“Don’t forget to check under the car,” my Bonita Springs-born sister-in-law calls out—the words almost lyrical, heard and said on so many days in the parking lot at Barefoot Beach Preserve at the edge of Naples and Bonita. I stoop to the asphalt to find a gopher tortoise sleeping beneath the bumper.
State-designated as threatened, the terrestrial turtles have lived at Barefoot for decades. The 342-acre barrier island has been a designated preserve since 1990, protected from the rapid development impacting the burrowing tortoise habitats across the region. When Hurricane Ian hit in 2022, floodwaters drowned or washed away an estimated 80 to 90% of the population. Sightings were rare when the beach reopened in 2023—the dunes were still marked with signs of recent regrading efforts, and the mangroves that lined the coast were blackened with storm damage. The memory swirls as I look at the gopher tortoise slumbering under the bumper in 2026. He’s the eighth we’ve seen since the drive in. The gopher tortoises represent everything I love about Barefoot Beach: its wild landscape, quirky company and resilient spirit. Everyone finds their own access point.
Photography by Brian Tietz
barefoot beach favorite locals beach gopher tortoise
The barrier island preserve traces 342 acres of undeveloped dunes, coastal hammocks and mangroves. It’s an ideal environment for gopher tortoises, burrowing terrestrial turtles designated as a threatened species by the state.
Assistant managing editor Addison Pezoldt, who covers our environmental beat, sees the beach as an example of coastal preservation at its best. “When hurricanes come, Barefoot mitigates the damage to the mainland,” she says. Barrier islands like Barefoot take the brunt of storm surge and winds—thin spits of land that anchor the coastline with thick tangles of vegetation. But that natural anchor was not always guaranteed. For decades, the land was passed from one developer to the next.
By the time Collier County purchased the tract in 1988 from the Lely Development Corporation, the Dutch development group had filled in much of the surrounding area with housing. Arguments arose between locals and Lely over who had access to Barefoot. These tensions led to the formation of Friends of Barefoot Beach Preserve, which helped establish the property as a preserve in 1990 and monitors its upkeep today.
Photography by Brian Tietz
barefoot beach favorite locals beach aerial view coastline
That commitment keeps the beach from being consumed by the county’s growth, the same pressure that turned the mile-and-a-half-long road leading to Barefoot into a corridor of Gulf-front condos. “I still feel like it’s a hidden gem for the locals,” says account executive Meredith Parsons, who has been going to Barefoot for more than a decade. Getting there requires threading through the gated community on Barefoot Beach Boulevard, past the recently reopened changing rooms and the parking lots peppered with gopher tortoise crossing signs. Then, the preserve begins.
The Gulf here runs clear and shallow for 8,200 feet south to Wiggins Pass; the estuary on the island’s inland side, threaded with tidal creeks and protected from motorboats, functions as a nursery for marine life. Meredith goes there to paddleboard and to watch dolphins play near shore and the sea turtles nest among the sea oats through summer. “I’ve even seen a manatee once or twice,” she says.
There’s a reason people come here when they have time to spend. With its frills-free approach and room to sprawl, Barefoot is a magnet for sunset-watching, a natural backdrop for life’s big moments. Assistant editor Alyssa Riley’s fiancé chose the beach for their proposal. Since moving to Bonita last year, the preserve has served as a quiet place to talk and reconnect after work. “When he got down on one knee, everyone around got up and started clapping,” she says. “The sky was all pastel blues and pinks and purples. I’ll never forget it.”
Photography by Brian Tietz
barefoot beach favorite locals beach sunset
Assistant managing editor Addison Pezoldt, who covers environmental topics, appreciates Barefoot’s deep, quiet beaches and preservationist instinct. It’s her go-to spot to curl up with a good book or catch a sunset.
For assistant editor Emma Lawrence, the draw is continuity. “My family used to have a condo down there when I was young, and every night, we’d go looking for shells on the beach with flashlights,” she says. Today, she returns almost weekly for a walk with her mother. The coastline curves a bit differently after years of storms, but the feeling is the same. There are still enough shells along the tideline to catch her eye as she walks.
Emma’s recollection reminds me of my own. I grew up near the Panhandle’s Forgotten Coast, a stretch of beach towns few people outside the families that live there know. My favorites were always the most remote. Barefoot Beach carries that feeling—no beach bars in the sand or umbrella rentals, just miles of unobscured coastline.