Hollow logs and broken branches lay discarded across the sand like fallen antlers, the skeletal remains of once grand beasts. They fade beneath the towering trunks of a new generation, consumed by the sandflats that awaken as the tide retreats. The roots of the mangroves now standing rise through the sand and grasp fresh air. A rejuvenation of greens and yellows sprout to paint the sky.
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| Mangroves at Towra Beach |
The forest lures me over, away from my kayak and across the expansive shore of Towra Beach. Casts of crabs scutter off as I approach, a rush of blue and orange bodies fleeing for critical shelter. Some pull in their legs and bury themselves desperately underneath a blanket of sand, mistaking me for a hungry heron. They don’t see humans much, the beach only accessible by boat or a paddle from Kurnell.
Lucky for them I bought lunch with me. So, I let them be and pursue a path through the forest floor, each step sinking further into the sand. At its fronter thick banksia-bushland, tea-trees, and tangling tape vines perch above a sand dune, extending beyond the eye into Towra Point. A protected nature reserve and important breeding ground for endangered species, it’s best not to enter.
My footprints lead me back instead to my kayak, left stranded, lost in a desert
that yearns for the vanished tide. A long search through wet sand commences, rope
dragging the kayak behind, etching into my skin, arms faltering.
Eventually I catch the shallow tide resting above seagrass
meadows, a secret underwater garden of gentle green flowers. I wade myself
through until I’m back on the sea, welcoming deeper waters as I turn the corner
to Elephants Trunk. The odd boat lies anchored along the beach’s
elongated strip of low wave-washed sand. Steep sand ridges backed by dense
mangrove fields tower over me as I paddle along its shore.
Taren Spit Beach curves around at the end of Elephants Trunk to spray out a saltwater lake. I rest here to float in the lukewarm water, soothing my kayak-ached body. But there’s no real respite from the teasing tide, promptly escaping to leave me exposed. Menacing mudflats, mangroves, and a forest of swamp oak approach me chasing the sea.
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| The tide retreats from Elephants Trunk and Taren Spit Beach |
I join the chase, one final beach still to conquer, but my kayak is slowing me down. With no other option I leave it to drown in the sludge and continue my journey on foot.
Out of the mudflats formidable sand dunes soon rise before
me like ancient pyramids in the Sahara. Signs warn me not to climb up above or
else disturb roosting migratory shorebirds. Over
thirty protected species visit each summer, flying in from as far away as
Siberia, China and Alaska, and are deserving of their rest.
I take a pass through instead, remerging on a labyrinth of oyster shells, iridescent underneath the afternoon sun. My tiptoes navigate their threatening blades protruding in all directions.
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| A maze of oyster shells |
After a series of dead-ends I find my way, a line of washed-up tyres welcoming
me on the outer walls of the maze. They point towards Pelican Point, my last
beach of desire, across a small stretch of shallow sea. Gunky sand swallows my
foot as I try to step my way over. This last stretch will have to be swum.
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| Tyres point towards Pelican Point |
I submerge myself accordingly in the murky, beige water, drifting stray branches gouging at my crawling arms. But my mind stays focused, enticed by the imminent shore. The sparkling white sand rewards me with an embrace as I push through to the other side.
I lie like this for a while, face down hugging the beach, mellow waves lapping at my feet, tiny seashells sneaking in between my toes. Rolling finally on to my side, I watch pelicans soar over tufts of spinifex and coastal wattle shrubs pursuing a lilac, sunsetting sky. The tremendous Captain Cooks Bridge consumes them at the mouth of the Georges River.
The retuning tide threatens to consume me too. It's time to fall back for my kayak and home.
Total Beaches: 60/160
