HISTORY OF PASCO COUNTY
Stilt Houses in the Gulf of Mexico
An original painting commissioned by Ellis Banks of West Pasco
Pictures of Stilt Houses
This page was last revised on Feb. 23, 2014.
The early history of the stilt houses off the coast of Pasco County is
unclear. In one of the following newspaper articles,
William John Baillie Jr. (1880-1965) claims to have built the first one; another
article credits James Washington Clark Jr. (1880-1940). According to John Grey,
the first stilt houses were erected off the coast of Port Richey between 1916 and 1918
to shelter fishermen and store the mullet they caught in nets.
John Richard Sawyer II (1861-1936), an early resident of what would become Elfers,
had a fish camp between Green Key and what is now Gulf Harbors,
according to the recollection of a son, Irvin Sawyer (1914-1993).
An article in the Tampa Tribune on Sept. 26, 1974, reported that
before October 1968 there were 24 stilt houses. That month, Hurricane Gladys
destroyed most of them, but some were rebuilt. The article quoted
Mrs. Maxine Swartsel Gause: "Those of us who lost our camps in the
1968 storm were allowed to rebuild, but our locations were
pinpointed and now we rent an acre of underwater land. The state
controls the resources and we pay $100 a year on a five-year contract."
Sam Allgood, who built his first stilt house in 1949,
recalled that at that time building a camp on the Gulf was a matter of squatter’s
rights. They went out into the Gulf, found a spot they liked,
and built a home. But when most of the homes were destroyed
by Gladys in 1968, the state legislature prohibited
the practice of building stilt homes over the water. In 1989
he recalled that Pasco County owners put up a fight and were
"grandfathered in" under the law,
which allowed owners to rebuilt and hold a lease on the area
beneath their homes until July 1, 1999.
Johnny Cash frequently visited Des Little’s fish camp.
On at least one occasion, in March 1976, Cash brought along a friend, the Rev. Billy Graham.
Pete Little recalled later that to repay use of the camp, Cash bought
Des Little a Toyota truck.
On April 27, 1995, the St. Petersburg Times reported that the
Florida House of Representatives approved a bill that would allow a
dozen stilt houses in the mouth of the Pithlachascotee River damaged by
the no-name storm of 1993 to be rebuilt.
According to the newspaper article, the stilt homes were owned by New
Port Richey Realtor John Grey; Swartsel Groves Inc. of Elfers; George
"Bud" Brown and David E. Lake of Port Richey; Phillip Cunnagin, Palm
Harbor; Kendall and Dale Jones of Eustis; W. M. Stevenson, Elfers; and
Richard Stevenson, Michaeline Little, Don Uzzle, Sam Allgood, James W.
Baillie, and Sally Gleason, all of New Port Richey.
Pasco Property Appraiser Ted Williams removed the homes owned by
Baillie, Grey, Little, Swartsel Groves, Jones and Richard Stevenson
from the 1994 property tax roll because the homes were destroyed and
cannot be rebuilt.
In September 1998 the Florida Governor and Cabinet granted a
reprieve from a 1976 agreement that required all stilt houses to be
demolished by July 1, 1999. Under the new agreement, the houses can
remain until 2019. The owners of 12 Pasco County houses and the owners
of ten other houses off the coast of Charlotte and Lee counties had
asked the cabinet for an extension.
A Tampa Tribune article of July 9, 2005, reported that Peck
Casson, who leases a stilt house in the Gulf of Mexico near the mouth
of the Pithlachascotee River in Port Richey, was preparing
for Hurricane Dennis.
"When the weather gets really threatening, I take the [propane] gas
tanks off the porch and put them inside the house," Casson said. "I
raise things on the floor to a higher level in case water gets in from
Casson said mud, water, debris and seagrass got into his stilt house
during the 1993 No-Name Storm, rising about a foot above the floor
level. Much of the house and docks required rebuilding.
Casson noted that the nine stilt houses off the west Pasco shore are
On April 1, 2006, a speeding power boat with no one aboard crashed
into Stilt House No. 5, owned by Don and Doug King.
During the night of June 29, 2010, the southernmost stilt house was destroyed by fire, possibly caused by lightning.
Eva Henderson, Nellie Baker, Marvin Henderson at stilt camp
in the Gulf. Photo courtesy of Maranell Baker Fleming.
HOUSES ON STILTS, GETTING AWAY FROM IT ALL (1962)
This article is taken from Tales of West Pasco by Ralph Bellwood.
Many a time have we heard the expression by some frustrated
businessman or individual that is pressed beyond endurance by the rush and hurry,
“I wish I could go to some island where I could get away from it all.”
Well, through the years a number of people have made this wish come true by
creating their own, not exactly island, but a refuge where
they can do just that.
If one goes to any point along the gulf near New Port Richey
and looks out perhaps a mile or a little more, he will see a line of
small, weather beaten houses built on piling about six feet above
high tide. Most of them have a porch or deck around them. They
are accessible by boat only and though they look tiny from a distance
some of them are roomy and have most of the appointments
of a modern home, with the exception of electricity. They are well
braced against the storms and wind. It is amazing how they come
through even the fringe blow of a hurricane, though they have not
been put to the test of the full force of one of these tropical storms
for this favored coast seems to be out of the paths of hurricanes.
Of course each family or club has a battery radio which gives the
usual storm warnings, and the wise lock up and leave before bad
In the Summer particularly they are occupied on week ends,
holidays and vacations. They are delightfully cool and offer relaxation
and peace to their occupants. One can always catch a mess of
pan-fish for supper from the deck, or get in their boats and cast about
over the flats, bringing in trout and other larger fish.
Truly, these unusual cabins on the water offer a retreat to the tired
and weary as well as the fun-seeking carefree who want to let their hair
down, and more or less go native.
Stilt house off of Green Key, perhaps the Sawyers' house.
Photo courtesy of Jane Baillie.
WATER CAMPS - A RETREAT FROM 'WORK-A-DAY' WORLD (1973)
This article appeared in the St. Petersburg Times on Sept. 30, 1973.
Picture caption: Members of the Allgood family congregate for a meal in
their weathered stilt house. The water 'camp' was built about a mile
into the Gulf in 1949.
By RUTH CARLEY
NEW PORT RICHEY - Myriad schools of small fish congregated in the
shade underneath the house; large silver-colored dolphins played near
the steps and flocks of seagulls swooped and dived outside the window.
Sam, 8, and his brother, K. C., 3, were the fishermen of the day.
They were fishing from the porch - the same spot where their mother
fished when she was a tiny tot.
Boaters who head out into the Gulf here for the first time may think
they are seeing a mirage about a mile offshore. Dotting the horizon,
sitting high atop stilts, are 14 quaint houses with about a half-mile
seascape between them.
But, to long-time residents in West Pasco County, the
weathered-looking houses are familiar landmarks - part of the area’s history -
traditional and peculiar to this community.
To the owners, their "homes on stilts" are wonderful retreats from
the "work-a-day" world - from ringing telephones, bustling traffic,
noisy neighbors and even from such things as pesky mosquitoes and flies.
It’s a life where cool sea breezes continually blow - where time
becomes meaningless and the mornings and afternoons run together into
one long, lazy day.
Here, one may go swimming at a minute’s notice, by merely diving off
the front porch. Or, the laziest of fishermen may stretch out on a
bench or flop down on a deck chair, sip his favorite drink while
dangling his fishing line overboard. (Often a trap door in the bedroom
may be opened to accommodate fishermen on a cold day.)
Sam and K. C. (Kenneth Clay) were visiting their grandparents, Sam
and Jo Allgood, recently. They are the sons of the Allgood’s daughter,
Abby and her husband Kenneth Misemer, a lawyer in Sarasota. Sam Allgood
is the senior partner of the New Port Richey law firm of Allgood,
McPherson and Cobb.
The Allgoods have lived here since 1948, and they built their
unusual vacation cottage in 1949. Since that time there have been very
few days that some member of the Allgood family and their friends
haven't been at their camp.
The "home on water" has all the comforts of a "home on land" except
drinking water. Bottled gas provides fuel for cooking, heating and
The beds in one end of the large room are situated to get the cross-
breeze as are the two couches at the other end. The kitchen equipped
with an old fashioned water pump is in the other end, and in the center
is tee "congregating place" - a long, long table which roust seat at
least 20 to 25 persons. Storage space is provided by a shelf running
around the wall and by a platform on the rafters.
Their camp, and most of the other 13, weathered all that was thrown
at them by the elements until the arrival of the October 1968
hurricane. The Allgood camp, as well as 11 of the others were leveled,
but all are now rebuilt on their same locations.
But, there will never be more than 14 camps because governmental
permits will not be granted for additional structures in the Gulf.
Owners of the camps pay an annual lease for the area where their camps
Camp owners are required to install chemical toilets in the small
rooms built for toilet facilities on a deck at a lower level than the
Who first had the idea of building a house a mile out in the Gulf?
The first ones were built for an entirely different purpose.
"Uncle Willie" Baillie, pioneer resident of West Pasco who died in
1965, once told this reporter that he built the first one in 1902. He
and his brother, R. E. Baillie, got the idea of building a fish camp
right on tee fishing grounds so they could watch for mullet runs. They
netted and sold mullet for their livelihood, and were compelled to pole
their boats from the shore out into the Gulf, fish all day and then
pole back at night.
He said he and his brother sharpened one end of the pilings, cut a
cypress tree and roughed out the lumber, put it on a barge and floated
it out to the site. He said building the camp was one of the best
things they ever did because it served them well.
They had a place to sleep, eat and rest between mullet runs and a
place to clean and pack their catch. "Uncle Willie" told me they salted
and packed the mullet in barrels, stomping them down with their feet so
as to get at least 500 to a barrel.
"Run" boats would come by and pick up the fish, take them to Cedar
Key where they would be shipped north, or sometimes the Baillies sold
mullet to the "Katie" a boat owned by McCrary and Dulaney’s Fish House
at the mouth of the Pithlachascotee River.
Stilt house owned by Richard D. Stevenson Jr.
Photo perhaps from the 1960s
‘SHACKS’ IN GULF OF MEXICO ARE
This article appeared in the Suncoast Shopper & News on Aug. 17, 1977.
Picture caption: Weekend retreat for about 15 families is one of the "shacks"
built on stilts in the Gulf of Mexico, north of Green Key. Mike Olson,
Pasco County Commission chairman, who owns the "shack" shown above,
says the fishing is fine, the relaxation is great but there is
always work to be done. He and a friend just finished putting a new
roof on the house and the left-over rolls are on the lower deck for loading
in the next boat headed for shore.
GREAT FOR “GETTING AWAY FROM IT ALL’ (1977)
By WILLIAM C. PASCO JR.
Many a visitor to the Upper Suncoast has driven out toward Green Key
Beach in New Port Richey, looked to the north and noticed some houses
on pilings far out in the Gulf of Mexico.
If the visitor later happened to ask what the remarkable buildings
were. most local residents would surely answer, "Shacks."
For that’s what they're called, shacks. Don't let the name fool you.
In spite of the name, they're nice homes, well furnished and decorated,
often beautifully paneled inside. They serve mainly "as weekend
retreats for local people and, in some cases for vacationers from
outside the Upper Suncoast.
The first shack was built by the late James W. Clark Jr., whose
father was a pioneer settler of the area. Jim Clark served three terms
as New Port Richey mayor and was the town’s first fire chief. He also
built the brick building at the southwest comer of Main and Boulevard
in New Port Richey.
Clark wanted a place where he could rest and get away from the petty
annoyances of life on land. So he erected the first shack, a house on
pilings not far off the mouth of the Cotee River.
In time, other people followed Jim Clark’s lead. A sort of low ridge
winds through the Gulf waters just offshore of Port Richey and New Port
Richey; as the years went by, other shacks were constructed along this
Clark built the first shack more than 50 years ago. Mike Olson,
Pasco County commission chairman, built the last shack nine years ago.
Olson described the problems involved in constructing a house on
Explaining that the water is perhaps only four feet deep at low tide
along the ridge on which the shacks are built, he said the bottom and
silt are blown away with special equipment so the piles can be footed
in the solid limestone underneath the sandy Gulf bottom. Even though
the pilings are treated, they have to be replaced periodically, he said.
Once the pilings are in place, building the shack isn't too much
different from building a house on land.
"Except," Olson pointed out, "you have to take everything that is
used, from nails and bolts to levels and ladders, out to the building
site in a boat."
There is no electricity on the shacks so any power tools used in the
construction have to be gas-powered or as one of the shack builders
said, "sweat powered."
Olson’s shack is the farthest out of the some 15 or so shacks built
along the limestone ridge. His nearest neighbor is a good 100 or 150
watery yards removed.
Boats tie to the lower level deck of the shack from which a short
flight of steps leads to the upper deck. The solitary room of the shack
is completely encircled by a wooden deck. Huge sliding plywood walls
can be opened on the east and west sides of the shack to provide for
Olson said one of his projects in the near future will be to stain
the shack. He and a friend, Gary Joiner, have been working on the shack
this summer replacing bolts, timbers where necessary and whatever other
repair or rebuilding chores seemed necessary.
Sea gulls are something of a problem around a shack. Not only do
they white-wash a roof with their droppings, but at night they tramp
about, sounding more like an army than a flock of birds.
One shack owner has hung fish nets above his roof with the idea of
keeping the gulls off. Another owner even set up a small cannon that
fired automatically every half-hour, but the gulls soon got used to it
and then ignored it.
Olson’s may be the last shack to be built in the gulf of Mexico off
Port Richey because in recent years, ecologists and environmentalists
have opposed any type of construction in the waters.
This opposition plus the tax picture on the shacks which seems to be
increasing each year along with the natural disasters of hurricanes and
lightning may make the shacks off the Port Richey coast a thing of the
But for the present, the shacks are in splendid condition. Around
them their owners catch redfish, trout, grunts. (Olson has even caught
tarpon and shark.)
Other owners, perhaps not so interested in fishing, go out to their
stilt-houses to relax or to entertain guests who appreciate a day’s
privacy in quiet surroundings.
A PLACE APART FOR PEOPLE WHO LOVE THE WATER, SOLITUDE (1986)
This article appeared in the St. Petersburg Times on Oct. 12, 1986.
By ANITA KILPATRICK
GULF OF MEXICO - When Dale Jones, 66, feels the urge to get away
from the demands of his business in the central Florida city of
Leesburg, he heads for his stilt house in the Gulf.
Rocking on the porch on the west side of the house and looking out
over an endless expanse of water, Jones tells why he enjoys spending
time here: "It’s just a relaxing place. We can forget about the
telephone, and we can forget about television. We can forget about
What makes his hideaway so special to Jones is its location - about
a mile out in the Gulf, off the coast of New Port Richey, near the
mouth of the Pithlachascotee River.
A simple, wooden structure sitting on tall pilings sunk into the
Gulfs bottom, Jones' cabin is one of 13 stilt houses, or fishing camps,
that make up this odd neighborhood that stretches up and down the coast
of Pasco County. From the shore, 10 minutes away by motorboat, the
camps look like a surrealistic collection of toy houses.
Like Jones, other part-time residents of the stilt houses - who may
come out for an afternoon, a weekend or a couple of months or more -
share a love of the water and a sense of adventure.
Although the water isn't too deep - about 10 feet at high tide and
shallow enough so that you can walk across the sand at low tide - the
sight and sound of the Gulf here is almost overwhelming. It fills every
view, and when the quiet isn't broken by the hum of a passing motorboat
or an airplane, you can hear the water splashing against the houses'
pilings. The uninterrupted view of water and sky evokes a strong
feeling of isolation and solitude.
Those with a pioneering spirit appreciate the fact that this is a
place apart. By forgoing many modern conveniences, the stilt house
owners can experience camp life much the way their predecessors did.
Stilt house folks must bring in their own gas and fresh water, usually
in large 55-gallon drums, generate their own electricity and haul off
their garbage and debris. Of course, many bring along radios,
televisions, even telephones. But still, there’s plenty of time spent
here just fishing off the porch, playing cards and watching the sunsets.
The past according to folklore
According to local folklore, Pasco County’s first stilt houses went
up in the Gulf just after the turn of the century. They were built by
fishermen, says Mike Olson, Pasco County’s tax collector, a former
county commissioner and a former owner of a stilt house. "They didn't
have outboard motors so they used poles to push their flat boats out
from the (Pithlachascotee) river. It was a place for them to stay
overnight, to get out of the weather so they wouldn't have to pole back
into the river. It kind of evolved out of a necessity."
In years past, anyone who had a mind to could go out, stake a claim
by putting down pilings and build a fish camp. But after Hurricane
Gladys destroyed all but two of the existing camps in November 1968,
the Florida Legislature put an end to that practice by prohibiting the
building of new stilt houses on the state’s submerged lands.
At the same time, those who had lost their camps to the hurricane
were allowed, under a "grandfather" clause, to rebuild and hold a lease
on the land underneath until July 1, 1999. With 13 years left on their
leases, camp owners acknowledge that the history of the camps may be
coming to a close. But, for now, at least, they aren't letting anything
spoil their fun.
"We're roughing it - sort of," Dale Jones points out as he shows a
visitor around the one-room interior of his camp. There’s just enough
room for the necessities - eight beds painted blue and covered with mix
and match sheets, a cedar chest and storage spaces stuffed with straw
hats, boat shoes and bedding supplies.
On the wall a large poster shows the "Marine Fishes of the Gulf and
South Atlantic." In the kitchen corner, behind a freestanding counter
are a gas stove, gas refrigerator and a sink without faucets. Overhead
hang old-fashioned gaslights. To one side, next to a large open window
that gives a picture-perfect view of blue skies and billowy white
clouds, are shelves holding foodstuffs and stacks of pottery in bright,
primary colors. Outside, a wrap-around deck leads to a chemical toilet
and shower stall.
The stilt house that belongs to W. D. "Des" Little is similarly
designed to be simple but to have all the comforts of their home on
Moon Lake Road in New Port Richey.
Describing the camp as "pretty comfortable," he points out, "We have
gas cooking. I have solar energy for the lights, television ..."
Television? "Oh, of course," he exclaims, throwing his hands up. "I
couldn't go out there without my soap operas." He names Santa Barbara
as a current favorite.
Though he built his first camp more than 35 years ago, long before
Pasco County was highly developed, Little explains that the stilt house
was meant to help him "get out of this hurly burly of a city."
The retired paving contractor and his wife Michealine ("Micky") stay
at their stilt house whenever they can now. "We used to just move out
there and stay," says Des. "Last year, we stayed out there a week. We
came in for groceries and to go to church."
Micky, meanwhile, raves about "how nice it is when everybody’s out
there. They swim, fish and everybody’s having a good time. It’s like a
Which reminds Des of a Fourth of July, some years ago, when about 70
people showed up at their camp and he went ashore to buy out the town’s
supply of hot dogs. While he was cooking, he recalls, grinning a big
grin, "Some people would come and say, 'I could smell it. Here I am.'
It was standing-room only. In fact, we ran out of standing room - some
of them had to swim."
On weekends, the crowds are in
Crowds are a regular weekend occurrence at Jimmie and Jane Baillie’s
stilt house, about a mile south of the mouth of the Cotee River. This
is Labor Day weekend, and Jane, sitting in the midst of wall-to-wall
people, exudes a calmness that is enviable. She obviously enjoys
playing host. Jimmie, meanwhile, can be found out at the grill cooking
up part of a 25-pound batch of spicy chicken wings.
Although Jimmie, 60, can remember his mother saying that she
"brought me out here in a clothes basket," the Baillies are relative
newcomers to the fishing camp community. They took over the stilt house
that belonged to Mike Olson until three years ago. "I had some hunting
property he wanted so we sort of traded," says Jimmie, a retired
commercial fisherman who has taken to living out at the stilt house as
long as the weather permits - or until hunting season starts.
Among the eye-catching features that seem a bit out of place inside
the Baillie camp are carpeting, built-in kitchen cabinets and an old-
fashioned pump to bring salt water up from below to wash dishes. A pile
of fishing rods leans against the kitchen counter.
Duke, the Baillies' pit bull, enjoys napping on one of four double
beds when he’s not being coaxed to show off his appetite for freshly
caught fish. Outside on the porch are a picnic table, a pair of shark’s
jaws nailed to the wall and a portable radio blaring rock 'n' roll.
On the wall, in plain view, is a hand-scrawled message: "Overnite
Guests By Invitation Only." Jane laughs and says, "Well, we had Greek
Easter out here this year - and none of us is Greek so don't ask me
explain - but we had 35 sleep over."
Despite the hordes of visitors, Jane Baillie says she gets to enjoy
some quiet moments here after putting in a full work week at her beauty
salon. "Every night out here the sunsets are beautiful," she says. Even
summer storms don't bother her. "I'm not afraid of lightning so it’s
beautiful." Sighing with satisfaction, Jane remarks, "I don't remember
what we did before we came out here on weekends."
The challenges of construction
If living in a stilt home in the Gulf is roughing it, then building
a stilt house is real physical punishment. When asked what it takes to
build a stilt house, Des Little rocks back in his chair and exclaims,
"Guts and strength. Guts and strength."
"We didn't build ours," he says, "until I decided I was tired of
going out there and spending the night with somebody else."
He tells how he cut down 22-foot palm trees, trucked them to the
river, tied them to a boat and floated them out to the site: "I wish I
could draw you a picture or show you a picture of how we did it... I
went out there and took a rod and where the rock wasn't too hard, I put
my pilings down. The first one’s real hard. We'd go out Saturday
afternoon and work like hell until dark. Dig a hole with a jet pump.
put a board in the hole and walk the piling up." For his camp, Little
and his crew put in 32 pilings in two weekends.
"That’s one of the hardest jobs you'll ever run into in your life,"
Little contends. "People go out there today, and they don't appreciate
the hard work."
After the pilings, which are sunk at least five to six feet into the
floor of the Gulf, come the floor and decks.
"You ever try to take an estimate while you're standing in a boat,
bobbing up and down?" Little asks, chuckling at the memory of building
the floor. "We got ours pretty level, didn't we, Micky?" he says,
turning to his wife.
"Pretty good." she says, shrugging.
"Well, none of us ever rolled off the bed at night," Little says,
Mike Olson remembers how he built his camp in 1968, when he was 24
years old: "Somehow or another, you go out there with friends, sink a
few pilings, string up some lumber, and you have a dock. Sinking that
first piling is a tough one.
"I used it every single weekend. My routine was to get out there on
Friday afternoon and stay till Sunday night. I'd load the family and
the beagle up and head out there."
What makes the camps worth the trouble and worry? "If you go stay
out there one night, then you'll understand," Olson says. "It really
gets into your blood." Since giving up his camp, Olson says, "I won't
go out there anymore - even though the people who own it are close
friends. It just hurts too much."
A place of special memories
Lawyer Sam Allgood of New Port Richey, another of the longtime
fishing camp owners, had his built in the spring of 1949. "I just
thought it'd be a great idea to have one out there," he says.
Allgood says his four daughters grew up to enjoy fishing at the camp
and still use it as a quiet refuge, even in the off-season when the
chill wind keeps others away. Now, a third generation is taking full
advantage of the camp’s location.
K. C. Misemer, Allgood’s 16-year-old grandson, says he can be found
most weekends at the camp, water skiing, fishing or doing the general
maintenance required. Grinning, K. C. acknowledges that having access
to the weekend place hasn't hurt his popularity at school any.
One of Allgood’s favorite memories of the camp is a special
homecoming after the birth of his youngest daughter: "When my baby was
born, in 1950, my wife didn't even go home from the hospital. I took
her and the baby to the camp." Then, almost 20 years later, as his baby
was reaching voting age, Allgood found himself in the fight to save the
camps after Hurricane Gladys blew through.
Dale Jones remembers the destruction of Hurricane Gladys: "It was
spawning little tornadoes, and I tell you it really blew them (the fish
camps) down. We came back to build, and we found out they had passed a
law that we couldn't rebuild them. The Marine Patrol came out and
Back then, Mike Olson remembers, the stilt houses belonged to "all
the important and influential people in town," and some of them went to
Tallahassee to fight for their rights and their property.
"We had to go to Tallahassee and tell them what the facts were,"
The result of their efforts was a ruling that allows the fish camp
owners to use their camps until their leases run out on July 1, 1999.
"At that point, the state decided to come in and get leases drawn up
for everyone," says Olson. "It was a convenient point in history -
after that hurricane - for the state to get a handle on them (the fish
When the leases expire, all existing structures to be dismantled and
removed. In the meantime, if any of the camps suffers more than 50
percent damage, it may not be rebuilt.
"If Hurricane Elena (Labor Day weekend 1985) had gotten a little bit
closer to Pasco County, we might be down to zero," says Olson. "Every
single year, at hurricane season, the people who have those
Throughout the year, most owners make home improvements, keeping the
no-rebuild stipulation in mind. Regular maintenance is all-important.
Little’s palm tree pilings were first replaced with telephone poles and
just four years ago were replaced with 10-inch plastic pipe filled with
"Of course, we all tried to build better," says Jones, "But if
another (hurricane) hits, it’s gonna take it no matter what we do. If
it happens, it happens. We'll just have to accept it."
When the leases expire and "if they (the houses) are still
there, if they withstand all the hurricanes," Olson says, one of two
things may happen: "Either everybody packs up and leaves, or the
government draws up new leases. It probably all depends on politics."
"I'll tell you, they're (current owners) gonna have to fight it just
like we did," predicts Des Little. "I'd fight to save that camp. Our
days are gone by out there, and we still love it, but we're thinking of
Photo taken in 1960
STILT HOUSES ON LAST LEGS (1987)
This article appeared in the Tampa Tribune on July 16, 1987.
Picture caption: One of 12 stilt houses sits off the mouth of the
By CHARLES T. BOWEN
NEW PORT RICHEY - The summer heat means lots of activity at the
stilt houses at the mouth of the Pithlachascotee River in the Gulf of
The 12 privately owned houses, located about a mile offshore, have
been a fixture on the Golf coast for more than three decades.
"I built my first one in 1949, but then a hurricane and tornado
wiped us all out in 1968. We rebuilt in the spring of 1970," said New
Port Richey attorney Sam Y. Allgood Jr.
The houses Were rebuilt under a lease agreement with the state of
Florida, which owns the property. The leases expire in the late 1990s.
"The leases are not renewable. After that, they've got to come
down," said Ken Rouse, assistant director of the Division of State
Construction of stilt houses in the Gulf or any state waters is no
longer allowed. Under state rules, if the existing houses suffer
damages totaling at least half of their value, they can not be rebuilt.
The homes have assessed values ranging from $13,382 to $17,741,
according to Pasco County Property Appraiser’s Office records.
"If something happens this time, that’s it. We can't rebuild," said
The houses have attracted more than just local residents. Johnny
Cash and his wife, June Carter Cash, and the Rev. Billy Graham and his
wife, Ruth, are occasional visitors to the stilt house owned by Des and
Mickey Little of New Port Richey. A Little family member said June
Carter Cash visited earlier this month.
According to county records the houses are owned by Allgood; Little;
Frank E. Brower of Treasure Island; Swartsel Groves Inc. of Elfers; W.
M. Stevenson of Rowan Road; Wray Enterprises Inc. of 1709 Wray Way,
Holiday; David E. Lake and George M. Brown of Port Richey; James and
Jane Baillie and Robert and Tammy Pumphrey of New Port Richey; William
F. Grey of New Port Richey; Copeland A. Hills of Windermere; Richard D.
Stevenson Jr. of Trouble Creek Road, and Kendall and N. Dale Jones of
Two photos from a St. Petersburg Times article on May 3, 1989
STILT CABINS' EXISTENCE THREATENED (1993)
This article appeared in the Tampa Tribune on Mar. 17, 1993.
By DANIEL BERGER
NEW PORT RICHEY - The cluster of stilt cabins built a mile out on
the Gulf of Mexico represent a piece of a slower Florida.
Built as simple fishing camps with few amenities, the rustic
dwellings near the mouth of the Pithlachascotee River fostered many a
golden memory for the families who own them.
There are 13 of them, says art studio owner Debbie Allgood, whose
father, New Port Richey attorney Sam Allgood, owns one.
The weekend storm wasn't the first the houses weathered. One of
their earliest purposes, says her sister Abby Misemer, was to provide
shelter for passing fishermen.
But the storm may spell the beginning of the end for the houses.
Several were demolished. Others were damaged. State laws not only
prevent any more from being built but restrict owners from repairing
them if they are more than 50 percent damaged. Their state leases, not
renewable, expire in 1999.
"It’s the end of a way of life," says Jane Baillie, whose stilt
house vanished during the storm. It was one her family bought from
Pasco County Tax Collector Mike Olson about 10 years ago, she says.
"We spent every weekend in the summer out there. The only way to get
there was by boat. . . . The sunsets were gorgeous. I'm going to miss
it," Baillie says.
Not all the owners are giving up. Some of the houses withstood the
storm. And it isn't clear who won't be allowed to rebuild, Misemer
says. "It’s hard to assess what’s 50 percent. I don't know who makes
"We looked at them Sunday. There are more than we expected still
standing, and they looked to be in better shape than we thought," says
Sandra Uzzle, whose family owns one. "It was a nice surprise."
After a hurricane smashed the homes in 1968, the state was slow to
grant permission to rebuild, Sam Allgood says. They wanted to outlaw
State officials had heard about problems with stilt houses built
near Key Biscayne, Misemer says. Far more luxuriant, those became the
site of wild parties and, officials charged, drug smuggling.
The owners finally got permission to rebuild, but with rebuilding
restrictions and 30-year leases attached, says her father, one of those
who went to Tallahassee for hearings on the issue.
"People who don't have camps of their own, don't want us to have
ours," Sam Allgood says.
Their cabin - one large room with beds around the edge, a dining
table in the middle and a sitting area and small kitchen - represents
an important part of her family’s life, Misemer says.
Birthdays and holidays were often celebrated there. In the old days,
the houses were left open and stocked with food for passing boaters,
and the family often got calls from people who said they meant to pay
back a few cans of food, Misemer says.
The cabin cost hardly anything to build in 1949, Sam Allgood
remembers. They used palm pilings they cut themselves from nearby
swamps, he says.
At that time they had only one neighbor. The cabins had come with
various owners and gone with various storms since the late 19th century.
Now, Allgood says, he heard one sold recently for $60,000, although
most remain simple structures.
Misemer says her family has already begun repairing theirs, which
survived the storm but lost some docks and pilings. "We will definitely
be hammering and sawing away."
Photo from the 1968 Gulf High School yearbook
OASES IN GULF GET REPRIEVE FROM STATE (1998)
This article appeared in the St. Petersburg Times on Sept. 11, 1998. Picture caption: Richard Uzzle, 48,
coils a rope as his brother’s boat nears their stilt house, which is just over a mile offshore
near Port Richey.
By BETH GLENN
Richard Uzzle pulls a trap from the Gulf of Mexico and steps back
onto his porch with a catch of a dozen blue and stone crabs. He crosses
the carpet scraps covering the deck, careful to step over the rope
anchoring his brother’s boat and avoid a rotten plank marked by a
"We've been waiting on the lease to really start doing major
repairs," he said. "But we'll probably just fix these two boards here.
Everybody loves it the way it is."
Families like the Uzzles, who since the turn of the century have
enjoyed fish camps or stilt houses in the gulf, had their leases
extended by 20 years this week. Under a 1976 agreement between the
state and the owners, all the houses were supposed to be demolished by
But when owners of stilt houses from Pasco, Charlotte and Lee
counties asked for an extension, the governor and Cabinet granted them
"This is where my parents and I learned to fish and ski, where my
kids learned to ski, and I hope my grandkids will be able to swim and
ski here," Greg Uzzle said of the fish camp christened "The Last One,"
since it lies farther north in the mouth of the Pithlachascotee River
than any of its neighbors.
Each brother divides his time between his house on the mainland and
the fish camp, which has been in their family 40 years. The brothers
have a sharing arrangement that lets each use the stilt house every
third week. Another of the elevated shacks stretched parallel to the
coast like a string of beads has belonged to their uncle for more than
"They're like little paradises, these places," Richard Uzzle said.
"To us they're priceless."
Descendants of one of Pasco’s pioneer families, the Uzzle brothers
trace the fish camp tradition back to the late 1800s. Fishermen
originally built the camps within poling distance from the shore so
that, in the days before outboard motors, they could relax there after
a day’s work. They also used the camps to dry and repair nets and salt
their catch for shipment.
As early as the turn of the century, the Uzzles' grandfather owned
one of the camps for recreational purposes. Before the no name storm of
1993 there were 13 camps, of which the Uzzles owned three. Now they own
two of the six remaining houses.
With the advent of outboard motors and environmental protection, the
camps were rebuilt farther offshore, and commercial fishing was banned.
At the brothers' camp, that ban extends to all work - except what’s
necessary to maintain the place.
"There’s no commercial business out here at all," Greg Uzzle said.
"It’s strictly pleasure; we come out here to get away from all that."
The brothers said they have stayed in their cabin for as long as two
weeks before making an obligatory trip to the mainland for ice. A
trapdoor in the center of the camp allows for fishing even in bad
weather and also circulates a cooling breeze through the camp.
They have stocked the house with a gas grill for cooking. Some
mattresses covered with sleeping bags, a couch, table and papa san
chair constitute most of the other Spartan furnishings. A generator
fuels electric lights, a heater for winter nights and a radio that
keeps camp dwellers connected to the outside world. The brothers said
watching lightning storms from the camp is exquisite, and they can see
fireworks from four towns from their perch 2 miles offshore.
"On a clear day you can see as far as Tarpon Springs, and Anclote
Key looks like you can almost touch it," Greg Uzzle said.
Though the gulf provides much, fresh water is one of the greatest
challenges. They haul out ice and drinking water from the mainland,
collect rainwater for showers and pump saltwater through an old
fashioned pump to wash dishes.
The Uzzles still remember boyhood visits to the house when they
could eat clams from the gulf that were cooked in the sun on a sheet of
tin. That was before the pollution set in.
Though Greg and Richard Uzzle are Port Richey real estate agents who
own some of the most exclusive property in or around Pasco county, Greg
said the thought of being tied to a piece of dry land scares him. How
to resolve the contradiction?
"I try to sell houses on the water," he said. "And I come out here
as often as I can."
"This is all I need," he said. "I can't remember any bad times out
"I mean, is this paradise or what?"
Stilt Houses in Gulf - West Pasco Art Guild - Alice Landry
HOUSES BUILT FOR FISHING -
This article appeared in the Tampa Tribune on July 24, 2005.
ANGLERS POLED BOATS UP AND DOWN GULF (2005)
By STEVE KORNACKI
The first stilt houses were erected off the coast of Port Richey
between 1916 and 1918 to shelter fishermen and store the mullet they
caught in nets, John Grey said.
"In the 1920s, both of my grandfathers, Grey and Boyd, built a camp
about 300 feet from shore at the mouth of the river," John Grey said.
The stilt houses, built in the Gulf of Mexico near the mouth of the
Pithlachascotee River, are called camps by locals who refer to their
fishing camp origins.
"The mullet fishermen had to pole their boats out into the Gulf back
then," said Peck Casson, who leases one of nine stilt houses still in
working order. "They had no outboard motors and had to pole up and down
the coast to fish.
"When tides shifted and there was bad weather, they needed a place
to stay and so they built the stilts."
Grey said Casson’s current stilt house, located near Durney Key and
the second-most southern location of the nine stilts, is built on the
site of the original Gulf stilt house.
"And they've been rebuilt constantly ever since the first ones went
up," said Grey, 60, who owns and operates Coldwell Banker F.I. Grey &
Son with his younger brother, Chuck.
The move from fishing camp designs to family dwellings took off
after World War II. The Allgood, Baillie, Bennett, Grey, Haines, Helms,
Jones, Little, Sawyer, Stevenson, Swartsel, Thiel and Warburton
families were among those building about that time.
Every family built its own, said Port Richey Vice Mayor Bill
Bennett, and he remembers helping his father build theirs with cypress
beams and pressure-treated poles.
Hurricane Gladys in October 1968 took down or severely damaged every
"There were 18 up in 1968," said Casson, who spent much time at the
Grey and Little houses with the families of his friends. "Thirteen of
them were rebuilt, and the Thiel house was later taken down by
The No Name Storm of March 1993 claimed about half of the remaining
dozen homes, and Casson said three families chose not to rebuild after
Bennett said the original houses were claimed as homesteads but that
changed after Gladys, when the state began leasing the sites. Casson
said the original five-year leases were extended to 30 years after the
rebuilding from Gladys, and about 15 years remain on the current 20-
"The Legislature passed a law saying that if they are kept in good
order, the leases will continue to be extended," Casson said. The
leases are "a little less than one thousand dollars per year," and
payment of county taxes also is required.
Many of the children and grandchildren of the original camp builders
hold the lease or have an interest in the nine remaining houses.
"I can still remember my mother saying, "Take the skiff with Peck
and get us some mullet or flounder for dinner,' " John Grey said.
"The camp was and still is a unique and wonderful thing. And I'm
glad they are still out there because they are a wonderful part of our
heritage and history."
Stilt house owned by the Grey and Henry families.
Photo courtesy of John Grey.
NINE REMAINING "CAMPS' IN THE GULF
This article appeared in the Tampa Tribune on July 24, 2005.
ARE SYMBOLS OF A RICH HISTORY (2005)
By STEVE KORNACKI
Nine wooden stilt houses dot the Gulf of Mexico just offshore near
the mouth of the Pithlachascotee River. Their rich history dates back
about 90 years, and their rebuilding after storms makes them symbols of
They have been havens to fishermen, summer homes, fishing camps,
weekend getaways and constant pelican perches. But more than anything,
they are a state of mind: a place Huck Finn and Jimmy Buffett would
appreciate. And Billy Graham, too.
The renowned evangelist and country singer Johnny Cash, who once
owned a home with his wife along the river channel leading to the stilt
houses, used to relax at Des Little’s "camp," as the locals call them.
"It’s really a way of life out here," said Peck Casson, who stayed
at the Little and Grey family camps as a boy and now leases one
himself. "And it’s really peaceful, except for weekends."
Boaters coming too close and those casting fishing nets at the crack
of dawn can disturb paradise now and then.
But usually it’s just the sound of waves smacking the wood and
concrete support pilings and of fish jumping out of the water.
The smells are those of salty breezes and someone frying snook the
next camp over.
The sights are of the horizon from a wooden porch, sea trout and
snook schooling in the shallows, crystal-clear saltwater, dolphins
surfacing and boaters returning from play at Anclote Key.
Open the windows and doors to the 24-foot-by 30-foot, one-room
structures and sea breezes supply the air conditioning.
Eddie Caraway and his wife, Patricia, recently spent two nights at
the Lake camp, which is just north of Casson’s place and near tiny
"Look at where you are at," said Eddie Caraway, his feet propped up
on a porch chair and sunglasses reflecting the blue sky. "It just
doesn't get any better than this. It’s like being in a big aquarium."
Port Richey Vice Mayor Bill Bennett nodded in agreement and smiled
as he paced the porch next to Caraway.
"Good times," Bennett said. "That’s what these camps are. And they
were our home away from home when I was growing up in one during
Bennett brought out City Manager Jerry Calhoun for his first tour of
the camps and the Caraways invited the vice mayor to dock his boat.
"There’s such a nice breeze out here today," Patricia Caraway said.
"And we're going to grill steak and the redfish we caught tonight,"
her husband said. "You can't have a bad time out here."
Bennett added, "It’s like heaven."
Home For The Summer
Like Casson and lifelong buddies Chuck and John Grey, Bennett
remembers moving out to the camps with several other families each year
at the end of May and staying until Labor Day. They took boats to
school, but mostly dropped a line into schools of fish.
"We didn't have air conditioning in houses back then," said Bennett,
recalling the 1950s and '60s. "But it was cool out here."
And the livin' was easy.
John Grey recalled mullet fishermen leaving a note saying they had
to use the house as refuge from a squall and they brewed some coffee.
"That night, the fishermen came by our place and asked, "How many
mullet y'all want?' " Grey said. "They left us six or seven for dinner."
Those idyllic days are long gone.
Casson said his stilt house has been looted three times, and it’s
now protected by an alarm system and chains bolted with a Master Lock.
He pointed to saw marks on half-inch-thick links and shook his head.
"And neither these houses nor the contents are insurable," Casson
He credited Pasco Sheriff Bob White and Cpl. Don Deso of the
sheriff’s Marine Patrol Unit for helping him devise an address system
for the stilt houses for patrolling purposes and quicker emergency
"They are on something we call Gulf of Mexico Boulevard," Deso said,
"and numbered 1 through 9 in order from the north to south."
It’s a boulevard for dreamers.
Lazy Days, Family Time
The stilt houses are a place to live life on island time. A place
where the knotted traffic on U.S. 19 and the city noises are left
behind, and peace is found.
Casson knows of only two other stilt house communities: one in
Biscayne Bay near Miami and another off the coast of Lee County near
"The best thing of all about the camps is that they are a way of
life," Grey said. "Back then, it made families do things as a family.
There were no distractions."
Just fishing, swimming, boating, water skiing, scalloping, crabbing
and a chance to prop up your feet on the porch railing and read a good
"We didn't know how lucky we were out there," Grey said. "We had
time to do things like look up at the clouds and talk about what their
shapes looked like."
Grey and Casson said no families spend the whole summer at camp
anymore. But it remains a place to bring family and friends on weekends.
The Lake and Casson family camps are festive getaways. They have
many of the conveniences of home, like gas stoves and lights and
satellite televisions powered by generators. And some inconveniences,
like outhouses on the docks and melting ice stored in coolers to keep
They have two or three beds and extra mattresses stored in the
rafters. Kitchen cabinets and counters provide a touch of home, and
storage shelves and fishing poles line the walls.
The Lake camp has special touches like the old Moon Lake Lodge
welcome sign hanging from rafters at the peak, a wet bar with a coconut
bikini and hula skirt decoration, and a surfboard. A sign reads: "The
voice of the sea speaks to the soul."
And souls find what they want out here.
"We watch sunsets from the bench or a rocking chair," Bennett said.
"And many mornings a boat wakes you up slapping the water."
Casson remembered his friend, Doug King, feeding lettuce to a
manatee off the dock.
"Johnny Cash would go out there for a week every year just to get
away from things," Grey said. "People left him alone, and that’s what
he liked about being here.
"These camps bring back thousands of memories. It was just a way of
life, the way it was. And you can't go back to it."
But folks still visit.
Two photos used with permission in 2006 from the
Cotee River Boat Rentals web site.
The right photo shows a stilt house just off Durney Key.
Left: 2006 photo courtesy of BayNews9; right: 2007 photo courtesy of Debi Pitcock
Four stilt houses are visible from Brasher Park in Port Richey (2006).