From The PNJ
Don't steal our public beaches
Storms lacerate the thin fragile Isle de Santa Rosa, a 48-mile, natural finger of barrier sand and protective partner to the mainland. Then, nature bounces back, restructures itself with sand sculpture and seascape serenity.
But we humans tamper with the natural delicacies, trying to engineer Mother Nature’s architecture, accommodating human pleasures.
After storms, we scrape up from the Gulf artificial dunes; sands fall through our fingers like Jell-O in our impatience. Mother Nature does not observe human haste and whim. We sink concrete barriers on a shifting rope of quartz sand, defying natural rhythms; the sand squirts somewhere else, eating another erosion pattern.
In the 1950s, having unwisely tossed Santa Rosa County an inexpensive lease to Navarre Beach, we wanted Pensacola Beach to be Miami Beach, a perception of Gold Coast glitter with greenbacks. It was premature. Like the island itself, a carnival at water’s edge was slow to come, for the laid-back West Florida Gulf Coast was still Forgotten Florida.
By the 1960s we envisioned Pensacola Beach as a tourist destination – thousands overloading the island and flattening dune patterns into red clay-bottomed asphalt. Cottages and condos march Gulfward, mashing down dunes as if nature’s storm-defense system – beautiful in the eyes of many – blocked the path to prosperity.
Then, the environmental age caused a look-see at what we were doing to ourselves. We want Pensacola Beach to be our beach – we own it, deeded to the people; one of our treasures. Some see Pensacola Beach as a real estate transaction or could-be residential municipality. Colliding forces – those treasuring the island’s natural beauty and serenity for everyone and those, if allowed – transforming Pensacola Beach into a forest of highrises for those who can pay the freight.
We thunder that beach leaseholders should pay taxes. But they have contracts, many written and signed in the ’40s and ’50s when the Santa Rosa Island Authority was trying to entice Pensacolians to build at Pensacola Beach. We heard the old fears of the Big Sixes storms – 1906, 1916 and 1926 – shattering Pensacola’s bayfront to splinters and tidal surges buried the island and parts of the Santa Rosa peninsula, especially where Gulf Breeze would be built.
The battle for Gulf Islands National Seashore crystallized the commercial worth of the three developed portions of the island – Pensacola Beach, Navarre and Okaloosa Island. Today new beach leaseholders build residences, many more than $1 million, with tax collectors at the front door. Now, will Congress negate leases, ending public ownership? Will Pensacola and Navarre beaches go the way of Okaloosa Island, where public beach is virtually nonexistent?
So, on the Isle de Santa Rosa, unpredictable, controllable nature faces the human dimension, energized market forces and political expediency, buoyed by court-validated taxes on Santa Rosa Island leaseholders. Now, the revival of the old idea of private ownership. And obviously a private beach. I hear echoes: “Don’t let them steal our beach.”
Don't steal our public beaches
Storms lacerate the thin fragile Isle de Santa Rosa, a 48-mile, natural finger of barrier sand and protective partner to the mainland. Then, nature bounces back, restructures itself with sand sculpture and seascape serenity.
But we humans tamper with the natural delicacies, trying to engineer Mother Nature’s architecture, accommodating human pleasures.
After storms, we scrape up from the Gulf artificial dunes; sands fall through our fingers like Jell-O in our impatience. Mother Nature does not observe human haste and whim. We sink concrete barriers on a shifting rope of quartz sand, defying natural rhythms; the sand squirts somewhere else, eating another erosion pattern.
In the 1950s, having unwisely tossed Santa Rosa County an inexpensive lease to Navarre Beach, we wanted Pensacola Beach to be Miami Beach, a perception of Gold Coast glitter with greenbacks. It was premature. Like the island itself, a carnival at water’s edge was slow to come, for the laid-back West Florida Gulf Coast was still Forgotten Florida.
By the 1960s we envisioned Pensacola Beach as a tourist destination – thousands overloading the island and flattening dune patterns into red clay-bottomed asphalt. Cottages and condos march Gulfward, mashing down dunes as if nature’s storm-defense system – beautiful in the eyes of many – blocked the path to prosperity.
Then, the environmental age caused a look-see at what we were doing to ourselves. We want Pensacola Beach to be our beach – we own it, deeded to the people; one of our treasures. Some see Pensacola Beach as a real estate transaction or could-be residential municipality. Colliding forces – those treasuring the island’s natural beauty and serenity for everyone and those, if allowed – transforming Pensacola Beach into a forest of highrises for those who can pay the freight.
We thunder that beach leaseholders should pay taxes. But they have contracts, many written and signed in the ’40s and ’50s when the Santa Rosa Island Authority was trying to entice Pensacolians to build at Pensacola Beach. We heard the old fears of the Big Sixes storms – 1906, 1916 and 1926 – shattering Pensacola’s bayfront to splinters and tidal surges buried the island and parts of the Santa Rosa peninsula, especially where Gulf Breeze would be built.
The battle for Gulf Islands National Seashore crystallized the commercial worth of the three developed portions of the island – Pensacola Beach, Navarre and Okaloosa Island. Today new beach leaseholders build residences, many more than $1 million, with tax collectors at the front door. Now, will Congress negate leases, ending public ownership? Will Pensacola and Navarre beaches go the way of Okaloosa Island, where public beach is virtually nonexistent?
So, on the Isle de Santa Rosa, unpredictable, controllable nature faces the human dimension, energized market forces and political expediency, buoyed by court-validated taxes on Santa Rosa Island leaseholders. Now, the revival of the old idea of private ownership. And obviously a private beach. I hear echoes: “Don’t let them steal our beach.”