Drive south from Fort Lauderdale's wall of glass towers and the skyline abruptly vanishes at Dr. Von D. Mizell-Eula Johnson State Park Beach. Here, 1.3 miles of Atlantic coast remain stubbornly undeveloped—no boardwalk kiosks, no tiki bars, just dunes stitched with sea oats and the rhythmic crash of waves on coarse sand. Named for two civil rights pioneers who fought for equal access to Florida's beaches, the park shelters the county's last intact coastal ecosystem: mangrove-lined lagoons, maritime hammock thick with gumbo limbo and strangler fig, and nesting grounds for loggerhead and leatherback turtles that crawl ashore each summer under cover of darkness.
“This is the only undeveloped beach left in Broward County, a living archive of Florida's pre-condo coastline.”
Credit: UnsplashCrystal lagoon with rocky outcrop
You'll wade into surf that feels wilder than beaches a few miles north—the absence of jetties and dredging means sandbars shift with each storm, and waves break with unpredictable energy. Pelicans fold their wings and plunge just beyond the breakers. Families spread blankets near the pavilion while serious anglers work the jetty at the park's north end, hauling in snook and tarpon as the tide turns.
By late afternoon, the sun sinks toward the Intracoastal Waterway behind you, backlighting the mangroves in amber and rose. Ospreys return to their nests, and the beach empties except for a few walkers tracing the waterline. It's the kind of quiet that reminds you what South Florida looked like before the boom—raw, resilient, and worth protecting.
