Sanibel Journal

I begin my morning walk by just ambling down the lane on the hushed and heavily wooded Porpoise Point, heading south along the aptly named Coconut Drive.   On  breezy days like this, I avoid walking directly beneath the taller, fruit-laden coconut trees.    One day last week, a cannonball-size coconut fell to the pavement right in front of my car as I drove home on Coconut Drive.   The impact was so great that a gush of coconut water shot up from the cracked husk.   I felt blessed that I was no longer driving a Miata, but a CX-3 instead. As I began my walk this morning, I thought about which route to take.   On a windy day, I might not opt to walk on the beach because I do not wish to be sandblasted. Being sandblasted hurts.   But this morning was simply breezy in a blustery way.   When I could see Sunset Bay as I passed the cute, old beach cottages across from Castaways Lane, I could see the exposed sandbar.   Hmmm. Tide is low, I thought.   In spite of the breeziness, I dec

September 30, 2016 -- My new Autumn routine includes a 3-mile walk early in the morning, in addition to my usual 2-kilometer swim in the pool at mid-day.  The walk always includes at least a few minutes on the beach; the rest is along the shared-use path. If conditions are good (low-ish tide, no rainstorms threatening, not too much hot sun), I will walk on the beach the entire way to the trail head on Silver Key.  There, I can either take the trail or continue along the beach. Continuing along the beach requires some nimble maneuvering around, through, and over some dead trees -- trees whose lives were claimed by the Gulf of Mexico. Looking out at the Gulf from the opening at Old Blind Pass this morning The great reward, after maneuvering through the trees-turned-into-driftwood-statues, is that I reach the point where Clam Bayou/Old Blind Pass now meet the Gulf of Mexico.  For years, this meeting of the waters did not exist; the sandy beach separated the bayous from the Gulf.