In 1939, a New York developer with a flair for flair bought an uninhabited stretch of Gulf Coast wilderness, built a row of rustic palm-thatched bungalows, and advertised it in Life magazine as the ultimate prize: a free honeymoon, if you dared to rough it. The offer drew newlyweds from all over America, and the island earned its name—Honeymoon Island—long before it became one of Florida’s most beloved state parks.
Today, the bungalows are gone. But the magic? Still here. Tucked just west of Dunedin, across a short causeway where sea oats sway and pelicans patrol overhead, Honeymoon Island State Park remains a wilder kind of paradise. There’s no resort, no boardwalk. Just sun-bleached trails, sugar-powder sand, and the kind of salt breeze that makes you forget where your phone is.
Start at the North Beach—a driftwood-strewn shoreline where sculptural branches lie tangled like modern art. It’s quiet up here. Fewer families. More shorebirds. Great place to spot black skimmers, least terns, and the ever-dramatic osprey, who nest in towering poles and screech like they’re starring in their own wildlife documentary.
The swimming’s good, though the sand isn’t your standard silky white—it’s mixed with crushed shells and ancient sea bits, a reminder this island is still making itself. Walk far enough and you’ll find tide pools, sea urchin tests, and maybe a few fossilized shark teeth if the current’s right. Bring water shoes. Bring curiosity.
Just south, the nature trail winds inland, looping through slash pines, palmetto flats, and an ecosystem that feels more Central Florida scrub than coastal postcard. Keep an eye out for gopher tortoises (Florida’s chillest reptiles), armadillos on patrol, and anole lizards that puff their throats like they’re trying to impress someone.
Want more solitude? Rent a kayak at Pelican Bay Park and paddle out toward Caladesi Island, Honeymoon’s wilder sibling, accessible only by water. Or, take the ferry and walk the beaches where the only footprints might be your own. Some say Caladesi is Florida’s best beach. Others say it’s too quiet. That’s kind of the point.
Hungry? There’s a humble concession stand at the park’s South Beach Pavilion with shaded tables and surprisingly decent grilled fish sandwiches. But for a proper meal, leave the park and head back into Dunedin. Start with Olde Bay Café, where grouper tacos and ice-cold Key lime ale come with a marina view. Or go classy at Bon Appétit Restaurant, perched on the water with sunset seating and a menu that still believes in beurre blanc.
For breakfast or a mid-morning fuel-up, Crown & Bull serves farm-to-table fare with a breezy outdoor patio. Try the shrimp and grits or one of their homemade pastries if you’re lucky enough to beat the brunch rush.
Now for where to stay. Honeymoon Island itself is day-use only—no camping or overnight guests. But that’s part of its charm. It sends you back to Dunedin, a town with just enough boutique inns, Airbnb cottages, and retro motels to make your stay feel like Florida before it got condoed. Try Meranova Guest Inn for lush garden vibes, or Fenway Hotel, a 1920s jazz-era beauty recently restored, complete with rooftop cocktails and bay views.
A few numbers worth knowing:
• Honeymoon Island gets over one million visitors a year, making it Florida’s most-visited state park.
• It boasts four miles of beach, plus over two miles of hiking trails through native pine flatwoods.
• The island is home to 48 nesting osprey pairs, one of the highest densities in North America.
• In 1981, it officially joined the Florida State Park system, protecting it from private development forever.
Want to feel like a local? Go early on a weekday. The park opens at 8 a.m., and by 8:30, the ospreys are already fishing. The sea breeze hasn’t given way to heat yet, and the trails are yours. Bring a thermos of coffee, a folding chair, and an old paperback you might not finish. That’s how mornings work here.
If you’re visiting in the winter months, don’t skip the wildlife overlook platforms, especially near Pelican Cove. You’ll likely see manatees bobbing in the shallows or bottlenose dolphins hunting along the sandbars. In the warmer months, nurse sharks sometimes patrol just offshore—harmless, mostly sleepy, and surprisingly graceful.
Oh—and if you’re lucky, you might spot a bald eagle, too. One nesting pair calls the park home year-round. When they fly over the pines, everything below goes quiet for just a second.
Here’s a twist most don’t know: the original honeymoon bungalows from the 1940s? They were dismantled during World War II due to military fears over coastal invasions. But pieces of them—rusted rebar, concrete footings, the occasional chunk of terrazzo—still exist in the brush. The park rangers don’t advertise it, but history lingers in weird ways on Honeymoon Island.
So yes, it’s a beach park. But it’s also a time capsule, a bird sanctuary, a walking meditation. A place where you can collect shells instead of stress, and memories that don’t require souvenirs.
Honeymoon Island doesn’t shout. It doesn’t sparkle like Miami or charm like Key West. It sighs. It waits. And if you go slowly, step lightly, and listen carefully—you’ll hear it say exactly what you came for.
