Between islands, caves, and springs, there are no shortage of wondrous ways to get wet along Florida’s Gulf Coast.
9 Watery Wonders on Florida’s Gulf Coast

For inland states, hiking trails make mountains, valleys, and deserts accessible natural playgrounds for the outdoorsy among us. In Florida’s case, its endless waterways are made enjoyable by programs like the Blue Calusa Waterway.

This network of inlets and rivers off of Cape Coral—where several islands just off the coast converge at the intersection of an inland estuary—forms nearly 200 miles of marked saltwater kayaking and canoeing “trails” broken into three sections. Visitors can meander through the dense mangrove forests of Pine Island Sound; check out ancient Native American shell mounds at Mound Key or find a private island in Estero Bay; or go dock-hopping and creek-seeking along the Caloosahatchee River and its tributaries. 

You don’t have to be a professional paddler (beginners welcome) to enjoy any of the Blueway’s routes, but you may want to brush up on your Florida fauna if you want to identify any of the manatees, dolphins, and birds you’re likely to see along the way. With about 40 launch points along the sprawling network, there’s plenty of ways to cruise the Calusa on your way through Cape Coral.

The Sunshine State is home to more than 1,000 natural springs, but only one with naturally occurring mineral properties—an ancient water feature whose unique mineral makeup has changed the very town around it in ways you might not expect.

Around 30,000 years ago, the springs were actually a subterranean cave, evidenced by stalactites and stalagmites found deep underwater. Further mid-century, archeological dives uncovered the bones of prehistoric humans, giant sloths, mammoths, and mastodons as well, preserved by the 6 million gallons of mineralized water that gushes forth on a daily basis. While the spring may or may not be the “Fountain of Youth” that Juan Ponce de Leon so eagerly sought centuries ago, its purportedly restorative properties are certainly of international consequence. Since its early days as an attraction in the 1950s, immigrants from the many bathing-adjacent cultures of Eastern Europe began retiring or relocating here just for the springs, which boast over 50 mineral components and hover around 84°F year-round. So consistent was the draw, that Eastern Europeans now make up a significant portion of the local population.

To bathe like a local, come with a bathing suit, towel, bucket hat, and pool noodle (and maybe brush up on your Russian). Regulars will amble clockwise in groups along the outer edge of the spring—getting the blood flowing and trading town gossip—before wading out to the center of the spring to float in stillness, taking in the sun and absorbing rare minerals in their quest for eternal youth.

Between VR experiences that allow visitors to swim with humpback whales and tiger sharks, and touch tanks housing stingrays, sea cucumbers, and starfish, the Mote Marine Lab & Aquarium is both vibrant and interactive. Perhaps the aquarium’s most fascinating specimen, however, lies in a formaldehyde bath.

As cute as her name may be, Molly the Mollusk is no one you’d want to run into in the open ocean. She’s a 27-foot long giant squid accidentally caught off the southern coast of New Zealand in 1999. While she died in the accident, her remains were donated to the Mote Aquarium, where she rests to this day in her very own dedicated space. 

She now floats in an elongated, formaldehyde-filled tank, within a room whose walls outline our long-held fascination with deep-sea life and the lore that it created before specimens like Molly became accessible to us land-dwellers. Even behind thick tank walls, having been deceased for decades, an up-close look at her sheer scale is enough to give one pause.

If her slumber is too sedate, try the more active outdoor tanks to come face-to-face with an array of sharks, sea turtles, and manatees.

In Florida, mermaids are real. So are mermen. In fact, they perform twice daily at Weeki Wachee Springs State Park—and you don’t even have to hold your breath to watch the show.

This tiny town has been home to its very own troupe of mermaids since the 1940s, when a retired naval officer devised a clever way to breathe underwater without the fuss of scuba gear. The mermaids perform with long rubber hoses hooked up to air compressors, taking discreet sips of air throughout their repertoire of shows—of which the Little Mermaid is a reliable centerpiece. And while it may appear that the show is taking place in a tank, it’s actually a somewhat naturally occurring “stage.” 

The Weeki Wachee mermaids perform in a 185-foot deep spring whose crystal clear waters bustle with ambient sea life—it’s the 400-seat theater, rather, that’s built into the side of the spring. Fish, turtles, and even manatees have been known to make surprise appearances in daily showings. 

Weeki Wachee offers a timeless slice of Americana and one that aspiring mermaids and -men the world over have long sought to achieve their inner fish.

The vegetated outcropping now known as “Monkey Island” was once simply a pile of submerged rocks in the Homosassa River on which local boaters frequently ran aground. While accounts differ, it seems the fumbling of one man’s solution turned this mere inconvenience into both an even greater inconvenience and a home for a handful of spider monkeys.

It started in the 1960s. Filling out the rock pile with dirt—so as to make the hazard visibly unmissable—seemed simple enough, but when an overzealous work crew piled on too much dirt, the island was born, warranting a lighthouse to warn boaters of the larger hazard this botched solution created. At around the same time, monkeys recently introduced to a nearby nature attraction began to prove a nuisance, pickpocketing visitors and stealing candy from children. 

The monkeys were therefore banished to this accidentally created, unpopulated tiny island, which was summarily bedecked with palm trees, rope swings, hammocks, and several platforms on which the island’s newest residents could live and play. Today, visitors can see Ralph, Ebony, and Emily—descendants of the island’s first inhabitants—sauntering about their private property, feeding several times daily on a dedicated volunteer’s menu of bananas and vegetables.

While visiting the island is strictly prohibited, boaters and paddlers are free to circle the island to catch a glimpse of the monkeys' quotidian life up-close. For the boatless, the riverfront Monkey Bar—a mere 40 yards from the shores of Monkey Island—serves a mean pizza and a spread of local brews.

Driving down the long, rural straightaways of Williston, Florida, you might be surprised to see a red-and-white scuba flag proudly waving beside a sleepy dirt road. It’s 50 miles from the coast and even farther from the closest lake, but in Florida, water always finds a way.

This truly one-of-a-kind diving facility sits within a karst window, in which the roof of a 75,000-year old subterranean cave has collapsed, exposing the previously underground aquifer to the surface. In other words, it’s a water-filled cave with a window in the center of the roof. Rich sunlight and lush vegetation spill into the cave, illuminating the waters below to a radiant, Neptune blue. On “cold” winter mornings, the warmer 72°F water escapes the cave in the form of a hellish-looking steam, hence the name “Devil’s Den.” 

Visitors with scuba certifications may explore depths of up to 54 feet (and even deeper following big rains), with the only rule being that any fossils found must remain in place. Those with snorkeling gear are also welcome to explore shallower depths of this ancient water feature.

Much like Devil’s Den, the spring-fed waters here remain a steady 72°F year-round, but this water system attracts an altogether different mammal than human divers: in the colder months, the waterways of Manatee Springs are teeming with 10-foot long, half-ton West Indian manatees keeping warm when the Gulf gets brisk. 

The springs here are first-magnitude, meaning that every day, about 100 million gallons of freshwater are pumped into the area, making this National Natural Landmark a long-popular swimming spot for visitors, that is, until the cold comes and the manatees take over. While swimming during colder months is prohibited, visitors are free to kayak with the manatees, creatures known for being social and largely undeterred by human activity.

The park also offers 8.5 miles of riverside trails through ancient cypress forests dripping in Spanish moss that visitors can traverse in search of not only manatees but also largemouth bass, alligators, and a rotating cast of seabirds.

The spring vent that feeds this state park’s waterways is first magnitude as well, only this one is a bit bigger. In fact, the Wakulla Spring is both the deepest and most prodigious freshwater spring on earth.

Over one-third of a million gallons of water burst from Wakulla Springs every day. Put another way, it could fill an Olympic swimming pool every three minutes. This robust watering hole has fed life for more than 12,000 years, evidenced by ancient man-made Clovis spear points as well as the fossils of mastodons, giant ground sloths, and sabre-tooth tigers found in its depths. With designated swimming spots, dive towers, and an on-site eatery, the park that was built around the springs continues to attract human life, and the preservation of a 6,000-acre wildlife sanctuary has kept it a popular spot for local fauna as well.

Boat tours are the best way for visitors to take in the breadth of Wakulla’s deep bench of fauna, which includes (but is not limited to) alligators, manatees, turtles, anhinga snakebirds, ospreys, great egrets, and blue herons. One specific length of the tour nicknamed “The Jungle”—framed by swamp cypresses and Spanish moss—was the filming location of both Tarzan (1941) and Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954).

Visitors can swim, soak, and sun on a small beachfront near the superlative spring, though there’s also a 20-foot high diving platform if you want to kick things up a notch.

Standing on the shores of any great body of water, it’s a wonder to think of the mysteries lurking beyond our sights in the depths below. If you’re standing on the shores of Grayton Beach State Park in Florida’s Panhandle, for example, you’d never guess you were looking out at the first underwater sculpture garden in the country—but indeed you are. 

One mile out and 58 feet below the water’s surface, a juried selection of sculptural works drawn from artists throughout the world sits in a meticulously curated art garden. The work is not only rotating, but even within each display’s lifetime, ever-changing as well: in time, marine life transforms each piece into an altogether new work of art, a slow and unwitting collaboration between man and animal. In fact, with the Gulf coastal waters being 95 percent sand flats, the deployment of hundreds of yards of new surface area has proven to expand fisheries while providing a source of bio-replenishment for crustaceans and other bottom-feeders. 

The museum is currently accessible only as a diving location, though snorkelers may enjoy the garden from a distance as well.