Think of it this way: Lord Nelson himself threw "darts" in the form of cannonballs, and the 16-pounders flew into the French fleet, which is why he won the battle of Trafalgar and which may be why the British love this pub game so much. Owned and operated by a couple of expatriate British citizens who refuse to relinquish their citizenships, Lord Nelson's is a perfect place for the dart novice. The pub is spacious, the dart boards sit well away from the crowd in the comfortable expanse of the main room, and the pub provides the darts -- just ask at the bar. A couple of strips mark the throwing line, conveniently labeled "7-feet, 2-inches," the official game distance. And that's all that's official. Since the pub isn't on the local dart-league circuit, you can get in and learn over a couple of pints of Bass Ale or a hefty serving of shepherd's pie, bangers and mash, or fish and chips.

Once you've experienced Bathtub Reef Beach, you'll understand how it got its name and why it's the perfect place to bring kids (or not). Every day at low tide, water collects between the beach and the live Anastasia Worm reef that sits about 75 yards away, creating, yes, a natural bathtub to frolic in. (The waves keep their distance beyond the reef.) Anytime is a good time to visit, especially if you're looking for a small, intimate place with a newly regraded beach, new restrooms, a recently rebuilt dunes crossover and, as if that weren't enough, lots of free parking. Come to think of it, this could be one of the best beaches in the entire state.

So what if some steel-and-glass-happy developer plopped a Goliath-size condo just outside the southern end of this beach? Don't look over there. Instead shuffle over the always clean and gold sand and stretch your terry towel under a chickee hut, or for a measly buck, stroll 920 feet due east into the Atlantic Ocean courtesy of the Dania Beach pier. A bait shop sells chum, pilchard, and sand fleas -- also cheese and crackers, gum, smokes, and soda pop. Watch the marble-eyed pelicans watching you as you flick your rented fishing pole over the pier's railing. Cast your lures and lines into jade waters, or maybe pop a quarter into one of a few stereoscopes stationed on the pier, and check out the cargo ships sliding across the horizon. If you're lucky you might spot a school of manta rays or, more often, manatees. For those who like to picnic, coolers and drinks on the pier and beach are allowed. If you prefer to eat out, a modest snack grill dishes out hot dogs and cold beer. Extra bonus: The pier's open 24 hours. This beach's unspoken credos remind us of Key West's: Say hello to strangers, pick up after yourself, and always carry a Koozie.

If variety is the spice of life, then the nine and a half-mile loop trail at Jonathan Dickinson is one flavor-filled hike. Wending along its way, the trail itself varies from loose-packed sand to dirt to downright bog (especially during the rainy season, from June through October). The path is well maintained by the Florida Trail Association, though, and while it's changing its geological makeup, the strand carries hikers through six different habitat zones, from open plains to a thick forest of vine-covered trees that seem to form a wall. Toward the end of the one-way loop, a lake comes into view, and the area is a good one in which to spot the occasional armadillo, alligator, or raccoon. About midway around the loop, a well and pump have been installed, but water from them needs to be thoroughly treated and filtered, so you might as well bring enough of your own clean H2O -- at least two quarts per hiker. As if more than nine miles isn't enough for a good day's trudge, a spur trail heads off some three more miles to a primitive campground, where wanderers will find another water pump and an outhouse. (Hey, we said primitive.) Camping overnight requires advance authorization from the park.

When they need a respite from the hubbub of the city, lawyers, journalists, and other downtown Fort Lauderdale workers zip into this health club inside the Auto Nation Tower, Broward County's tallest building. Enter through the marble-floored lobby and take the elevator to the seventh floor. Where else can you jog on an outside track with a sweeping view of downtown Fort Lauderdale, then dive into an aquamarine, heated outdoor pool? The sounds of the traffic and hustle and bustle seven stories below are a distant melody. For those who prefer their workout after hours, nightly yoga classes are also held on the outer deck, amid palm trees, a decorative pond, mood lighting -- and the stars. We love the state-of-the-art treadmills with individual TVs and the racquetball courts, but the little amenities are what really stand out. In the ladies' locker room, gals can hang up their suits in full-size lockers and relax in a hot or a cold Jacuzzi, without worrying about muscle men hitting on them. Management has thoughtfully provided every tool a professional needs to return to the office after an afternoon workout: blow dryer, moisturizer, iron, hair spray, bathing suit dryer. You can wait for your massage in a special room with a wicker couch and fresh flowers and make complimentary phone calls. Free coffee, newspapers, and razors, too.

What makes this rectangle of tropical lushness with a paved loop exceptional? Its prominent location facing Fort Lauderdale's beach and its relative obscurity for a park in a city. (You can bet some green space-hating developer sees lost millions every time he looks at it.) Pull in off Sunrise Boulevard and park for $3.25, or walk in for $1. The 1.9-mile loop offers a quiet, frequently shady refuge from heavy traffic. The park is sandwiched between the beach and the Intracoastal Waterway, and the loop sports a long view of big boats and homes on the inland shore. Beautiful people frequently work out on the loop, so the scenery is humanly as well as naturally appealing. You can Rollerblade or bicycle, and dogs on leashes are welcome too. You'll find trails to hike, picnic tables in quiet places, and a canoe-rental service for those who want to paddle the lake. Got a sedentary wastrel in your party who wants to do nothing? Stick him or her on the shore of the inland waterway under a tree and let him or her sleep. For runners who care, the loop is hill-free, and after the workout you can walk out on the beach for a swim and a shower.

Named after Chris Evert's dad, Jimmy, who coached here for decades, these city-owned courts are a testament to municipal beauty and utility at prices affordable to most, if not all. That's what we like about public tennis courts -- everybody can get in to play. This facility in Holiday Park, surrounded by palms, flowering plants, and verdant expanses of grass, includes 18 "hard-true" courts (a tidy dirt surface that qualifies as clay) and three asphalt courts. The best way to get court time is to show up. You'll find showers and a lounge, and you can arrange lessons from a pro if you need them. A stringer works on the premises if you need your racket restrung from blasting serves, and the help is as pleasant as any country-club fawner. The place is clean, well managed, and open seven days a week, morning to night.

NEWSFLASH! SNIPE EXIST! And you, too, can go snipe hunting, which is no joke, unless you think it's a joke. Most land west of U.S. Highway 27 is public, managed in part by the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. You'll find about 672,000 acres of excellent habitat for migrating waterfowl such as the snipe, a fast-flying, small bird that's hard to shoot and makes excellent eating. In the southern end of the huge area, you'll need a boat to hunt. But in the northern end, and in the Holey Land/Rotenberger tract in Palm Beach County, you can wade in the water to hunt. We prefer that, since boats have to be thoroughly camouflaged and waders get to move quietly. Other waterfowl include the blue-winged teal, green-winged teal, and the rare Florida mallard (also called the mottled mallard). The long waterfowl season extends from the week before Thanksgiving through the third week in February. Deer and hog populations remain low after Hurricane Irene, so don't plan to get a permit this season to hunt them.

Freshwater or salt, catch-and-release or catch-and-eat? Questions, questions. Florida is about saltwater, so we'll answer by sending you to sea. For convenience, quick access to the ocean, and virtually certain catches, try the 65-foot Flamingo. This boat beats the competition in part because of its size -- you have more room to move than you'll find on the 45-footers, and you'll have more stability at sea. So you're less likely to spend your time throwing up during a small-craft advisory. You'll also find free parking at the nearby Radisson Hotel, always a plus on the beach. It's a short boat ride out to a perennial hot spot -- three parallel reefs loaded with fish. The reefs range from a few hundred yards to a mile offshore, so you spend your time fishing, not boating. What about gear? Well, you have to show up only with what you want to eat and drink. Among the likely catch: king mackerel, amberjack, and grouper. Good luck!

Even Yosemite's great cliffs aren't much more of a stretch than the 4000 feet of climbing surface you'll find inside Coral Cliffs, where Florida's subtropical, flatter-than-Kansas geography doesn't matter a whit. Owner Robert Christenson used to climb in Yosemite and the Sierra Nevada, and he learned two things: one, that it's safer to climb 4000 feet of rock wall if it's only 25 feet high (that's the height of his climbing wall, which has a rotating and variable surface offering climbs that range from beginning to advanced), and two, that he prefers the beach to the mountains. That's why he moved to Florida. But his shop includes everything you need for the real thing -- harnesses, carabiners, and rope (it's Sterling Dynamic in 50 to 60 meter lengths), shoes made by 5.10 and Boreal, and all the other climbing stuff. There's also basic instruction in how to belay, and in the skills of lead climbing, crack climbing, and others.