Port Aransas, Texas: A Personal Journey Through Beach Town Charm

There’s no sunrise like the one that rises over the ocean. When your tent opens to the morning alpenglow, the tide’s evidence politely stops just short of your entry, and the scent of brine hangs in the damp air, you feel it. That quiet, collective eutierria. At one with nature. Not metaphorically. Actually.

I wake groggy, but in that good sort of way. I sit in my folding chair, my feet buried in the sand, the wet shore padding the base with my weight. I dig my feet in, forgetting—as I always do—that I broke my right foot years ago. The discomfort of the weight reminds me, and I pull it free, refastening my toes just beneath the surface. I sit there because I love watching the sun alchemize the ocean. The reflection is quiet. The rise is slow. When it’s warm enough, I zip the tent and walk to Coffee Waves for a coffee.

I spent high school summers in Port Aransas. We’d drive from Hill Country to the Gulf, camp right on the beach. We dug holes for fires, cooked gritty hot dogs and hamburgers, and sand in everything. No one cared. We stayed a week or so, completely feeling eutierria.

My father kept a Catalina 22 in the marina for a few years. Some summers, we’d sleep in the cabin to escape the sand. My father learned to sail on Town Lake in a Sunfish. In my preteen years, he had several boats: a Sunfish, a catamaran, and a Catalina. I grew up sailing, mostly on the ocean. It planted a dream: to live, for a time, on a boat in the Mediterranean.

I’ve been to Port Aransas more times than I can count. As I got older, I started weighing the pros and cons of hotels. I still camped. I made solo weekend trips merely to sit on the beach all day, watch the sun circle the horizon, drink a margarita at sunset, coffee at sunrise—if I woke early enough—and run on the beach.

Lately, I’ve stayed in a condo along the channel where ships come into Corpus Christi. It’s different. I don’t understand the appeal of vacationing in style. I’m not in the room much anyway. What I enjoy is sitting on the porch with a margarita, watching massive ships pass through the channel. That’s enough.

I’ve learned to appreciate island life more. I walk along the beach at sunrise, then through residential streets to Coach’s Island Grill. Where the best pancakes I’ve ever had are waiting for me. I’m not exaggeration. If I had the means, I’d drive three hours just for the pancakes.

Then I sit on the rock pier on the north side of the island and fish, watch ships come in, and spend time in the waves. Lunch at Moby Dick’s, cluttered with beach paraphernalia, staged like a memory. Then an hour at Coffee Waves, drinking a chai, people-watching. Back to the beach. Afternoon waves. Dinner at Virginia’s, the whole place has a patio facing the marina. I watch the sunset behind the sailboats.

That’s a day in Port Aransas. At some point, I stop by Deserted Island Ice Cream for something sweet. Port Aransas isn’t polished. It’s not dirty either. It’s sandy and rustic. It doesn’t make promises to tourists; except maybe the best shrimp you’ve ever had.

The last time I was there was in the summer of 2020. I went alone. Camped on the beach for a week. Port “A” is a diamond in the rough. I’m always hunting for places like that. I was lucky to grow up close enough to know it. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. But I will.