Short Trips: Florabama

The captivating dunes of Florida's Grayton Beach State Park

From the interstate, Montgomery seem like a town with one large building and little else. Few towns can boast the contrasting histories of the Alabama capital. Montgomery boasts an impressive capitol complex, headlined by the 160-year-old capitol itself.

Jefferson Davis took his oath of office as president of the Confederacy from the capitol, the Confederacy’s first (Richmond came later). It’s just a block from the Dexter Avenue King Memorial Baptist Church, where Martin Luther King Jr. was pastor for six years.

It’s weird to see those locations so close together, the Confederate monuments and White House down the street from a church so important to the Civil Rights movement.

Alabama Capitol with the Avenue of Flags

On a balmy Independence Day, the quiet staircases gave little hint of the adversity they hosted. The marches from Selma to the capitol steps in Montgomery turned public opinion and led to passage of the Voting Rights Act.

Other than sun-dappled stone and rippling flags, the nexus of Alabama government could not have been quieter. In a way, that small church, set in the shadow of massive government offices, could not sit in a better spot.

Another striking feature of the capitol grounds was the Avenue of Flags. Arranged in a semi-circle, all 50 states were represented by their flag and a plaque made from stone native to that state. Some were bland, some were striking and it would have been a letdown if Hawaii had not sent a slab of volcanic stone.

South of Montgomery, we left the highway for U.S 331, which would take us all the way to Santa Rosa Beach. We clicked off Luverne, Brantley and Opp before reaching Florala, the last Alabama stop. Picturesque Lake Jackson straddles the state border.

 At 345 feet above sea level, Britton Hill does not have the allure of most states’ highest points. I imagine it gets only visits from high-point completists or serves as the setting for local drug deals, like the one we most likely witnessed this day.

Britton Hill sink frog

Like many flat states, its highest point sits adjacent to higher land in a nearby state (see Mount Sunflower in Kansas). None rise lower than Britton Hill – even Delaware has 20 meters on Florida, as do the lowest points in 16 states.

Britton Hill’s low height compared with states that boast 13’ers and 14’ers does not take away from the pastoral setting. Set in a forested park among the grazing land just south of the Alabama border, the stone marker is simple and quiet. Trails run through the woods. From here, the small verdant hills ripple and roll down to the gulf.

Newborn donkey with mother

It was also a strange draw for wildlife. Mayfly wings ringed the sink drain, and the culprit sat breathing rapidly just below the rim. A tree frog had taken residence in the sink.

When I returned to show Nancy, all we could see of the stout frog was a pair of gangly legs slowly disappearing into one of sink’s overflow holes. A home is a home, I suppose, and as long as the flies remain, this frog could count on a steady diet of thoraxes.

Even farm animals had their moments here. Before we reconnected with 331, we had to stop to watch the donkeys lounging, including a jenny and her foal (yes, I looked those terms up). The foal could not have been more than a week old. Near the barbed wire fence he stood in his mother’s shadow, wobbly legs still trembling. Along with his uncertain gait, the donkey’s fur still seemed grizzled from birth.

With our Florida animal encounters behind us, we breezed through Defuniak Springs, crossed Choctawhatchee Bay and had a Florida vacation to start.

Nancy’s friends Mindy and Leo had just relocated from Nashville to the Panhandle and welcomed us into their new home. Our hosts cooked up piles of fish, brats and chicken, then we departed for the beach.

At Dune Allen Beach, which I could not stop calling Dude Allen Beach, we found a bare patch about 20 feet from the waves; the tide differential far from the Bay of Fundy, so there were no worries about the gulf waters claiming our camping chairs.

Mostly, we just relaxed, watching the waves, the dropping sun and the sea birds flit above the water. The gulf provided a sunset for the ages.

This was not a beach for those with sensitive ears. As daylight vanished, every canopy and cluster of chairs produced a bag of fireworks. Bigger displays in Destin, Seaside and even Panama City could be seen from our perch.

Sitting a few feet from several amateur launchers, we didn’t need them. The whole beach erupted in all manner of amateur light displays. The occasional misfire forced us to move our chairs three times. On the fourth, we just decided to pack the chairs and had back. Our day had started after 3 a.m. and no one got cheated on July 4th fireworks.

 The next morning Dune Allen felt like a different beach. In just a few feet, the water went up to our waists, but a sand bar that stretched hundreds of feet provided some wandering room. Paddleboards, sea kayaks, I almost forgot how salty the water got in the gulf. A few dunkings from Nancy helped to remind me. We had fun wading out on the sand bar. The minnows swam around our feet, albeit not in Balmorhea volumes, and the occasional jellyfish bobbed in the water.

 Before lunch, we departed for Grayton Beach State Park. While seeming like a small fenced off portion of the same beach, the state park was much more. Its magnificent dunes protected a delicate ecosystem of trees that grew sideways and formed mazes in the sand. The path, in many places the only shade in the noonday sun, meandered to a pristine freshwater lake and into a coastal pine forest. Multiple signs warned of alligators and water moccasins but it was a quiet day for reptiles - aside from the snake that slithered up the drainpipe to Mindy and Leo's gutters.

Dunes at Grayton Beach State Park

After driving through Seaside, we headed back toward Santa Rosa Beach, eventually venturing as far as Destin's edges. Grayton Beer Company was closed for renovations, so we opted for a few six-packs of its 30A Blonde and its kolsch-style flagship ale. An obligatory stop for ice cream rounded out the afternoon.

East of Dune Allen, our last meal came at Marie’s Bistro, which had a broad menu with fish and sushi options. The redfish they served won’t be forgotten.

 With eight hours of Interstate 65 awaiting us, we crossed Blackwater River and Pensacola Bay. Winding through less scenic portions of the Panhandle, we reentered into Alabama and the insanity of highways on holiday weekends, when causing an accident is just collateral for trying to get ahead of one more car. Traffic crawled through several rural sections of 65, forcing us onto uneventful secondary roads.

Nancy had warned me that not everything on the Panhandle was the crowded beaches and condo towers of Destin or Panama City. She was right. Down the street from our hosts’ home, a seafood market sold fresh-from-the Gulf meats. We loaded a cooler with grouper, shrimp and alligator sausage before heading home, effectively extending our Panhandle diet through the rest of July.