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After three relaxed days in Tallahasse we headed south for the Gulf Coast, seeking a night or two in a quiet place with a sea view and easy access to the sand for a beach walk. We hadn't gone far — Tallahasse's suburb don't extend far — when we got a taste of the South of Erskine Caldwell in the form of a grave yard for old cars. As we drove through a scrub pine forest, there to our right, almost as if they were dinosaur bones revealed by the erosion of a recent storm, were several dozen cars from 1940 and earlier. It reminded us of the broken down old house on the route of Lee's retreat in Virginia with its ancient piano the only thing recognizable among the wreckage.

At St. Marks (not the same as Castillo San Marcos) we got as close to the beach and Gulf as we could before we had to turn west. Our hope was to get a place at St Joseph State Beach; in the New York Times travel section we had read that it had the quiet and sand we wanted. If we were to find a place before then — after all, we were entering terra incognita -- that would please us too.

As we were used to the development, or over development, of Florida's Atlantic and West coasts we were a bit surprised to find how sparsely settled was the part of the panhandle that we first came to. We sort of felt that as far as development went, it was a throwback to the 1940s, somewhat matching the junk cars we had seen.

Just after we passed the Apalachicola River we made a wrong but fortunate turn and came to the visitor center for the St Vincent National Wildlife Refuge. Until then we had not known of its existence and certainly didn't know, as the map there said, that "the refuge, established in 1968, contains 12,490 acres of which the primary feature is St Vincent Island, a four by nine mile, 12,358 acre unspined barrier island in Apalachicola Bay. In addition the refuge includes an 86-acre mainland tract and 46-acre Pig Island ."

The sign also said access to St Vincent Island is by private boat only; we weren't too likely to charter one to see the wildlife, so we did the next best thing: went into the visitor center for an hour. For a small place it was well done and we got familiar indeed with some of the various creatures that are in the area.

Just opposite the visitor center is a small harbor or marina. It seemed to have both commercial fishing boats and charter boats, e.g. for going to St Vincents's Island. For us it was an abstract thing, filled with many colors in many shapes. While in the visitor center we got help as to the exact name of the state park we were trying to reach. A phone call quickly disabused us of the idea that we might get a place on short notice; it seems that reservations are normally made a year ahead of time.

We drove over there anyway and found that the park is on a long spit of land. The five miles consists of small home after small home. We reversed ourselves and got to the main route and continued on our way, still thinking we might find something on the coast. On we went through Port St Joe, Panama City, Miramar Beach, Fort Walton Beach, and many other places, large and small, all new to us never finding that perfect beachfront place to stay: quiet and with a good view. Initially the problem was that there weren't any or hardly any beach front properties. And then, as we got farther west there were too many; the atmosphere of concentrated tourism wasn't what we were looking for. Things weren't helped by the fact Spring Break was in full force on Florida's gulf coast too.

Finally we were in the outskirts of Pensacola and gave up the idea of ocean front to settle for a humdrum motel in the city for our last night in Florida.