied several plovers and willets. Here, on a natural beach with very
little human traffic, sponges were plentiful along the shore. Near the point,
there was a sailboat that had run aground on a sandbar just offshore. As I was
riding out, I saw the mast in the distance and figured that some boaters had
docked in a remote location. I dreaded any interaction with partiers. Walking around the dune, I saw that the
boat was damaged, its mast at a 60-degree angle; I realized that I was still
alone. Later, when leaving the park, I asked Joshua, one of the rangers at the
State Park, how long the boat had been there. It had been abandoned
shortly after running aground a month before, and the owner had decided not to
retrieve it. The park was in the process of declaring it derelict so that it
could be removed. I expressed surprised how much damage had been done to the vessel
in as little as a month. Joshua noted that there was going to be a big job to
remove the boat; water and sand had gotten into it and it was going to be very
heavy to move anywhere.
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| The road to the end (of the island) |
I turned back and walked the
shoreline on the bayside for about a mile or so. I imagined it be the least trafficked part of the island.
But it was disappointing to find how much trash and garbage littered the
shoreline. I found shoes, containers of smokeless tobacco, soft drink cans, and
plastic bottles galore. It ruined the effect of walking in one of the under-explored
places of the state. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful day and a unique experience.
Yet, there was a price to pay for my exploration. That evening, I found that a
tick had burrowed its way into my inner thigh. In removing it, the parasite
took with it a huge chunk of flesh. A small price to pay,
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