The weather was startling. It was extremely cold with heavy rain pounding onto the ground, accompanied by the occasional ominous lightning strike. Palms were bending in all directions, huge fronds falling onto the cars around us. Those who were caught in this high impact activity outside were getting a proper beating. But everyone in the restaurant we were dining at that night was moaning and groaning about how their “perfect” Floridian weather was no more. But for us, this was exactly what we were hoping would happen. We couldn’t have timed our visit to the Sunshine State better.
Wrapping up our dinner as quickly as possible, we headed home for an early night’s sleep. This storm meant that we had a wakeup call of about 4:30 am so that we could make our way to our final destination. It was going to take close to an hour to get there and then we’d have to make sure the elements didn’t impact our entry and exit, or even worse, persist through the morning.
In the Cape Coral-Fort Myers area, we were surrounded by perfectly laid out shopping malls, fast food chains a plenty, extremely wide highways filled with bumper to bumper traffic, and humans quite literally everywhere. It was hard not to get sucked up into suburbia ‘round these parts. But, throughout all of this, in small little pockets, was flourishing, gorgeous, pristine nature. The stark contrast was hard to ignore.
So you must be wondering why we would actively favor horrific weather when our plan was to explore an island. Well, it’s because of Sanibel’s notorious reputation for its shell beaches. This random part of the continental USA is one of the best shell beach stretches in the entire world, and it’s all due to its geography. Sanibel’s location in the Gulf of Mexico causes the amassing of tons of shells, behaving something like a catch-all. Shells pile up and each day when the tides come in and out, so do the shells.
When it storms, you can expect even more shell activity on these beaches. The waves that crash the shorelines bring shells from the deep, displacing them from their resting spots. Those willing to get up in the pitch darkness when the weather has calmed will be in for a real treat, with both common and rarer shells scattered everywhere.
I’ve always loved shells since I was a little girl. Not knowing much about them, I marveled at their shapes, sizes, colors and always wondered “where did you come from and what do you mean?” Growing up in Philadelphia, my exposure to shells was up and down the east coast on beaches like New Jersey’s or Maryland’s (respective) Ocean Cities. We’d find small shells, and with every discovery, my amazement and obsession deepend.
Capitalizing on this obsession with shells, my father would use the fantastical concept of “shell city” to lure me out of bed in the early mornings to run with him up and down the beaches while on vacation. Hating the idea of any sort of physical activity as a child, this was not only my way of finding hidden sea treasures but bonding with my father who I always admired and adored. And that concept of “shell city” stuck with me, well into my adult years.
Stumbling upon Sanibel Island, we knew our chances of seeing THE capital shell city in the flesh might be a possibility after all. The only thing was, we’d have to time it literally perfectly and that’s not something you can easily do with nature. For us, we only had a window of a few days. So when that monstrous storm was in full effect, it was as if mother nature herself was giving me a sign that it was time to fulfill this childhood fantasy.
Having run ourselves into the ground during a two week stretch traversing wild Florida, this was going to be a solo activity for the one die-hard shell lover of the group. Making my way over the 3 mile causeway that connects mainland Florida to the boomerang-shaped island, it was clear the level of destruction that happened from the night before. Sand was pushed up onto the narrow roadway, trees had fallen, and scattered shrubbery had been uprooted.
It almost looked like a mini hurricane had passed through, which is nothing new for Sanibel. On my birthday, September 28th of 2022, this little island that many around the world had never even heard of made global news. National Geographic reported that Hurricane Ian, a category 4, was “the worst storm Sanibel has seen since 1926 and one of the worst storms Florida has seen in recent history.”
Those living on Sanibel lost everything as the waves were upwards of 15 feet high and winds were clocking 150 miles per hour. Shells, animals and the beaches were pretty much completely gone after the mega storm. Now about a year later, Sanibel was just starting to recover and see signs of revitalization. But still, even after all this time, you could tell that this place does not have it easy. The location is a blessing in some ways and in others, a curse.
I made my way up along the coast looking for a place to stop. All the parking lots for beach access were closed due to flooding, except one sitting at the border of Sanibel and Captiva Islands. Taking what I could get, this meant I had a bit of a hefty walk back across the island to get to the prime shell beach. I ducked under the barriers blocking lots to make my way to the beach.
It took about five minutes of walking between Blind Pass and Bowman’s beach for me to find exactly what I was looking for. It was a sight I truly had never experienced. In my wildest dreams as a child, I envisioned this day, but this far surpassed what even my tiny little mind back then could have conjured up. Hundreds, thousands, maybe even more, perfectly formed, colorful and unique shells lay in dense clusters all along the shoreline. Some were delicate, while others were thick and dense, almost all of them void of their former inhabitants.
Walking for hours, I marveled at what I was finding. We’re talking gigantic Lightning Whelks and Horse Conchs, tiny Murex and Tulips, dozens of Olive, Alphabet Cones, Coquinas and of course Scallop shells found in full form. I even found bodies of Horseshoe Crabs and Leopard Crabs scattered among them all, as well as something that resembled a Lion’s Paw—one of the most desired shells on Sanibel.
However, these shells are not just collectable items. They are remnants of molluscs—their abandoned “homes” and protective layers. Each shell, whether from a sea snail or a clam, tells a unique story about its creator's life and growth, leaving us wondering, just as I did as a child, “what else is out there?”
Molluscs, unlike crustaceans, don't shed their shells; they expand them throughout their lives by adding layers of calcium carbonate. This gradual process is similar to how trees grow rings, and by examining these layers, you can often estimate the mollusc's age at death. Beyond their biological significance, shells act as historical records, offering insights into past ocean conditions, like temperature and acidity. Scientists study these shells to learn about historical climate events, including volcanic eruptions and hurricanes.
Regardless of type, shells typically exhibit a spiral pattern, a common trait among the diverse mollusc species. This pattern can be immediately apparent in some shells, most notably the nautilus, or less obvious in others, such as clams and bivalves. In these cases, the spiral may only become clear upon closer inspection. The range of colors seen in these shells, from subtle hues to vibrant tones, is due to the molluscs' diets, their environment, and genetic factors. Pigments in the food molluscs consume can be deposited in their shells, contributing to the varied colors and patterns.
Additionally, environmental conditions and the molluscs' genetic makeup play a crucial role in determining the coloration of the shells. This diversity in color and pattern adds another layer of intrigue to shell collecting, revealing the complex interplay between biology and the environment. These artifacts, each with a story reflecting the life of the mollusc that created it, are precious. They represent what happens out there, and how much biodiversity still graces some of these waters.
Every shoreline, even those touched by heavy human activity, offers unique value. That means it's crucial to protect these vital areas, rich with life that’s often invisible to us. Florida might not immediately conjure images of wild, untouched landscapes. But that day, standing on Bowman’s Beach, totally alone and in my element, I gained a new respect for this place. After all, I found my beloved “shell city” in full force—a memory that I’m sure will stay with me for the rest of my life!
To be continued …
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