The Beach Permit Lottery

By Kerri Parker

Every year, a sacred ritual unfolds in Walton County. It’s not marked by fireworks or televised drama. No champagne, no confetti. No, it’s quieter than that. More exclusive. It’s the Beach Driving Permit Lottery. To the uninitiated, it may sound quaint — some bureaucratic local thing involving sand and maybe a form or two. But to those who live here — especially those who don’t have one — it’s the most coveted ticket in town. We’re talking about the legal right to drive a 4×4 directly onto Grayton Beach, no questions asked, no dragging wagons of sunscreen and disappointment through ankle-deep sand.

It’s theholy grail of coastal convenience, a vehicular VIP pass to paradise.

And when someone wins? Oh, you’ll know. They’ll start “casually” posting blurry sunrise photos taken from their tailgate, beach chairs in view. They’ll let their permit sticker peek just slightly in Instagram selfies — the kind of flex that makes lifelong locals grumble into their gas station coffee. “Oh, this old thing? Yeah, we’re just parked by the Gulf. No biggie.”
Except it is a biggie. Access to Grayton’s pristine sands, next to a rare coastal dune lake, where kids can skim safely, dogs can dip their paws (with a separate permit, naturally), and you — yes you — can sit in your car with the A/C on and still be on the beach. It’s not just a permit. It’s power. It’s prestige. It’s personal. And let’s be real: if you don’t have one, you definitely have opinions about the people who do.

You’ll say things like:
“I don’t need to drive on the beach to enjoy it.”
“Isn’t it bad for the sand anyway?”

But deep down? You’ve bookmarked the beach permit lottery page. You’ve refreshed it more than once. You’ve whispered to yourself, “Maybe next year.”

 

Until then, we salute the chosen few — and side-eye them, lovingly, from the dunes.