Leffis Key (Sarasota, FL)

Leffis Key… for some reason, there are almost always interesting birds that hang out at the preserve and today I saw an American Redstart (in migration), and overhead were a couple of magnificent frigatebirds, which I rarely see this far north. They are common in the keys, and I have also seen them down at Blackburn Point on Casey Key. IDs on iNaturalist.

If you stand on the little rise at the center of Leffis Key Preserve and turn slowly in a circle, you can see an entire estuarine story written in water and wind: Longboat Pass glittering to the south, Sarasota Bay stretching out to the east, the Gulf of Mexico just beyond the fringe of dunes to the west.

For a Florida naturalist, this isn’t just a pretty viewpoint on Anna Maria Island—it’s a classroom, a chapel, and a front-row seat to one of the most productive habitats on Earth.

Finding Your Way to Leffis Key

Leffis Key sits at the south end of Anna Maria Island, in Bradenton Beach, directly across Gulf Drive from Coquina Beach and its long line of Australian pines and white sand. The preserve’s small parking lot is tucked beside the bay, near the boat ramp and picnic shelter.(Anna Maria Island)

From Sarasota (two scenic options)

1. The “Island String of Pearls” route (most scenic)

Head west from Sarasota toward St. Armands Circle and cross the John Ringling Causeway.
Follow FL-789 north through Lido Key and Longboat Key. This is a slow, beautiful drive—herons in the canals, osprey on the light poles, Gulf glimpses between condos.
Continue north until you cross Longboat Pass Bridge onto Anna Maria Island.
As soon as you’re on the island, look to your right (east) for the Coquina boat ramp and small bayside parking lot—that’s the main parking area for Leffis Key Preserve.(Island Real Estate)

2. The “Quick over the river” route (often faster)

Take US-41 or I-75 to SR-64 (Manatee Avenue) or SR-684 (Cortez Road) and drive west toward the island.
From Cortez Road (SR-684), cross the bridge onto Anna Maria Island into Bradenton Beach.
Turn left (south) on Gulf Dr S and follow it for about a mile, skirting the length of Coquina Beach.
Right before you reach Longboat Pass, look for the boat ramp and small preserve parking on your left—you’ll see the trailhead kiosk and a shell path leading away from the lot.(Island Real Estate)

Parking is free but limited—maybe 15–20 spaces—so early morning or late afternoon is your best bet, especially in season.(Manatee County Audubon Society)

First Impressions: A Hill in a Flat World

Florida and elevation are rarely mentioned in the same sentence, which is exactly why the 26-foot hill at the heart of Leffis Key feels almost mythic. This little mound is actually a restored spoil pile, reshaped into a coastal ridge and planted with native vegetation—an example of ecological alchemy: turning dredge spoil into habitat.(My Manatee)

As I step off the parking lot and onto the wide shell path, I feel the subtle crunch under my boots. Mangroves close in quickly, their glossy leaves flickering in the wind like small green flags. Interpretive signs stand at the ready, whispering about tidal ponds, mudflats, and the crucial role mangroves play as nurseries for fish and crustaceans.(My Manatee)

The preserve isn’t big—about 0.6–1 mile of total trails, depending on how many spur boardwalks you wander. The county has packed a surprising amount of ecological diversity into this pocket: mangroves, salt marsh, tidal ponds, upland ridge, and bayfront overlooks.(My Manatee)

This is my idea of a perfect naturalist’s stop: small, dense, and absolutely humming with life.

A Simple Trail “Map” You Can Walk in Your Head

Leffis Key’s trail system is compact but wonderfully intricate, like a short poem with lots of hidden rhymes. Official maps show a lollipop loop around the hill with a web of boardwalk spurs reaching out into the mangroves and bay.(Florida Hikes)

Here’s a mental trail map you can carry in your pocket:

Trailhead & Entrance Path
- From the parking lot you’ll see a broad shell path and a kiosk. Follow the path straight in.(Florida Hikes)
Base Loop Around the Hill
- The main shell path quickly becomes a loop encircling the central hill. Think of this as a ring road, with short spokes leading either up to the summit or out to the water.(HIKING THE APPALACHIANS AND BEYOND)
Summit Spur
- About halfway around the loop, a spur heads uphill to the 26-foot high point, with a wooden deck and views of Sarasota Bay to the east and Longboat Pass and the Gulf to the south and west.(AnnaMaria.com)
Mangrove Boardwalk Maze
- On the bay side of the loop, several boardwalks branch outward, forming a kind of mangrove maze:
  - One spur leads to an east-facing deck with sweeping bay views and the Cortez Bridge off to the left.
  - Another winds through a dense tunnel of red mangroves to a deck overlooking the broad head of Sarasota Bay.
  - A final spur heads out over the water itself, giving you that “standing in the bay” feeling as mullet flash and terns dive.(Florida Hikes)
Return to the Trailhead
- All the spurs eventually return you to the shell loop, which closes neatly back at the trailhead and parking lot—no complex navigation required, just follow your curiosity.

If you prefer a visual shorthand, imagine a donut (the shell loop) with a toothpick up the middle (summit trail) and several forks sticking out on one side (boardwalk spurs into Sarasota Bay).

Walking the Preserve: A Naturalist’s Field Notes

The Shell Path: Where Land Meets Sky

I start clockwise around the loop, letting the salt breeze find its way into my lungs. On the right, the mangroves rise like a green wall; on the left, the slope of the hill is studded with shrubs and dune wildflowers. The substrate is crushed shell—remnants of ancient marine lives now forming a path for my human feet.

A common ground-dove flutters up from the path, wings making that soft whistling sound that always reminds me of a tiny accordion. The Florida Birding Trail guide actually recommends checking this area for them, and here they are, right on cue.(Florida Birding Trail)

The hill above me is stitched with sea grape, Jamaica dogwood, dune sunflower, beach elder, and strangler fig, a living demonstration of how native coastal plants knit loose sand into something sturdy enough to host entire communities of birds and insects.(AnnaMaria.com)

Up to the Summit: A 26-Foot Revelation

I take the summit spur, a short but satisfyingly steep climb by Florida standards. At the top, the view opens like a page turned quickly:

East: Sarasota Bay, its turquoise water veined with channels and flats.
South: Longboat Pass, where the tide boils through in a constant, muscular motion.
West: Just beyond the line of trees, the Gulf of Mexico, effectively the edge of the continent.

On a good day, this little hill becomes a 360-degree field guide. I spot brown pelicans skimming low over the water, royal terns hovering and plunge-diving like slim white arrows, and a distant osprey carrying a fish back to its nest.

I always linger here—partly for the view, partly to imagine what this spot looked like before causeways, condos, and channel markers. Mangroves would have rimmed every shoreline; spoonbills and wood storks likely fed in the shallows where pontoon boats drift today.

Into the Mangroves: Following the Boardwalks

Back on the loop, I turn onto one of the boardwalk spurs that vanishes into the mangroves. Here the world narrows pleasantly: mangrove trunks beside you, arching branches above you, the water’s subtle chuckle beneath. Boardwalks and platforms total about 1,500 feet, weaving through mangrove forest, tidal ponds, and mudflats.(My Manatee)

The air grows heavy with the tannic, earthy scent of mangrove leaf litter. Red mangroves extend their prop roots down like a tangle of stilts, creating little vaults of shade where juvenile fish dart and fiddler crabs wave their oversized claws in territorial outrage.

On one platform I pause to watch the food web in real time:

Schools of tiny glass minnows flash in tight formations.
A great egret stalks the shallows with that slow, priest-like gait.
Overhead, a double-crested cormorant surfaces with a fish, flips it expertly, and swallows it whole.
Somewhere out in the bay, I hear the wet exhale of a bottlenose dolphin, a brief, ghostly punctuation in the wind.

Birders love this place, and with good reason. The Florida Birding Trail notes that the preserve hosts wading birds, shorebirds, and migrants using the mudflats, mangroves, and hardwood patches.(Florida Birding Trail)

I love it because the boardwalks put you at mangrove level—close enough to study the structure of leaves, the breathing pores on black mangrove roots, the way periwinkle snails climb and descend with the tide.

Field Guide in Your Pocket: Flora and Fauna of Leffis Key

You could visit Leffis Key as a simple stroll, but as a naturalist, I recommend turning it into a treasure hunt. Here’s a starter list to keep your eyes open and your curiosity engaged.

Common Flora

Coastal & Upland Plants

Sea grape – broad, round leaves; important dune stabilizer and food source for birds.(AnnaMaria.com)
Dune sunflower – cheerful yellow blooms, often buzzing with native bees.(AnnaMaria.com)
Beach elder – low, mat-forming plant that helps hold sand in place.(AnnaMaria.com)
Jamaica dogwood – small tree with compound leaves; good perching structure for songbirds.(AnnaMaria.com)
Strangler fig – look for these twining around host trees on the hill.(AnnaMaria.com)

Mangrove & Wetland Plants

Red mangrove – arching prop roots in the water; the classic mangrove silhouette.(Florida Hikes)
Black mangrove – pencil-like pneumatophores (“snorkel roots”) poking up from the mud.(Florida Birding Trail)
White mangrove – usually a bit further inland, with oval leaves and small nectar glands at the leaf base.(Florida Birding Trail)
Saltwort, glasswort, and salt grass in the marshy margins—classic salt-tolerant species that blush red or purple in certain seasons.(Florida Birding Trail)

Common Fauna

Birds

Waders: great blue heron, great egret, snowy egret, tricolored heron, little blue heron.(Florida Birding Trail)
Shorebirds: willets, sandpipers, black-bellied plovers (especially in migration).(Florida Birding Trail)
Seabirds: brown pelican, royal and caspian terns, laughing gulls.
Raptors: osprey almost year-round; occasionally peregrine falcon or northern harrier during migration.(Florida Birding Trail)
Songbirds: common ground-dove, red-winged blackbird, warblers during spring and fall.(Florida Birding Trail)

Reptiles & Others

Anoles skittering along railings and trunks.
Fiddler crabs by the thousands in the mudflats, males waving their over-sized claws like tiny orange flags.
Blue crabs and mullet in the shallows; occasionally a ray ghosting across the sand.

And if you’re very lucky and the tide and season are right, you might spot a manatee cruising through the pass or a dolphin corralling fish against the mangrove edge.

Tips for Visiting Like a Naturalist

Go early or late. The light is better, the birds are busier, and the parking is easier.
Binoculars are worth their weight. With multiple observation decks, this is prime glass-and-scan territory.(AdvCollective)
Look down as often as you look up. The real magic of mangroves is at your feet—in roots, mud, and the traffic of tiny invertebrates.
Leave the dog at home. Pets aren’t allowed in the preserve, and the wildlife thanks you for that.(Anna Maria Island)
Pair it with a Gulf swim. Coquina Beach is literally across the road; you can go from mangrove nursery to rolling surf in about three minutes.

Leaving, But Not Really

As I walk back toward the parking lot, the afternoon wind picks up, riffing the bay into diamonds. A brown pelican glides past at eye level, wingtips nearly touching the water. Somewhere in the mangroves behind me, a green heron grunts, sounding for all the world like an irritated frog.

Leffis Key is small enough to see in less than an hour, but layered enough to reward a lifetime of revisits. Each tide rearranges the story: new tracks on the mudflats, different birds on the flats, subtle shifts in color and light.

As a Florida naturalist, I leave with my notebook full, my camera spotted with salt spray, and my mind already planning the next visit. Because places like this—where a hill of dredged sand becomes a sanctuary, and a tangle of mangroves shelters an entire nursery world—remind me what Florida truly is beneath the condos and traffic lights:

A living estuary, still learning how to be wild, and still willing to teach us, if we slow down long enough to listen.