Jacksonville by Water

Jacksonville is a city built around a great river's last bend, and it reads best from the water, the downtown skyline doubling itself in the St. Johns, the marsh creeks of the river's mouth running wild within sight of container cranes, and a modest fleet of taxis, tour boats, kayaks, and one stubborn little car ferry offering the correct vantage for the price of a sandwich. The city's tables are covered in its eating piece elsewhere in these pages. This one takes the boat.

The downtown stretch works simplest. The river taxi shuttles between the banks and their riverwalks, skyline and bridges composing themselves obligingly, and the evening runs, city lights on dark water, make the cheapest good date in northeast Florida. The southbank and northbank walks connect the museums and the food halls at strolling pace, and the correct method is one full crossing loop at golden hour, drink afterward at a rail with the water in view.

The wilder water waits at the mouth. The preserved marshes and islands where the river meets the sea, protected in a great national park unit most of the state has never heard of, paddle magnificently, spartina creeks, oyster bars, ospreys on every channel marker, with outfitters running guided trips from the landings, and the bluff where a French fort briefly planted a doomed colony in the fifteen sixties gives the whole coast its deepest history lesson in an hour. The little Mayport ferry, per the eating piece, crosses the river's mouth in minutes, shrimp boats to starboard, and remains the region's shortest and best boat ride.

Structure the water day as marsh paddle in the morning, fish-camp or shrimp lunch at the mouth, ferry crossing for its own sake, and the downtown taxi loop at golden hour. Come in the cool months per every First Coast rule in these pages. The interstate crowd sees the city as bridges at seventy miles an hour, which is, in fairness, a water view. The river sees the city properly, and it takes passengers daily.