If you launch your boat anywhere on the Texas coast and go for a drive, chances are you’ll see a few characters standing in the water, soaking up the sun and holding strong against the incoming tide. They don’t say much, but what they do say speaks volumes about our coastlines and the human history that’s unfolded upon them. Of course, I’m talking about those iconic stilt houses we all know and love.

And that’s what Mike wrote his book about. Along with photographer Tim Romano, they set off on an adventure up and down our coast, exploring every inlet and bayou for these monuments to seaside living. They came away with far more than pictures of cabins. His book, Stilt Houses of Texas, is a portrait of an incredibly unique area on our planet—and more about people than the places they live in, believe it or not.

I caught up with Mike to talk about the catalyst and process for creating this book, and then we cracked it open to discuss a few specific photos in part two of our interview.

Levi Goode: What first captivated you about the Texas coast?

Mike Medrano: I grew up in Houston and always revered the Texas coast, especially the southern stretches. I started fishing in Galveston, and for me it was a steady progression south—Rockport, Port Aransas, then farther. I eventually leased land on the Kenedy Ranch and kept a boat there, fishing around Nine Mile Hole and Gladys Hole for years. I became completely enamored with it.

These days, I’d characterize my home water as everything from the Land Cut down to South Padre. I’m not fishing every weekend, but that’s been the evolution of where I gravitated. We had a place in Galveston for a long time, and I still think it’s a great fishery. But the solitude and the cleanliness of the water farther south—the purity of that fishery—that’s the apex for me. You also have a legitimate shot at tarpon. It’s almost a speakeasy fishery. Nobody wants to talk about it, but it’s incredible. And if you go far enough south, you’ll find the occasional snook. It just has everything.

Post-college, I was invited to hunt and fish with a buddy at their cabin near Baffin Bay. I’d always seen the cabins but had never been inside one. That experience blew me away. The cabin was close to great duck hunting and good fishing. We did it all—fished, duck hunted—and the weather was terrible. Bitter cold. I loved every second of it. It planted an idea I couldn’t shake.

That was probably twenty years before I ever ended up with a cabin. The seed was planted in the early ’90s and germinated for a long time.

LG: Most people don’t know much about these cabins.

MM: Exactly. From a subject-matter perspective, it’s fascinating. As anglers, we drive past them from Galveston almost to South Padre. They stop just short of South Padre. The bulk are around Corpus Christi, and there’s another big concentration in the Galveston Bay Complex.

Originally, they were squatter cabins. People just built them along the Intracoastal Waterway. It predates us. If you were resourceful enough, you could create your own. Eventually the state stepped in and said, “Enough—they’re ours.” Through eminent domain, they took control and created a permit program.

LG: Can you explain that program a little bit? It’s definitely an odd one.

MM: Today it falls under the Texas General Land Office, which surprises most people. You’d think it would sit under Texas Parks and Wildlife. There are floating cabins—literally moored but movable—marked “FC” with a number. Those fall under Parks and Wildlife. Then there are the fixed permitted cabins, marked “PC” with a number. Those are under the General Land Office.

When you drive by and see “PC” and a number, that’s a permitted cabin. The GLO primarily handles leasing and selling state lands, especially mineral rights. The cabin program is a small function within that. They have a team in Corpus Christi that administers leases and inspections. Staff go out by boat to inspect cabins and ensure compliance. If a cabin is damaged, you’re required to restore it per the lease—similar to a hunting lease where you can improve the property with permission, but you don’t own it.

There are roughly 410 cabins from Galveston almost to South Padre. That sounds like a lot, but over roughly 900 miles of waterway, it’s not. There’s no obvious starting point. The GLO does have maps, but they’re buried deep in layers of data. A casual person wouldn’t find them.

LG: Was that mystery part of what drove the book?

MM: Yes. No one had written about it. You can barely find information online. I didn’t want to write a how-to guide, but I wanted to capture the romantic side of these cabins and how they integrate into a landscape that already feels unique.

The only quasi-parallel I know of is in Biscayne Bay in Florida, where there are a handful of old structures that once served as gambling houses or bars. But that’s different. In Texas, these were grassroots.

My fishing life really started in earnest in the Galveston Bay Complex. I had a boat and a house there and learned those waters. There are plenty of cabins there, but I didn’t feel compelled to own one at that point. We sold that house around 2007 or 2008, and I began fishing the lower Laguna Madre. That’s when the desire shifted from romance to action—wanting to understand how you build one, maintain one, and use one.

Once you think through the logistics, it’s daunting. You have to transport everything by boat. Fuel, propane, supplies—nothing is delivered. There’s no Uber Eats or Amazon on the Intracoastal. The operational reality is a headwind against enthusiasm. But the idea wouldn’t go away. Between 2012 and 2015, I seriously tried to figure out how to acquire one. It felt like navigating a labyrinth. And every cabin has a story—how someone landed it, whether they were original squatters, or how it’s changed hands over time.

LG: How did the photography come together?

MM: I’m just a casual photographer, so I partnered with Tim Romano. He’s a professional photographer, grew up in Texas, now lives in Colorado, and he’s a fly fisherman. I approached him about the project, and he was excited. We divided the coast into thirds—upper, middle, lower—because that’s how anglers naturally think about it. Each region has what I’d call marquee cabins—structures widely recognized by people who fish there. We wanted to capture those, but we also wanted to explore and stay open-minded.

We probably shot over 20,000 photos. The upper coast was first because it was closest to Houston. We launched in Galveston and spent several days shooting. I wanted fly fishing guides to anchor each region. For the upper coast, we followed Meredith McCord and Jared Malone in the fog early one morning. That was the beginning of the book—capturing guides, skiffs, and fly fishing as part of the cabin ecosystem.

Then we moved deeper into the cabins—approaching people, introducing ourselves, asking to take photos, and asking them to sign model releases. For the most part, doors opened quickly. We were invited inside almost every time.

LG: Were there any “get off my lawn” moments?

MM: Just one. Every other time, people were welcoming. There’s a shared culture out there. If someone waves you down on the water, you stop. That mindset carried over. People were proud of their cabins and eager to share stories.

LG: Did approaching the project for a book change how you see the cabins?

MM: Completely. I can’t pass one now without thinking about who’s inside. It used to be “just a cabin.” Now it feels like driving through a neighborhood. I’ve had dinner with some of these people. I know their stories. That changed everything. I’d carry a notepad and jot down impressions after interactions so I could remember the tone and feel later. Turning raw material into a cohesive book was its own challenge.

LG: What do you hope readers take away?

MM: First, that Texas has an extraordinary coastline. I’ve traveled extensively, and what we have is special. Second, that these cabins are additive, not subtractive. Some argue they detract from the landscape. After immersing myself in this project, I believe they amplify it. They form a mosaic of stories, genealogy, friendships, and history. In my view, it’s net positive. And more than anything, it’s uniquely Texan.

LG: Given that this is a very visual project, why don’t we put a cork in this half of the interview and get to talking about some of the specific shots you and Tim captured?

MM: Let’s do it.

To read part two of Levi and Mike’s interview, click here.