Where the Panhandle Meets the Past: A Forgotten Coast Photography Story
Knowing my friend Joanne, I knew she was right when she said I would love the Forgotten Coast of Florida. This stretch of unspoiled shoreline, tucked away from the crowds, felt like a secret I was being let in on. For Joanne, St. George Island is to her what Hatteras Island is to me: a beach you call home, a place so woven into your life that the memories are impossible to count. It's the kind of place where the sand, the waves, and the familiar rhythm of the tides feel like a part of you.
She invited me to join her there in early December, and I eagerly anticipated a much-needed photography getaway. It was a chance to hit reset before the inevitable hustle and bustle of the holidays took hold. I was ready to escape to the calming quiet of the coast.
Sunrise on St. George Island, Florida
Winter days at the beach are a different kind of magic. They are softer, somehow slower than even the long, languid days of summer. The light is diffused, casting a gentle glow over everything it touches. The first morning presented the most beautiful sunrise, a sky painted in soft pastels against the rising sun. The sea below was a study in motion, its surface a textured canvas of wind-carved ripples.
We walked with no particular destination in mind, just enjoying those first rays of morning light warming us against the cold breath of winter. The world felt still and quiet, except for the crash of the waves and the distant cries of shorebirds. In that moment, with my camera in hand, I felt the familiar spark of inspiration—the same feeling I get on my own beloved island. And in that quiet, beautiful morning, I began to understand why St. George Island had captured Joanne’s heart, and why it might just capture mine, too.
One of our first stops was to visit the pelicans that hang out near the docks along the Apalachicola River. These birds, with their prehistoric-looking beaks and wise eyes, were a captivating sight, hoping to catch scraps from the nearby fish houses. The seafood industry has long been the primary industry of this region, and judging by how well-fed these birds were, they are a testament to the area’s enduring fishing culture.
Brown pelicans along the Apalachicola River
The Forgotten Coast refers to the eastern end of the Florida panhandle from Mexico Beach to St. Marks. It’s a region that feels underdeveloped, uncrowded, and wonderfully underappreciated. This rugged charm makes you feel like you’ve stepped back in time. The area was hit hard by Hurricane Michael in 2018, and that storm damage combined with the suspension of the area’s oyster harvest and the pandemic has taken a visible toll on the buildings and the community.
Scenes from Florida’s Forgotten Coast
The beauty of these crumbling pieces of history was a surprising find amidst so much natural beauty. I was drawn to capture the way the weathered buildings were being reclaimed by nature. I was drawn to the quiet beauty in their decay, finding something to appreciate even as they crumbled.
After spending time exploring Apalachicola, we made our way to the tip of Eastpoint for a stunning sunset. It was a perfect introduction to this incredible area. After just a few days of exploring, I came home with far more photos than would ever fit in one blog post.
December Sunset in Eastpoint, Florida
This is the first post in a series about my photography trip to Florida's Forgotten Coast. The story continues…
Part 2: A Photographer's Journey to Florida's Forgotten Coast: The Magic of Scipio Creek & Mill Pond
Part 3: Finding Beauty in the Storm and the Quiet that Follows: A St. George Island Photo Story
