From the Balcony to the Bay: A Different View of the Christmas Boat Parade

Christmas, Community, and the Water That Connects Us

Some things you watch.
Other things you participate in, whether you planned to or not.

For years, the Panama City Christmas Boat Parade had been a comfortable, familiar tradition for us—something we viewed from a distance. From our 7th-floor balcony with family, or from a friend’s deck, it was a pleasant, almost peaceful experience. Boats glittering across St. Andrews Bay, lights twinkling in the dark, Christmas music drifting faintly across the water. Those nights were less about the parade itself and more about the people beside you, the conversations, the shared laughs, the simple joy of being together.

This year, we changed the rules.

Instead of watching from afar, we went down to the end of our yacht club pier in St. Andrews—right on the water, right where the boats would pass. No buffer. No distance. Front-row seats.

At first, it felt the same. We spotted the boats in the distance as they rounded the shallow point and headed toward St. Andrews Marina—tiny clusters of lights glimmering against the dark bay, neatly lined up like they always are. Familiar. Predictable.

Then they got closer.

That’s when we realized something important had shifted.

We weren’t just watching the parade anymore—we were in it.

As the boats approached, music thumping and lights flashing, it became clear this wasn’t just a parade. It was part floating party, part friendly competition, and part full-blown Christmas spectacle. Crews waved enthusiastically, danced on decks, sang at the top of their lungs, and soaked up every bit of the moment. Several boats proudly shouted out their boat numbers as they passed, making sure we knew exactly who to vote for. Subtle they were not—and that was part of the charm.

Some boats were packed with strangers standing shoulder to shoulder, united by nothing more than Christmas lights and good cheer. Others were clearly family affairs—kids bundled up, parents smiling, friends laughing, everyone clearly aware that the joy was going both directions. They weren’t just performing for us; they were enjoying watching us enjoy them.

And as if that wasn’t enough, off in the distance above Panama City Marina, the long-awaited (literally) inaugural drone show lit up the sky. Dolphins leapt in glowing outlines. Sailing ships formed and faded. Santa crabs—yes, Santa crabs—marched across the night sky. It felt like the bay itself had decided to show off.

You just never know what you are going to see. So much creativity and energy. We saw a singing Elvis leading a chorus on the boat and on shore in some of his favorites. We also saw a few boat loads of pirates Yo-Ho-ing their way along.

But the undisputed star of the floating Christmas extravaganza, at least for me, was the Reel Lady.

Calling it a “boat” almost feels inadequate. This thing was a full-on holiday production. On the front: a wildly dancing Santa, an Elf-on-the-Shelf, and a Grinch who clearly had zero intention of stealing Christmas—he was too busy enjoying it. On the back: Rudolph and Frosty dancing like they’d had way too much eggnog. Somewhere in the mix was what appeared to be a human candy cane hanging out on the stern, fully committed to the role. To top it off, “snow” blasted down from the upper bridge, completing the illusion. It was ridiculous. It was over-the-top. It was perfect.

One boat that quietly stood out was a simple one — just a father and his young son, side by side, cruising along together. No big production, no crowd on deck, just the two of them sharing the moment, waving and smiling as they passed. It was a gentle reminder that this parade means different things to different people — for some it’s a party, for others a competition, and for a few, it’s simply a memory being made that will last far longer than the lights on the boat.

The parade wrapped up in fittingly grand fashion, with Mr. and Mrs. Claus riding aboard our local USAF drone recovery ship—an unexpected but unmistakably patriotic finish. American flag flying, shiny drones on display, Santa waving like he knew exactly where he was.

As the last boats faded into the darkness and the music finally drifted away across the bay, I found myself feeling something deeper than just holiday cheer. What we experienced that night didn’t happen by accident. It was the result of people who care—about this community, about the water that connects us, and about creating moments that bring people together.

This parade wasn’t just boats with lights. It was a shared tradition unfolding in real time. It was families, friends, strangers, kids, parents, longtime locals, and newcomers all finding their own meaning in the same event. The added drone show, the festive energy along the marina, the way the route stitched together Historic St. Andrews and downtown Panama City—it all felt intentional, thoughtful, and rooted in pride of place.

So as the night wrapped up, gratitude quietly took over. Gratitude for the organizers who put in the planning, coordination, and countless behind-the-scenes hours to make something like this work. Gratitude for the captains and crews who showed up not just decorated, but fully committed to spreading joy. And gratitude for a community that still knows how to show up, wave back, cheer loudly, and celebrate together.

This year, standing down at the water instead of watching from afar, reminded me why events like this matter. They don’t just light up the bay for a few hours—they leave you carrying something with you long after the lights are gone.

And for that, I’m thankful.

Standing there at the end of the pier, with music still echoing across the water and lights fading into the distance, it hit us just how different this year had been. Watching from afar is lovely. It’s safe. It’s comfortable.

But being down front—up close, eye level, part of the noise and the laughter and the waving—that’s where the real magic lives.

This year, we didn’t just watch the Panama City Christmas Boat Parade.

We joined the party.