Sports

It's Tuesday night at the fronton. The elaborately costumed players -- with names like Andonegui, Lertxundi, and, our favorite, Homero -- parade out to center stage and wave their cestas to the crowd, signaling the commencement of the evening's matches. We're parked in the front row with a cigarette and a $2.95, 16-plus-ounce Budweiser wondering how we ended up at a place called a "fronton" watching a game involving "cestas." Even more so, we're contemplating how this strange Basque game was transformed into a staple of South Florida culture. But in this Huizenga-owned sports era of $6 stadium drafts, gestapo-enforced nonsmoking areas, and arenas designed primarily as playgrounds for corporate executives, we appreciate the casual scruffiness of Dania Jai-Alai. Even if we do have to watch a game that -- as best we can figure -- is just a souped-up version of racquetball. Perhaps we're missing something. We'll try to figure out the betting next.

When it comes to airboat rides, forget the painted, commercialized boats and the uniformed tour guides. They're all too predictable and sanitized. For adventure and education, Buffalo Tiger's outfit is the place. Tiger is an old, worn former Miccosukee Indian chief whose dark eyes still twinkle. And he has a great retirement gig -- running an airboat company off Tamiami Trail. While others actually drive the boats, Tiger can often be found in his gift shop, surrounded by paints and putty, making crafts to sell. You get 40 to 45 minutes on the airboat for $10, but it's not the length of the ride or the cost that makes it really special. It's the intimate and casual approach. If you see something you want to look at more closely, the guide will stop the boat for you. White flowers on the water mean it's shallow, the guide will instruct you, while yellow flowers signify a deeper swamp. The guide will also stop the boat and let you pull a piece of sawgrass out of the swamp and inspect the bottom to see that it's white and has the texture of heart of palm. Miccosukees, you learn, used to eat the grass. (We took a small bite, but were warned that the Everglades are contaminated by pesticides from northern farms.) We saw about a dozen gators, from ten-footers to little babies. (Gators, we were told, live to be well over 100 years old.) The stop at an old Miccosukee village, where chickees stand in ruins, was fascinating. And we got a chance to drive the boat for a few minutes.

While those poor, underpaid NBA players were working out their contract dispute, they cost owners a bunch of cash. They also cost fans half a season. So while you're boycotting the babies who call themselves pros, "get game" yourself. You and your friends can take it to the hoop in style at Cypress Park, where smooth, hunter-green asphalt is divided into four full-length courts by brick-red sidelines. At either end of every court stands a rectangular, mod-looking white backboard with a bright-orange rim and a new cloth net (not the canvas playground type). And for those rowdy games full of body-checking and wild fast breaks, the posts supporting the baskets are covered in blue foam padding, and the chainlink fence surrounding the court area keeps errant shots and passes from getting away. After working up a thirst, players can step over to the nearby fountain or grab a sports drink from the conveniently located vending machine. There's usually one full-court contest going, which leaves the other baskets free for shooting around. A stand of palms and pines shades the court area during part of the day, and for those overtime games, the lights stay on until 10 p.m.

We can imagine doing without the beer-soaked bacchanalia of Fort Lauderdale beach in season. We can imagine doing without the annual dance of the white-bellied snowbird on Broadwalk along Hollywood beach. But somehow we can't imagine doing without the small-town charm of the short but sweet stretch of beach known as Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. Drive along A1A from Sunrise Boulevard north. You'll know you're there when the high-rise hotels and condos fall behind and you begin to pass a multitude of small beachfront hotels with names like the Green Lantern and the Blue Dolphin. This beach has all sorts of small but pleasing touches, such as the diner sitting out over the water on the Commercial Boulevard pier where you can eat a down-home breakfast while watching the sun rise out of the ocean. Also, this beach boasts the best close-in reef in two counties for snorkeling or diving straight from the beach. Yes, the place has its share of tourists. Yes, traffic on the main drag can get a little crazy in season. But, it's not so well-known that you won't be able to throw down your towel on a nice quiet spot all your own.

No contest here, or should we say plenty of contests here? South Beach Park, which is south of Las Olas Boulevard off A1A, has just put up brand-new nets on nine volleyball courts in the sand. Some of the more serious players there swear that the park has the best volleyball courts not only in South Florida but also in the entire state. The competition in the pickup games can be fierce, as the winners move from court to court until they reach the first court, where the best matches can be seen. But you don't have to be a semipro to have fun. Whole families can also play, from the oldest, fattest aunts to the littlest, most awkward children. All that is required is a little waiting to claim a court. It's worth it, as the courts are perfect and the setting, complete with the dark blue Atlantic waters lapping on the beach under swaying palms, is enough to gentle the heart of even the most ruthless volleyballer.

Proving they have more to offer than bingo and tobacco, those savvy Seminoles lure tourists to their Big Cypress Reservation with the promise of panthers and snakes, swamp buggies and airboats, chickees and crafts. Signs lead the way from Alligator Alley to Exit 14, then north on State Road 833 to West Boundary Road and into Billie Swamp Safari. Careen through shallow waters and hardwood hammock on a glorified jeep-bus, stopping at the Oasis to schmooze the predatory, territorial Donald Trump -- the alligator, that is -- then return to the kitschy Seminole village and eat his less-fortunate brethren for lunch. The Swamp Water Cafe waitress aptly describes alligator tail as "a cross between chicken and fish," but on a weekend afternoon, this delicacy may be upstaged by another local attraction: charismatic tribal chairman and aspiring country musician James Billie. Though tour guides decline to discuss the chief, approach him during a break in his tableside jam session, and he'll regale you with off-color folktales about the swamp's namesake, Kissimmee Billie. Up the street the Ah-Tah-Thi-Ki ("to know, to remember") Museum gives a more conservative history lesson, with Chief Billie making his big-screen appearance in full CEO regalia. Dioramas re-create native activities: Cypress canoes cross the translucent Everglades, mannequins do the green corn dance. Parents might wish to point out printed anecdotes about traditional disciplinary practices such as the scratching of naughty youth; the power of suggestion should be enough to keep children well-behaved on the ride home.

Ali Witherspoon carries an American flag. His head is draped in camouflage. His biceps are bigger than grapefruits. He is big and mean and scowling. You will listen to him if you know what's good for you. He knows what's good for you, and that's running, crunching, squatting, bending up and down, and running down the beach and back again until you are gasping, wheezing, broken, ready to drop. Get it together, soldier! A former New England Patriot, Witherspoon runs Muscle Beach Gym on the beach in Hollywood, headquarters for the most grueling workout regimen south of Fort Benning. Sign up for his Saturday morning basic training at your own peril. At the end of ten weeks, if you survive, you may be in the best shape of your life.

Certainly it's not the finest pool table you'll come across in South Florida. There are a few divots and funny felt runs, and the rails don't play quite true. But how many bar tables in equivalent stages of disrepair force you to shuck out four quarters to play on? Just about every single one. Here play is gratis. So rack 'em up and knock 'em down. Once the sun sets, the anodyne of alcohol begins to work its magic, and the breeze on the open-air patio kicks in, you won't know the difference. Even when the eight ball rolls to the lip of the pocket and then stops suddenly in a queer little depression -- a cherry for your opponent to pick off -- you'll just chuckle and curse your luck. Besides, while you're waiting for your turn at the table to come around again, you'll have time to enjoy some of the best conch chowder and barbecue available, not to mention the mounted deer's ass hanging from the wall.

Fishing superstar and television personality Rolan Martin can take a camera crew wherever he wants to shoot one of his segments for cable fishing shows, and when he's taping one on bass fishing, he heads to the Everglades. He knows something many savvy South Florida fisherman do, and it might not seem fair: When the South Florida Water Management District drops the water level in the Glades each winter based on predictions of rainfall for the coming year, water starts flowing out of the flats and into canals; at such intersections bass, perch, brim, and tarpon sit with their noses into the current waiting for smaller bait fish to float by. And whether you're an avid angler or a first-timer, you can take advantage of the bountiful pickings in the miles of glades accessible from Everglades Holiday Park. Just follow Griffin Road west, and you'll run into the parking lot, where you can use the boat ramp to put in your own craft or rent a boat ($52.50 plus tax for five hours). From there anyone should be able to find a happening fishing hole, thanks to the marvels of engineering. Park admission is free.

"He's got a tricky little pitch shot from off the green, and we can see his knees shake from here," whispers Johnny Miller of NBC, sitting up in his TV tower next to the filled grandstands surrounding the 18th green. You grip down on the sand wedge, ignore the crowds (and the pressure), and lift the ball out of the four-inch rough and onto the bent-grass greens and sink it! Heron Bay was designed by a pro and is owned by pros, and it's where the pros play when the tour stops here in March. It's one of the few TPC courses where the public is allowed to play. They start growing the rough a few weeks before the tournament and put up the stands so you can have pretensions of tour experience as you hack your way around this difficult layout. The course hugs the eastern edge of the Everglades and has been recognized for its nature-friendly design and, of course, beautiful herons. The Desert Fox, Erwin Rommel, would feel at home here with the number of sand bunkers that come into play. And before reaching into the water for that errant shot, make sure there's no gator.

Weston Hills

If your daily vocabulary includes words like reps, sets, grams, cardio, and pounds, it should also include one more, Gold's. The self-proclaimed "Mecca of Bodybuilding" sprouted up in July 1990, thanks to partners Ed Benson and Bob DeLuca. Over the last ten years, Benson (now sole owner) has turned the original 10,000-square-foot facility into an elite exercise environment. The purchase of three adjacent stores added an 8000 square feet devoted to arms and legs and a spinning and aerobics studio. Four different sets of dumbbells, Ivanko plates and bars, a rock-climbing simulator, and more than 30 pieces of cardio equipment make this the best place to train for the hard-core bodybuilder or the average person wanting to get in shape. Members of the aerobics staff have appeared on ESPN's Corey Everson's Gotta Sweat and ESPN2's Crunch Fitness, and the spinning is coordinated by WSVN-TV (Channel 7) fitness expert Ellen Latham. Gold's motto is "We guarantee results." How? For those who need motivation or instruction, there is a team of personal trainers headed by author and WIOD-AM (560) radio's fitness show host Phil Kaplan. Got pain? Gold's offers an on-site chiropractic physician's office. Got kids? A baby-sitting service is available. A pro shop of vitamins and supplements makes this the complete gym. Over the years it's been the gym of choice for athletes like Mr. Olympia Vince Taylor, members of the Miami Dolphins, and model Niki Taylor.

Nobody intends to tumble from the saddle, but if it happens, let it be with AA-D Horse Adventures. An amiable guide will dust you off, explaining what caused your abrupt dismount and how to avoid future falls, taking care to minimize your embarrassment. Then, as in the proverb, the group leader will help you back onto the tamed beast. With names like Little Tree and Cowboy, these horses are well groomed, responsive (if you can communicate clearly), and younger than the plodding types found at many horseback-riding outfits. Tree Tops' extensive trails meander through live oak forest, around wild coffee shrubs and Brazilian pepper plants, tempting the ever-hungry equines and keeping you alert. "Toes up, heels down," the guides nag, while praising your improved form. You survive the rest of the ride without kissing the dirt again, and the horse is replaced by a soreness that smacks of a more amorous adventure.

Before opening his indoor gym of faux rock walls last spring, Coral Cliffs owner Robert Christiansen had a 1400-foot wide, 25-foot tall section of the warehouse space he leases covered with foot- and handholds comprising 23 routes -- from a ladderlike beginner's climb to contortionist-only extreme routes. And working by himself he's gradually expanded the climbing face, working toward a goal of covering a 7000-foot-wide section. Even as he's done so, those original routes have been tweaked periodically, offering a continually changing selection of climbs. As a long-time climber himself (he provides free instruction), Christiansen knows that variety is the spice of climbing and wants to provide that for vertically starved South Floridians looking for ever-new scaling challenges. Tape, in a rainbow of colors, marks the different climbs, and each attempt on the wall is kept safe using a buddy system of climber and belayer. The belayer is the person on the ground attached to the climber by a rope between his or her harness and the climber's; the rope is strung through a pulley system that makes light work of stopping a fall.

Bells ring overhead, prompted by the pull of a handle. Plastic rings with polka dots circle bent bars of galvanized steel. A volleyball seesaws along a metal channel from one basket to another. Guiding these movements with wonder and wide grins are children usually excluded from playground activities, children whose physical and mental disabilities prevent them from swinging or sliding with their peers. The forlorn expression on a wheelchair-bound boy's face as he watched his carefree siblings jump, run, and giggle inspired Richard Neiman to found Basic Skills, Inc., a Fort Lauderdale company that produces playground equipment for disabled children. The newly incorporated business unveiled its educational designs in December at Anniversary Park, possibly the only playground to provide comparable pleasure for children of all abilities. The bright colors and innovative shape of "The Basketball" may seem striking now, but Neiman hopes that eventually it will be as commonplace as the sandbox by its side -- the children straining to tilt its baskets not so different from those constructing castles out of sand.

Since this is the land of sea, sand, and sunshine, when we're in the mood for dining al fresco we like to pack our basket of goodies -- a bottle of wine, some cold chicken, crusty French bread, a wheel of Brie -- and head to the beach. Of course we're not too fond of sand in our food. But you don't have to worry about that at North Beach Park, a wild, overgrown bramble that's within sprinting distance of the surf. Separated from the froth by only a bunch of rabid Rollerbladers and a slim strip of sand are dozens of nice, clean picnic tables. We like to find a spot deep in the shadows beneath the trees where we can gorge ourselves with abandon and then drift off for a nice long nap.

South Florida is thick with amateur ornithologists -- you can't swing a booby around here without taking out a couple bird watchers. It seems that no matter what park you're in, someone is whipping out his Peterson to identify a particularly hot piece of plumage. Local hot spots include Tree Tops Park, West Lake Park, Loxahatchee Nature Preserve -- rewarding venues all. But if you like your fowl up-close and personal, check out Wakodahatchee Wetlands. Brought to you courtesy of the Palm Beach County Water Utilities Department, Wakodahatchee is quite probably the world's best-looking sewage-treatment plant. These "created waters," planted with bulrush, slash pine, and sabal palms, are a magnet for birds and reptiles. A half-mile boardwalk keeps you nice and dry above it all, allowing you to get within feet of such finds as the elusive purple gallinule, the red-shouldered hawk, the belted kingfisher, and the great blue heron. Look down and you're likely to see snakes, alligators, and turtles. Admission is free, and Wakodahatchee is open seven days a week, dawn to dusk.

The only thing loud enough to distract your attention from the throaty buzz of motorcycles tearing around the dirt track is the more imposing rumble of passenger jets. The planes, landing at nearby Fort Lauderdale/Hollywood International Airport, pass low over the track's carefully bulldozed berms, jumps, and banked curves, lending a hint of aviation-fuel aroma to the unmistakable scent of the gas-oil mixture exhaust. (You know, that smell given off by outboard motors and chain saws.) The fumes come from the 60cc cycles navigated by the peewee class and from the 250s and bigger bikes driven by the big boys (and girls). But all of the riders out here -- who practice every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Sunday and race on Saturdays -- look like professionals to us. Their helmets, jerseys, and padded pants are emblazoned with logos and color schemes matched to their machines. As riders whip around the track, catching big air off jumps and sliding sideways through turns, a row of PA speakers pumps out pounding rock music during practices, though much of the time you can't hear it. When the dust and exhaust have thoroughly coated the back of your throat, step over to the concession trailer for a Coke, or, on Saturdays, free beer for folks age 21 and older. Spectators get in for $2 on practice days and for $6 to $8 on Saturdays.

Not only is the Loxahatchee Florida's only designated Wild and Scenic River, it's actually two rivers rolled into one. Or at least two distinctly different paddling experiences. After debarking from Riverbend Park (canoe rentals and packages including return transportation are available from nearby Canoe Outfitters, 561-746-7053) for the nearly eight-mile trip to Jonathan Dickinson State Park, canoeists first encounter a series of horseshoe curves, which can be challenging depending on the current and which meander through narrow passages beneath overhanging trees and their drooping beards of Spanish moss. Alligators patrol the banks, tortoises sun themselves on logs in the river, and the occasional river otter or armadillo makes itself seen, along with at least ten different species of birds, including osprey and turkey vulture. The jumping mullet has even been known to hop aboard a canoe. Halfway through the trip, Trapper Nelson's comes into view. The former home of a guy by that name who lived there up until the 1960s, the picturesque exploring area has restrooms and a covered pavilion with picnic tables. After lunch the rest of the route is mostly a straight line through open water, with occasional turns, some mangrove growth, and a view of the woods from a distance. The trip takes between five and six hours and can vary in difficulty depending on wind and water level. If it hasn't rained in a while, paddlers are sometimes forced to hop out of their boats to push them through very shallow water or over fallen logs -- all in plain sight of those gators on the banks.

Simplicity. This is the beauty of the dog track. Six to eight dogs run in each race. They chase a white mechanical bunny around a track. They almost never pass each other. They almost never bump into one another or fall down or throw their jockeys. (Of course there are none to throw.) Basically whichever dog jumps out in front seems to win the race. The entire spectacle takes well under a minute. Then you buy another beer, smoke another cigarette (everybody at the dog track smokes), toss down another $2 bet on some randomly picked streamlined beauty, and watch what looks like the same exact race transpire again. Occasionally you bet on the right dog, and they give you some money back.

Wake up at first light, close camp and load the canoe, and take off down the Lopez River at dawn. Put the paddle in the heavy, calm water, and start your way upriver, toward Sunday Bay. Don't look up. Look into the water. The Lopez River, in the early morning, provides a stunning reflection of the banks and the trees and the birds and the ascending sky. Look ahead and you see two identical horizons, one real, the other in the river. It takes a lot of preparation and time to experience the Lopez River properly -- it's across the state on the western edge of the Everglades, south of Chokoloskee, and it takes hours to reach by canoe. But few things truly worthwhile come easy. The Lopez provides a channel from the bays of the 'Glades to the Gulf of Mexico and the Ten Thousand Islands -- a handful of which also make for wonderful campsites. It's a short river, taking only a couple of hours to paddle. Dawn is the time to do it. Take your rod and reel and waterproof matches, too. It's packed with big redfish that make for a great meal in the wilderness.

For all its stifling summer heat and lack of any real winter, South Florida isn't a difficult place at all for those seeking a spot of ice. There are ice-skating rinks in Pembroke Pines, Sunrise, Pompano Beach, and Palm Beach Gardens, to name several. But one clearly freezes out all the others in terms of quality: Incredible Ice, the two-year-old, $7 million, 75,000-square-foot facility just east of the Sawgrass Expressway off Sample Road. Owned by the Panthers, the topnotch arena has two skating rinks, and if you're lucky you'll see Pavel Bure practicing there. On Sunday nights families flock to the center, rent top-quality skates, and glide around for an icy evening. Even the tiny ones -- some as young as two or three years old -- can skate there with the help of steel "gliders" that keep the toddlers up on their skates and give them a chilly thrill. On Friday and Saturday nights, the ice is warmed up with dates and couples; as the lights go down, the laser lights come out and a disc jockey pumps up the jam. It's even cool for those who don't like to skate -- they can sit at the bar and down some beer that's almost as icy as the rink itself.

Plenty of parks in Broward and Palm Beach counties are suitable for putting a few miles on the running shoes. But if you're going to live in South Florida, you might as well take advantage of the ocean. There's no better stretch of property than the Broadwalk in Hollywood. It offers an unobstructed view of the ocean and a pleasant saltwater breeze that'll keep your legs pumping. The pathway gets crowded, but if you play your cards right, all logjams can be avoided. Start at the northern tip of Hollywood. North Beach Park at Sheridan Street is an easily accessible spot. Or if you're looking for a slightly longer jog, start farther north, perhaps Perry Street. (It's still Surf Road up there, but the car traffic is almost nonexistent.) Proceed south on the paved walkway. Admire the waves and soak up the ocean air. You can get about two miles of jogging in before things start to get ugly, crowdwise. We usually turn and head back at Michigan Street. That way we avoid the proliferation of Broadwalk eateries and inadequately clad Canadians.

Spread out beneath the two-story observation tower at Anne Kolb Nature Center is a microcosm of South Florida's pristine natural habitats: more than 1400 acres of preserved coastal wetlands, West Lake, the Intracoastal Waterway, and, off in the distance, the Atlantic Ocean. And in the park below, all but the ocean are accessible by trail or canoe. The best place to start, though, is in the interpretive center itself, where a ten-minute film introduces the center and surrounding park. Also inside are touch-tanks full of marine life and informational displays. A stuffed great blue heron and white ibis, for example, seem to give their distinctive calls when the buttons near them are pushed. A full schedule of classes, environmental boat tours, canoe excursions, and hikes along the mud trails through the mangroves are conducted by naturalists. Or visitors can rent a canoe and explore at their own pace.

The collection of dark-stained, cedar-sided buildings that houses the Gumbo Limbo Nature Center's classrooms, labs, and displays looks like ski lodges. The illusion is furthered by what appear to be several giant hot tubs spread out below the deck out back. But instead of decompressing skiers, the tanks are filled with turtles, fish, lobsters, and sharks, which staff members point out and explain to kids and families. Beyond the main complex are an outdoor amphitheater and interpretive nature trail with numbered signs marking trees and plants. The amphitheater is used for portions of some of the many classes and programs offered, but participants don't sit around for long. Hikes through the center's hardwood hammock and along the nearby beach back up the talking part of classes, and one program has nature buffs analyzing the puffer fish, baby barracuda, and blue crabs they find after dipping a seine into the lagoon. For the less adventuresome, however, just kicking back on the shaded deck of the center can be an in-depth lesson in native plants: Dozens of varieties, each with an information card hanging nearby, live in pots that line the deck railing.

Though there are no mountains to climb in South Florida, a few mountain biking tracks do require a substantial amount of technical expertise and endurance to conquer. Not Quiet Waters. It is neither a tire buster nor a dull flat track, and therein lies its attractiveness. The South Florida Trail Blazers volunteered to turn this lakeside trail into a legitimate track in the early '90s. Numerous large roots that beg to be jumped stand in the rider's way, and there's a modest 20-foot clay hill to climb. We are drawn to the "jungle section," where weaving in and out of bushes, trees, and shrubs is more fun than a bike jockey should be allowed to have. A more moderate novice track awaits those who are taking their first pedal down the mountain biking road. The most important advantage to this trial may lie in its all-season availability, for it is 90 percent in the shade. That relative coolness in summer turns the water-park pool you ride past into a casual thought, not a life-saving necessity.

This ride that encompasses the best of Florida's two worlds: a trek through a canopy of trees and a ride along the beach with its glitzy view of the sea. Start by taking the easy, two-mile ride through the park and roll by the Australian pines and banyan trees that make this a great little urban park, complete with sea turtles and rascally raccoons. You can loop around on the paved road as many times as you want, but be careful, the road is shared with automobile traffic. Then exit the park and prepare for phase two. Pull out the wraparound shades, put on the headphones, and strip down to bare essentials, for you are about to ride along a bustling South Florida beach. Ride south on the ocean-side sidewalk against the traffic of A1A, the better to spot beach scenes and suck in the salty air. Pedal down to the south beach area and head back. Those of you belonging to the Train and Trash Club can stop at the Elbo Room and erase any thirst built up during this less-than-grueling ride.

Theirs is a life much different from ours, and it resides in those mansions occupied by the monied class of Palm Beach. The overly wealthy buy these big, showy homes by the water, then put up hedges and fences to keep us, the riffraff, from getting good, close-up looks at them at their leisure. This ride along the eastern edge of Lake Worth allows you to peer into their back yards and see for yourselves what Robin Leach used to tell us about. By standing on your pedals, you attain a height of about seven feet, and you can thereby see over many of the fences and hedges meant to block your view. Look to your right and see Buffy and Reginald serving cocktails after a mild day on the yacht. Now quickly look left and see their oversize yacht parked at their personal dock. The nearly five-mile, out-and-back route begins at the Flagler Museum; ascots are optional.

It seems like almost everyone in Broward County has a pair of in-line skates, and all of them would like to be able to skate in a safe, stress-free environment. It's difficult to do it on the beach or along Las Olas Boulevard, where it's crowded and the pavement is too uneven, and besides, those places are for people who like to see and be seen. So where can you Rollerblade safely on a smooth, paved path and without feeling self-conscious about your skating ability? Would you believe at the Pompano Beach Air Park, located just north of Atlantic Boulevard on Federal Highway? The path surrounding the small general-aviation airport gives you a really good workout, whether you do one lap or ten. The 4.5-mile path is a skater's dream, and there's plenty of room for both novice and seasoned skaters to roll in harmony.

If you want lions and tigers and bears, oh my, then you're better off at Dreher Park Zoo in West Palm Beach or Lion Country Safari. But if it's local flora and fauna you crave, then you can't beat this massive preserve in south central Palm Beach County. It's all that remains of the northern portion of the Everglades, and more than a dozen categories of endangered and threatened species live there, including the American alligator and the extremely rare snail kite. There are also lizards, frogs, snakes, raccoons, armadillos, otters, bobcats, deer, and fish, although the refuge's big draw, especially in winter, is its dazzling array of native and migratory birds. Two main nature trails are available, a marsh trail with an observation tower and a boardwalk through a 400-acre cypress swamp, as well as a five-and-a-half-mile canoe trail. Be sure to take binoculars and, because insects are a big part of the park's population, bug spray.

We give this place four paws up! The 2.5 acres of fenced-in park is built exclusively with mutts (or purebreds) in mind. It offers obstacle courses, wading pools, water fountains for dogs, and cleanup bags for, well, you know. Canines romp on the main grassy area while their owners sit and watch the frolic from the shade. For dogs more agile of body and mind, there is a complete obstacle course with cement tubes to run through, jumps, ramps, and weave poles. The pooch park is the idea of a local veterinarian who saw the need for dogs to get off those doggone leashes and run. Although relatively quiet during the week, the park can get crowded on weekends, so watch out for the big dogs. Woof.

Ignore the "Family" in the name. If you're seeking a friendly, comfortable environment to take the kids, try Hollywood Billiards or Kiss Shot Billiards in Jupiter. Gold Crown is an uninviting, dimly lit decades-old pool hall west of Young Circle that just happens to attract some of the meanest shooters ever to chalk up a pool cue. On any given night, you might find such pool luminaries as Danny Diliberto or Toby Sweet lounging at the bar, or picking up a game of one-pocket. Most nights the house man is John Foster, one of the top nine-ball players in the state of Florida. If you're looking for a money game, there's almost always one to be had. Just sidle up to the table nearest the cash register (the table recently fitted with a new felt cloth), and see who's looking for action. The 11 Gold Crown tables here are old and worn but still have smoother rails and more dependable pockets than most tables half their age. In other words the cliché holds true for pool tables: they don't make em like they used to. The omnipresent billiard dogs adorn the walls, as do black-and-white photos of pool greats such as Willie Mosconi, Minnesota Fats, and Abbott and Costello. From 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day you can play all you want for $5. Go early and hone your stick skills. Maybe then you'll be ready for the regulars.

Spread across 666 acres at the edge of the Everglades, Markham is a park apart from the congestion and development of Broward County. Labradors bound up grassy slopes, solitary fishermen patiently eye their poles, families gather on wooded campsites. The impressive list of facilities includes a target range, astronomical observatory, model-airplane field, boat ramps and rentals, and mountain bike and equestrian trails. But the nostalgia of Boy Scout outings and wilderness trips and backyard barbecues is what gives this park that "peaceful, easy feeling" the Eagles sang about back in the '70s, when Markham Park opened.

Lake Osborne composes almost half of John Prince Park's 726 acres and contributes to its bucolic character. Knotted ficus trees -- bent trunks supported by spindly fingers, aerial roots brushing the hair of visitors below -- evoke visions of J.R.R. Tolkien's gnomelike hobbits. A five-mile bicycle path winds around the park and over the lake, 20 Fit-Trail stations have diagrams for an exercise-by-numbers effect, and wood fences line roads of pitted white powder. Even the potholes are charming.

The best place to fish for whopper saltwater species like marlin is from a boat -- way offshore in deep water. But if you don't own a boat and don't want to pay a charter fee, the next best bet for snagging saltwater fish is a pier. And from the back door of the bait shop at water's edge, Anglin's Fishing Pier extends more than 870 feet into the Atlantic. It's open 24 hours a day, so anglers can show up whenever they feel like it, which is what the fish seem to do. When the breeze is blowing west or onshore, the water gets clear and the fish can see where they're going so they don't come in close. A nice northwest or southwest wind, however, keeps the water murky and the associated currents will bring in pompano, mackerel, bluefish, and snook (at least while they're in season). Early morning during an incoming tide is the best time to land fish here, and dusk to midnight isn't bad. Tarpon may lurk near the end of the pier just before dusk, and snapper and shark can be caught at night. Latching onto any of them requires not only timing but the right equipment, which can be rented or purchased at the bait shop. Admission to the pier costs $2 to $3. And if the fishing's slow, the Pier Restaurant is right there for a cup of coffee, a snack, or a fish sandwich.

Yes, you can pay $50 or more to go out on a boat, don a mask, and swim with the fishes. But why, when you can glide 200 yards out from the beach near the charming old Anglin's Fishing Pier and see coral reefs and sealife that's just as good -- for free. Mornings, before the surf is up and boat traffic starts buzzing, swim out to the first buoy south of the pier, then angle southeast for another 100 yards. Fifteen feet down, you'll find a colorful reef of star and green cactus coral, with fan coral for decoration. Abundant lobsters, parrotfish, harlequin bass, squirrelfish, sergeant majors, and coral shrimp dart in and out of the coral caves. Be on the lookout and you'll see spotted moray eels and octopuses. Small (harmless) nurse sharks will add excitement. If you don't have your own gear, rent mask, snorkel, and fins for $10 -- be smart and spend $7.50 more for a safety dive flag -- from the nearby Deep Blue Divers on A1A and Commercial. (Call the shop at 954-772-7966 for info on water conditions.) When you've sated your appetite for watching fish, swim back to shore and eat some at any of the open-air restaurants off the pier and wash the salt off your lips with a cold brew. It's the real Florida.

You can't even get into a concert these days for much less than $20 or $30. So when you consider that a show by an act like Cheap Trick or Big Bad Voodoo Daddy is included in the $3 admission fee every Saturday and Sunday at Gulfstream Park, the economics are evident. Also included for that measly two bucks is parking, a race program, and -- oh yeah -- a full day of high-caliber thoroughbred horseracing. All of the dough you're saving, of course, is fodder for betting on the ponies or for spending at the track's restaurants or well-stocked snack bars and cocktail counters. And in addition to the concerts, another track perk is Showtime at the Inside Track Room, a free live program during which patrons learn how to wager, held every Saturday and Sunday at 12:30 and 3:30 p.m.

Hallandale's North Beach is the beach that trespassing regulations forgot. It's bad enough that hotels, motels, and estates claim most of the Atlantic shoreline in Broward and Palm Beach, but after dusk most parks are gated, heavily policed, or too populated for you to strip down in safety. Amid this prohibition North Beach's laissez-faire attitude and its relatively clean beach (seaweed and debris are swept from the sand daily) are refreshing and available. Despite the water tower painted like a beach ball, North Beach keeps a low profile by moonlight. Lifeguards are off duty, police presence is minimal, and the few couples parked in the beach parking lot can't glimpse your bare bum through the natural barrier formed by a sand ridge topped with brush. The risk of discovery, of course, only increases the thrill (and the goose bumps). Linger on the water's edge if you dare or dart into the surf, tossing a "last one in's a rotten egg" over your shoulder. The salty chill of the sea, the constant rocking of the waves, and the watery reflection of the stars make even the fanciest private pool seem too staid for the true nature-loving skinny-dipper.

Tired of going to the two-court spot closest to home and finding hacks swatting the ball back and forth on both of them? Sick of playing on the same tired surface? Don't have a ready partner but want to swat some tennis balls anyway? If you answered "yes" to any of these questions, try Holiday Park, where they serve up tennis the way it oughta be, with clay or without, hold the waiting. And it's centrally located off Federal Highway just south of Sunrise Boulevard. There are 21 beautifully maintained courts at the park (eighteen clay, three hard-surface), and the cost for singles play is $3.50 an hour to play on clay, $2.50 on a hard surface. Pocket change. It's a buck extra if you're from outside the Fort Lauderdale city limits, so we suggest that if you have one, show a driver's license that has "Fort Lauderdale" on it. If you're having problems finding a tennis partner, you can spend an intimate hour with a tennis machine for $10. (Use of the machine can be had all year for $75.) The park also offers memberships, leagues, and other events for those who just can't get enough of the old back-and-forth.

What does a newspaper editor know about balancing upright on the crest of one's skull? What could a newspaper editor possibly know about an ancient Indian practice that steadies the mind and flattens the stomach? Plenty, it seems. Last year Stuart Purdy, a former editor turned yoga guru, opened a tiny yoga studio in a warehouse space near the railroad tracks in downtown Fort Lauderdale. Although competition is slim in this land of implants and tummy tucks, Purdy's classes remain small and his attention very personal. We like the balance he achieves between strenuous and soothing. Your heart rate quickens as he helps you contort your body in ways you never imagined possible. It slows as he instructs you to lie on your back, breathing deeply, just shy of sleep. And the reward for all that twisting, straining, and heavy breathing? A euphoria that lingers far longer than a bong hit or a shot of tequila -- and no hangover either.