by Adele Woodyard
As a travel writer, where I spend the night while on a trip largely depends on if it’s with a media group or on my own. Either way it can be quite an adventure in itself. On someone else’s nickel, I’ve been tucked into such places as a two-bedroom two bath condo on a beach; an ultra-upscale hotel room with marble bath and crystal chandelier; a former schoolhouse complete with lockers; and an 1800s two room shack, fortunately with modern bath. But when it’s out of my own pocket, it’s a cheapie like Motel 6, or even better, a tent. Until that is, last week, when I drove to the Florida Panhandle and divided my nights between a cabin and a B& B.
Even as a tent camper I thought of a cabin, if I considered it at all, as a rustic building with few amenities, similar to one I was in as a kid. Vacationing on Cape Cod, we had a hand pump at the sink for water, kerosene lamps for light, and an outhouse in the back yard. But it was on a lake, and I loved rowing a boat by myself in the early mornings, when the only sound was bird chirps and the swish of the oars.
Like that one, the log cabin I just rented for two nights on Lake Seminole has pine paneled walls, but that’s where the similarity ends. The Three Rivers State Park cabin has a fully equipped kitchen with microwave as well as a stove and refrigerator. Air conditioning, ceiling fans, bathroom with shower, a wood-burning fireplace, bedroom with double bed, and a loft built for young kids–or adult midgets, make up the rest. The screened porch with its own table and two rocking chairs is the perfect spot to relax with a glass of wine and watch the sunset reflect on the lake. I may miss no Internet but no TV is a blessing. Only the whisper of wind in the pines, the thunk of cones on the tin roof, break the silence.
RV’s and one tent are scattered beneath the trees around us, visitors here for a weekend in search of largemouth bass. Located near the Georgia line, Lake Seminole is not a place for swimming. From the wooden piers at its edge, we can see long black shadows drifting beneath the surface, big gators looking for a meal at dusk. “The babies stay pretty close to shore,” volunteer camp host Babbette tells us. “They hide in the reeds, and the mamas stay nearby.” We decide not to rent a canoe.
Florida boasts one of the top state parks systems in the nation. Over 21 million visitors enjoyed them in the fiscal year July 2008-2009, and 19 of the 60 or more with campgrounds have cabins. Though this one at Three Rivers State Park require guests to furnish their own linens, most come fully equipped and newest ones may even have a dishwasher. However, if you really want to rough it while you get away from it all, Hontoon Island on the St. Johns River offers only bare necessities, like an electric light and ceiling fan. The ones on Cayo Costa State Park, a barrier island near Fort Myers, have even less. Both parks are only accessible by private boat or island ferry.
My third night is spent in a B & B in Carrabelle, a town on the Gulf side of the Panhandle that calls itself the Forgotten Coast. With its double deck wraparound porches, white paint walls and hot pink trim, half-hidden by tall, tropical greenery, the Old Carrabelle Hotel reminds me of Key West. That impression continues from the Monkey Bar lounge, upstairs to the four bedrooms. White wicker furniture, pink walls, blaze of flowers, soaps and tropical fish doodads, in my room and bath continues the color scheme. Of course, there’s a TV. Unlike the cabin, it’s in the center of a town convenient to everything, yet so small there’s no traffic light.
Both the cabin and the hotel make excellent bases for day trips. At $72.48 ($65 + 11.5% taxes) for the cabin, high $70s – low $100s (depending on season) with breakfast vouchers, for the B&B, even the prices are comparable. My one regret in both cases, was that my stay had to be so very short.
www.floridastateparks.org/threerivers ; www.oldcarrabellehotel.com
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