Your Stay, On the Water
From Marco’s south beach to the Ten Thousand Islands
The Hilton Marco Island Beach Resort sits right on the sand at the south end of Marco Island, on South Collier Boulevard, where the beach is wide, raked smooth and easy to love. That groomed shoreline is perfect for a morning walk — but the shells and the wildlife live out where nobody rakes the sand. That’s the trip we run. From the resort it’s roughly a 15–20 minute drive southeast to San Marco Marina in Goodland, the little stilt-house fishing village on the tip of the island. The route swings out to Collier Boulevard, east on San Marco Road, and over the little bridge into a place that still runs on crab traps, stilt houses and slow afternoons. We don’t pick up at the hotel, so grab your car or a rideshare and check your own map app for the drive from your door; traffic on Collier Boulevard can nudge that number either way.
Push off from Goodland and you’re pointed straight into the Ten Thousand Islands, a maze of mangrove keys and boat-only barrier beaches that spills south toward Cape Romano and the open Gulf. This is dolphin country — wild bottlenose dolphins work these passes year-round, and you’ve got a great chance of watching them surf the boat’s wake, though they’re wild animals on their own schedule and we never promise a sighting. In the cooler months, manatees drift into the backwaters around Rookery Bay. Ospreys nest on the channel markers, roseate spoonbills sweep the flats pink, and brown pelicans and the odd bald eagle share the airspace as you pass old landmarks like Coon Key Light on the run south. Bring a hat, some water, a real camera if you have one, and let our captain point out what you’d otherwise cruise right past.
The real magic here is the shelling. Islands like Kice and Keewaydin have no bridge, no road and no beach rake — so whatever the tide carries in stays put until someone in a boat walks it off. That’s where you turn up horse conchs (Florida’s state shell), left-handed lightning whelks, fighting conchs and, after a big storm churns the deep Gulf, maybe a junonia, the shelling world’s holy grail. Hold a lightning whelk spire-up and its opening yawns to the left — the one big Gulf snail that’s a true lefty, and a fine table-talker back at the resort. You’ll spot the flat, five-slotted keyhole urchins locals call sand dollars, too. Shelling runs year-round, not one magic season: winter brings those morning negative low tides, and summer saves its lowest water for the evening. One rule the captain will remind you of — in Collier County you keep empty shells only, so anything still living goes right back where it sits.
- About a 15–20 min drive from South Collier Blvd to Goodland
- Wild, boat-only islands the beach rake never touches
- Dolphins year-round; manatees in the cool months (no guarantees)
- Empty shells only — Collier County keeps it that way
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