Sanibel Island keeps its sunny disposition

Hidden under a canopy of Australian pines and a substantial bit of shrubbery, southwest Florida's Sanibel Island was once a place of peace and serenity, offering tourists and locals a respite from the hustle and bustle of mainland life.

Of course, nothing stays the same. Such is the case of this hideaway following the devastation of Hurricane Charley, which ripped through with a vengeance last August, but couldn't -- no matter how hard it blew -- take away Sanibel's spirit.

It may not be the same shaded spot it once was, but its new, somewhat sunnier disposition is a new force to be reckoned with.

From the moment you pass through the tollbooth and over the causeway to the island, there's an attitude adjustment that takes place. Things are slower, things are friendlier and, yes, quite a bit sunnier.

At first there's the stark reminder of trees being ripped from the ground and tossed like toothpicks across the island. You remember an island cloaked in greenery. But there's something else. Look skyward to the crystal blue above, and the question quickly arises: "Has Sanibel always seemed this close to heaven, or is it something new?"

This newfound brightness seems to enhance all the gifts this island has to offer. And, oh, the treasures one can find. From seashells to endangered wildlife, Sanibel and Captiva islands offer more than 15 miles of beaches to comb, or just sit around and contemplate.

My pint-sized partner and I started the day at Sanibel Island's famous lighthouse. Like much of Sanibel, this beacon of brightness used to be hidden behind a wall of greenery, but this weathered, metal piece of history is now visible from the main drag, Periwinkle Way. It was lit in August 1884 and the first permanent English- speaking settlers on Sanibel were snowbirds, if you can believe it - - residents of New York who came in 1883 as part of a colony.

Taking in a little history is always good, but you can't explore Sanibel without sand immersion -- at least with the toes.

"That feels good," one beachgoer announced as he wiggled his naked digits into the sand. This same person was brave enough to walk knee-high into the surf. I shivered at the thought. It was a pleasant 70-something with a pretty good breeze, but the water felt icy.

Still, there were a few brave souls swimming in the surf, enjoying their day at the beach. We chose to comb the sand for shells, though, picking through a variety of specimens: the ever- popular Florida fighting conch, a few calico scallops, an almost- perfect pear whelk and a few common slippersnails. And we learned what's known as the "Sanibel stoop," as dozens of people hunched over with plastic baggies of all shapes and sizes scooped up shells alongside us.

Shelling only lasts so long for some (especially those young enough to want to run), so my partner and I raced to the pier to see what the fishermen were catching.

"Not much," one brave gent sans shirt said, smiling a familiar grin. It was one of those, "I don't care if I don't catch a thing, except a cold. I'm here to have fun."

Something was bringing in a good catch, though. About a half- dozen pelicans danced in the sky, dive-bombing into the almost- emerald water as they seized their midday meals.

"It looks like they're posing for us," my companion said. And that they did, as if on cue one lone pelican, with wings outstretched, balanced himself in the wind within arm's reach. A drop of water fell from his beak and landed gently on my cheek.

Watching birds hunt for food made us hungry, too, and we retreated to the nearest seafood joint to gorge ourselves, just like pelicans.

Working off fried seafood is a must, and a bicycle ride did the trick. We rented a bicycle built for two -- a bright yellow one with a navy canopy -- and trundled around the island for an hour.

More than once we blocked the way of pedestrians and cyclists alike. Mostly there were smiles, waves, even a laugh from one vacationer who just had to comment, "Not enough turning radius on that thing," as he laughed hysterically from the comfort of his truck.

Yup. We were novices and not moving very swiftly. Thank goodness it was only an hour, as my companion pooped out about halfway back to the bike-rental place.

As a way to relax after cycling, we figured we needed to learn more about the shells we'd recovered from the sands of Sanibel. The Bailey-Matthews Shell Museum on Sanibel-Captiva Road offers the most comprehensive explanations in the area.

Our docent, Sheila, was more than knowledgeable about the treasures stored here, offering my companion a treasure hunt to see if he could find eight different shells within the Great Hall of Shells Exhibits. He took the challenge, although the search took almost as long as it did to find them along the beaches.

Sheila smiled at our naivete and pointed us to an exhibit on local shells that stated: "Not always perfect, not always beautiful, but your very own gifts from the sea."

That pretty much summed up our Sanibel stooping.

After a 30-minute primer on mollusks, my partner in crime had had enough intellectual stimulation and was ready and raring to see more wildlife.

We piled back into the car and headed toward "Ding" Darling Wildlife Refuge. As we reached the gate, I looked back to ask a question -- and noticed my companion had fallen fast asleep in the backseat. So much for completing our mission.

That's OK, though. What's so great about sunny Sanibel is it's always here, awaiting the next exploration.

Copyright C 2005 Deseret News Publishing Co.
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