Feb 11, 2010 - Boca Grande

After yesterday’s experience on Captiva, we decided today we had to get up e-a-r-l-y in order to make our 10:00 AM departure for Boca Grande (rhymes with "sand" and means Big Mouth) on Gasparilla Island. But we were so early most of the businesses were still closed, there was almost no traffic at all, and we arrived at the marina about 45 minutes early. Plenty of time to get a cup of coffee.

Like I said yesterday, the low was supposed to be 38 degress. When we left the campground, the car thermometer read 41, so we were glad we bundled up for a trip on the water. I personally had on a fleece vest, fleece jacket, and my thin XC skiing gloves, which allow me to still operate my camera. I felt a little silly, but as it turns out, I needed it all: shortly after we got underway, people who dressed a little too lightly were digging in their backpacks for anything they could find to keep warm: stocking caps, blankets, extra sweatshirts. One woman put a pair of socks on her hands. And this is with all the windows around the deck rolled down and secured to block the wind.



Enroute to Boca Grande



The trip over was fascinating. The captain kept us informed about the plants and wildlife in the area, and filled us in on Captiva Bay’s history. I really enjoy hearing the history. You get all the quirky back stories about the origins of this or that house or business, and hear the exploits (some illegal) of the early residents. And in between narratives, he played great music over the PA system, keeping the Jimmy Bufffet to a minimum. I was personally grateful for that last part. I like JB, and being a sailor, I have LOTS of his music, but one can quickly start to suffer from Buffet Overload in Florida. We dropped some hardy folks off at Casa Cayo State Park so they could spend the next few hours shelling on the beach (we did that last time we were here) and then headed for our final destination. As we approached the marina at Boca Grande, he gave us his recommendations about what to see, where to eat, and how to get around the island once we get there. Golf carts were recommended, and are allowed almost everywhere.

One thing he mentioned as we were approaching the dock was a marina just a short walk from ours: "Whidden’s, a real Old Florida marina." That really got my attention. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Florida, I explained in another post a few days ago what a flexible phrase "Old Florida" is. Our friends opted to rent a golf cart and head downtown, but, sensing photo opps, Beth and I decided to take the short stroll down to see this marina before we hit the shopping areas. We were not disappointed. I will explain, but first a preface:



Boca Grande Range Light

 The marina we landed at was pretty upscale: there were some boats there that a normal un-filthy rich person might be able to enjoy, but for the most part, the clientele here owned huge power boats with stacked decks and fly bridges, like small floating office buildings. The sailboats were obscenely long and immaculately maintained, with multiple sets of mast spreaders and many hundreds of yards of running and standing rigging. I know based on decades of experience that it’s not easy to maintain a sailboat in good condition without massive infusions of either money or time (I spend lots of time.) So believe me when I say these things were the very definition of money pits with propellers. The marina itself had a restaurant with outdoor seating, beautiful tiled restrooms with music (remember, we had coffee before we left), professionally maintained grounds adjacent to the golf course, and a gift shop (surprise!)

Great folks, terrible spellers.


 In stark contrast was Whidden’s: if our point of landing was the Ritz-Carlton, this place was HoJo’s. The boats here weren’t money pits, they were mostly just pits, their decks overflowing with the various stuff that liveaboard boaters need to survive. There were different colored jerry cans filled with either diesel, gas, or water. Lashed to the mast and lifelines were bicycles, generators, kayaks, dinghys, outboard engines, jury-rigged sun shades, and drying laundry. The marina had a single unisex restroom outdoors, which I was not brave enough to look in, and an outdoor unisex shower which looked like it was made from an old shipping container of some sort.


There was no restaurant, but they did have an outdoor table. I think it may have been reserved though, because it had an old boar’s skull placed squarely in the middle of it. The live boars were in a pen out front (Hmm, maybe they do have food here.) There was another pen with goats in it, and ducks and the marina dog wandered around freely. Occasionally the ducks would get bored and start to chase the dog. Old machinery, boat parts, engines, plastic flamingos, cement statues, potted plants in various stages of life and death, and some stuff that was simply no longer identifiable was piled or thrown everywhere. You just could not help gawking. It was hard to keep your jaw from dropping open. My neck was sore from swiveling my head by the time we left. The place was fascinating inside too. They had overflowing shelves of dusty boat parts and fishing "tackel" (see the photo of their sign.) There was a small museum attached too, full of old photos, ship’s logs, antique outboard motors and old obsolete electronics. I think I have some old stuff in my garage at home that would make a great addition to the museum’s displays.



It might have been a little unorganized, but it was not an unfriendly place. Far from it. When I approached hesitantly, camera cocked and ready, we were told by one resident to feel free to walk the docks and look around. Another fella looked up from changing his truck’s oil to give us a wave and a howdy as we passed. No one failed to say hi. The boars grunted, and goats bleated as we passed. The ducks even quacked and posed for me while I took their picture. I blame them for making the dog a nervous wreck, though, because he mostly hid from us under whatever convenient clump of rusty junk he could find whenever we got too close.

I like this place.

Then we headed downtown to the real tourist area. Beth got herself a new t-shirt. I got myself a strawberry colada ice cream cone from the Pink Pony Ice Cream Company. My buddy Floyd called me and offered to pick us up on their golf cart to go out to see the lighthouse. We took a short walk on the beach. We’d like to come back here when we are able to spend some time. Maybe they have a campground nearby.

Later that evening we met Beth’s aunt and uncle, who have a winter place in Fort Myers, and went to Buckets for dinner. It’s sort of a sports bar that serves mostly chicken wings, which you order by bucket size. Normally not a fan of chicken wings, I have to say that these things are simply succulent. We were here once before a couple of years ago with her uncle and aunt, and one thing I had forgotten about since then was the fact that the waitresses here wear the tiniest hot pants you have ever seen. When I said so out loud, my buddy Floyd rolled his eyes, said flat out that he didn’t believe I had forgotten about the waitresses, and implied I was just saying that for Beth’s sake. (Actually, what he said was, "Oh, bull#^@^!") He also called me one smooth operator, and gave me a fist bump for making the comment.

All in all, it was a great day with nice sunny skies. It even warmed up enough that I was able to shed my gloves and one layer of fleece. Tomorrow is supposed to rain, so we’ll probably stick around and do laundry. We may even go to bingo tonight. Egads.  



Whidden's Marina



Whidden's

 

Beth likes pirates ...

At Whidden's Marina
























At Whidden's Marina






At Whidden's Marina