The causeway curves over St. Joseph Sound, depositing you on an island that feels like Old Florida before the high-rises. You park beneath Australian pines—invasive, yes, but their whisper in the Gulf breeze is hypnotic—and walk barefoot across shell-flecked sand that squeaks underfoot. The water arrives in pale green ruffles, warm as bathwater even in January, shallow enough that toddlers splash unsupervised while parents sink into beach chairs.
“One of Florida's few state park beaches where your dog can swim off-leash in designated areas while ospreys fish overhead.”
Credit: Flickrhoneymoon island
Pelican Cove sits at the island's northern tip, accessible via a nature trail that winds through coastal hammock where gopher tortoises lumber across the path and monarchs rest on sea grape leaves. The beach here curves into a protected pocket where the current slows, depositing sand dollars and lightning whelks at the tideline. On weekends, families claim picnic pavilions near the restrooms while dogs sprint across the designated pet beach, kicking up rooster tails of sand.
Sunset pulls everyone west. You'll stand in six inches of water as the sky ignites—tangerine bleeding into magenta—while a heron fishes motionless nearby. The light gilds the sea oats, turns the sand to copper, and reminds you why this island earned its name. Couples hold hands. Strangers smile. The Gulf exhales, and for a moment, nothing else matters.
