The Art of Decadence

My Clearwater Beach accommodations were superbly located. There were two rooms arranged front-to back, so every unit had a porch or balcony and a broad view of the beach. The front room consisted of a galley kitchen and sitting area; the bedroom and bath were located at the back. Across a small parking lot was the beach--six miles long, one hundred yards wide, pure white glistening sand.

Next door was the Palm Pavilion, a beachside bar and grill that offers about everything a man could ever need. Every morning the Palm set out a row of brightly-colored cabanas with wooden desk chairs, but, never afraid to rough it, I made do with a beach umbrella and a chaise lounge.
On a typical morning I’d throw on a t-shirt and bathing suit and walk south along the beach until I felt like breakfast. Then I’d follow a right-of way a short distance to Mandalay Avenue and choose from one of the small restaurants that lined the street. I’d usually eat outdoors.

Then it would be time for serious beach duty. For a New Englander, the water was easily warm enough for swimming. On several occasions I was able to help Midwesterners identify beachcombing finds. I’m not sure that the guy who thought he’d found a horseshoe crab was pleased to learn it was only a pen shell.

I’d saved Annie Proulx’s new short story collection, Bad Dirt, for this trip, and thoroughly enjoyed the antics of her new collection of Wyoming characters. Lunch usually consisted of spring water and fresh fruit, followed by my siesta under the umbrella.

After the beach, it was time to shower and shave for Happy Hour at the Seaside Restaurant’s outdoor bar. I got to know the seaside staff well enough that they’d start shucking oysters at my approach. I estimate that I slurped down eleven dozen (at $3.99) of the delicate bivalves, suitably adorned with lemon and horseradish sauce and chased with draft beer in a frosted mug. People were friendly at the Seaside, and on most days I’d linger for post-prandial conversation. After all, I had both Patriots and Red Sox to brag about. (2006 update: "We look before and after/And pine for what is not"--Shelley)

I would then head for Pier 60, where the 2 hours leading up to the sunset involve daily celebrations. I saw some exquisite musicians there, particular a band of good ole boys who blistered their way through the Allman Brothers’ “Dreams” and Hendrix’s “Hey Joe”. The sunset, always different, always spectacular, was cheered from every establishment along the beach.

For dinner I tried a number of the local restaurants, and I found the best meal in Crabby Bill’s--oysters again, this time fried, with a great salad. Bill’s also cooks your own fresh-caught fish and serves it to you with cole slaw and fries for seven dollars.

The Palm Pavilion

Evenings almost always found me at the Palm Pavilion, enjoying live music and the convivial clientele, about equally divided between locals and vacationers. It was fascinating to watch a kindergarten teacher from Iowa dancing to “Sweet Home Alabama”. with a biker from Seminole. There are no strangers at the Palm--as soon as you sit down, you are part of the group, and Taylor behind the bar remembers your name and drink.

On my second night at the Palm, I was an unofficial judge in an usual contest. The object was to pinch three quarters between the cheeks of your buttocks (yes, wearing pants) and to drop them into a nearby cup. I did not participate as a contestant, because, being Irish, I am typically untalented in that area.


It had never occurred to me that the most memorable aspect of my little Florida escapade would be the sunsets. I can't identify the object in the center of the sun in the first photo, but I'm going to think of it as a firebird. Oh, all right--it's a kite.

These photographs were taken from the porch of my accommodation. They are of one sunset, but each evening brought a different display. One night was foggy, one cloudy, all spectacular in their way.

The sunsets are cheered from the veranda of the Palm Pavilion next door. A half-mile down the beach, every sunset is celebrated at Pier 60. Local artisans display their wares, reggae and Southern blues bands play live, and children climb into the maw of a giant inflatable great white shark.

Gone Fishin’, You Betcha

One of my vacation priorities was to get out on the Gulf, so I signed on to a 36 footer called The 2 C’s for some grouper fishing. I was joined by three other scalawags who were just as enamored of the salt as I was.

We arrived at the boat before dawn. The harbor was shrouded in mist when we left at first light, but the captain was confident in his knowledge of the waters and his mastery of the Loran. The docks were a bit eerie as we passed by, but the moist air only seemed to enhance the sunrise as it trailed across our wake.
Three of us, two from Massachusetts and one from Delaware, were old hands at ocean fishing. The fourth member of the crew was Tim from Minnesota. Tim lived about 60 miles north of the twin cities, and was a devoted fisherman of Minnesota’s lakes, especially Lake of the Woods on the Canadian border (no, he hadn’t heard of the Tim O’Brien book bearing that name).

It was great having Tim aboard. I had never heard a genuine Minnesotan before, and let me tell you, my Boston accent has no match for his dialect. “This is a great boot, don’tcha know,” he intoned. “We’ll be getting’ after some big fish, by golly. At home we go fer dem walleye, you know. Dere a good eatin’ fish, dem walleye, you betcha.”

Most of our catch turned out to be grunts. I would’ve thrown them back, but the captain wanted them. When we did catch a grouper, they often didn’t reach the legal limit (I believe it was 22” for brown grouper, 21” for red. We moved frequently, because grouper are near the top of the food chain, and once you catch the big daddy at one rock pile, it’s time to move on to the next.

Early in the afternoon we headed back toward the harbor. On the way in, we broke out sandwiches and beer. I kept one iced fillet from one of the keepers, and that evening brought it to Crabby Bill’s, where it was served to me deliciously broiled with salad, fries, and key lime pie.