Palm Beach

Sunshine on my eyelids jolts me from my slumber. I rub my eyes and squint through the bright and overwhelming light, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The sunlight is pouring in through tall windows that frame a wall, bathing me as I lie on a couch. No idea whose couch - but it’s sizeable, soft, and covered in linen throw pillows that smell faintly of ocean air. The room is a blend of light wood and crisp white tones, adorned with tropical monstera leaves, plump succulents, and floating shelves holding small decorative items. A sleek, glass coffee table sits in front of me, its surface reflecting the glow of the sun.

It's all pretty chic. But not my kind of décor. Where am I?

I’m drawn from the couch by the subtle smell of saltwater wafting in through the open windows. It’s accompanied by the faint, rhythmic sound of waves crashing in the distance, gently interrupting the silence of the room. My head still foggy, I stumble towards the door, step outside, and blink against the light. Slowly, a view comes into focus - one I know all too well.

It’s a vast shore that stretches before me, golden in the morning light. Sand slopes down grass-tufted dunes, shaded by grand Norfolk Island pines, to be seized by a vigorous ocean. In the distance, rugged headlands rise stoically - a bulwark against the eternal pursuit of the tides. A pavilion stands watch over it all, its earthy red and mustard yellow bricks blending naturally into the coastal landscape.

I must be at Palm Beach.

But something’s off. It all feels a little too perfect. The smooth and untouched sand, seemingly unburdened by a single footprint ever placed upon it. The beautiful people, effortlessly radiant, as if they’ve stepped straight out of a photoshoot. The cloudless sky that’s impossibly blue. It’s all like a scene has been meticulously constructed before me.

What’s really going on? Why am I here? And most important of all, why does this all feel… scripted?

All of a sudden, a voice cuts through the air, calling my name. I turn to see a familiar face, eyes wide with panic, rushing towards me. But how do I recognise him? And how does he know my name?

There’s no time to ponder the thoughts, however, before his voice, low and urgent, pleads to follow in his direction. “Quick,” he insists. “There’s something you need to see.” 

I nod, still perplexed, heart pounding in my chest. This isn’t your normal, relaxing day at Palm Beach. There’s tension building and the stakes feel high; I can almost hear dramatic music swelling in the background.

 

The man starts to pull me along, when a familiar tune fills the air. At first, it seems like my mind is playing tricks on me. I shake my head, trying to dismiss it. But there it is again. I stop in my tracks, unable to escape it. The distinctive opening notes. The iconic theme that’s been etched into the memory of every Sydneysider:

 

Hold me in your arms

Don't let me go

I want to stay forever

Closer each day

Home and away

And it hits me. I’m not at Palm Beach. I’m at Summer’s Bay.  I’ve woken up inside an episode of Home and Away.

 

It all makes sense now. The perfect beach, the palpable drama thick in the air, the strange feeling of constantly being on the brink of something big. This is what it feels like to be a character in the show.

 

“Come on! What are you waiting for?!” The man calls back to me, his delivery intense and dramatic.

 

But before I can answer, a new voice cries out to me from across the beach, “Marco, where have you been?!”

 

It belongs to a bombshell of a woman, with sun-kissed skin, long blonde hair gracefully catching the breeze, and a lifeguard’s bathing suit clinging to a curvaceous figure, leaving little to the imagination. What does she want with me?

 

“Something’s happened at the Surf Club! There’s no time to explain – but we desperately need your help.” The begging emotion cracks her voice just a little at the end.

 

This isn’t just any problem. It’s big. And I get the feeling it’s going to impact everything.

 

I glance out at the ocean, the swells rolling in hypnotically, and try to make sense of the whole thing. I’ve been thrown into Summer’s Bay, where every wave carries a secret, every sunrise brings the promise of something dramatic. And now I’ve got a decision to make. Do I follow the man and uncover the mystery he’s hiding? Or do I dive right into the emergency that’s broken out at the Surf Club?

 

I stand there for a moment, letting the waves crash against the shore.

 

Whatever I choose, I can already tell - this episode is only just beginning.

Total beaches: 100/179

Western Sydney Beaches (Penrith Beach, Lake Paramatta, Simmos Beach)

Stale air smothers my skin, choking me in the stifling heat. Sweat beads on my forehead form a river torrent, distributaries cascading down my neck, spine, and across my chest. A shirt long abandoned, my slippery skin clings reluctantly to the car seat, irritable fidgeting gaining me no relief. I roll down the window to invite in some airflow, but there are no RSVPs on this hot summer’s day. All I can do is watch as the temperature display on my dashboard gradually rises. Thirty-four degrees. Thirty-five. Thirty-six.

Low-rise brick buildings, wide windows, car dealerships, and roller doors – this isn’t the scenery I remember from past trips to Bondi. A steady flow of traffic in the other direction adds to my confusion, each passing car seemingly scoffing at me, engines growling as if they know something I don't. Yet my GPS stays adamant, insisting I continue westwards down Paramatta Road and onto the M4.

Stretching on for an eternity, the motorway finally gives way to a sprawling carpark, stranded amongst open paddocks. There’s no sign of the Bondi staples— Range Rovers inching into tight beachside spots, backpackers’ vans wedged between surf racks, Mercedes-Benz G-Wagons perched outside trendy cafés. Instead, the lot is packed with Holden Commodores, Ford Falcons, and Toyota Hiluxes, each proudly displaying Penrith Panthers stickers.

And then it hits me—like a punch to the gut. A damn typo. One wrong letter. I’m not in Bondi, I’m in bloody Pondi.

Officially known as Penrith Beach, the site was originally a sand quarry on Nepean Lagoon before a $1.7 million investment transformed it into a man-made beach in late 2023. A further $2.5 million upgrade then saw it reopen in December 2024 for an extended summer season, featuring a larger beach, improved amenities, and enhanced water quality monitoring systems.

Penrith Beach

With temperatures in Sydney’s west often soaring up to 10 degrees hotter than the coast - and many residents more than an hour’s drive from the ocean - the new beach has been eagerly welcomed as an essential spot for westies to cool down in the summer.

Lake Paramatta has also been recently upgraded with this in mind. Here, 40km away in the heart of western Sydney, a small gravely beach gently slopes into calm water, framed by 73-hectares of native bushland reserve. Outside the beach’s designated swimming area, people float aimlessly on inflatable donuts, drift past on swan-shaped pedal boats, and jump in from rocky edges.  Beyond the water, winding walking trails weave through the bush for a shaded escape into nature.

Lake Paramatta

Until the spots in Penrith and Parramatta opened, the only beach Western Sydneysiders could call their own was the small stretch of sand known as Simmos Beach along the Georges River in Sydney’s outer southwest. Located in the densely populated suburb of Macquarie Fields, the swim spot has long been a locals’ favourite. Since the 1970s, in particular, it has been the centrepiece of a nature reserve, regenerated with native vegetation and complete with walking trails, barbecue facilities, and picnic tables

Still, only small, the beach could never accommodate the crowds that Pondi now can. And that’s something to appreciate. True, Penrith may be no ocean beach. No hordes of surfers chasing grand swells — just kayaks and canoes gliding across the still water. No rows of towels laid out for tanning—but picnic rugs, barbies, and loaded eskies. No sneaky seagulls swooping for chips – only ominous crows hovering above.  

But despite the mix-up, I find myself drawn to its water just the same.  It’s no Bondi, but the cool, fresh lagoon beckons me anyway. The water might not have the ocean’s waves or its crystal-blue colour, but it’s still a relief – something to wash away the heat on a scorching summer’s day.

Total beaches: 99/179

Bundeena (Deeban Spit, Bonnie Vale Beach, Horderns Beach, Gunyah Beach, Jibbon Beach)

A roar of engines snarls at me as I enter the Port Hacking estuary, confronting me like a pack of unyielding guard dogs before restricted territory. It’s a stark contrast to the welcoming calmness of Burraneer Bay from where I’ve paddled over. I’m no longer accompanied by gently bobbing sailboats resting anchored to the seafloor, nor by stand-up paddle boarders drifting along in quiet contemplation. Instead, hordes of shrieking speedboats and their jet ski kin prowl the water around me, churning the surface into a bubbling soup of froth.  

They stand towering between me and the village suburb of Bundeena. Located on Sydney’s most southern outskirts, surrounded by the vast Royal National Park, this slice of paradise is blessed with five pristine beaches to call its own. But getting there isn’t so easy. it’s a hefty 70-minute drive from the CBD - or 90 minutes if you’d rather avoid the traffic by taking a train to Cronulla, followed by a ferry ride across Port Hacking. Alternatively, it’s a mere 40-minute drive to the boat ramp in Burraneer Bay for a breezy kayak across...  or so I’d thought.

The incessant barraging of motorboat wakes is making me regret my decision. Gripping the sides of my kayak in a frantic bid for control, I find my cries of protest drowned out by the howling engines and slamming waves. Their spray blinds me as I’m swept into a surging current, driven deeper into the heart of the storm.

No longer in control, all I can do is watch as I’m hurled straight towards a looming wharf piling, rising menacingly from the sea. The collision comes with a violent thud, sending shockwaves through my body. Thrown off balance, my kayak flips, and I’m tossed into the ferocious currents, the world around me transforming into a blur of water and turmoil. Gasping for air, I cling desperately to the overturned hull, but a watery grave seems destined to be my end.

Until an outstretched hand breaks through the chaos.

Grasping it, I’m pulled - kayak and all – out of the jaws of fate, swiftly deposited on a nearby sandy shore, all in a rush of motion.

Brushing aside my stammered thanks with a quick nod, a humble jet skier vanishes back into the estuary, leaving me alone, breathless and disoriented.  Gradually, though, the quiet, sheltered environment soothes me, providing a peaceful respite from what I’ve just endured.

When I recover, I realise I’m on the Deeban Spit - a narrow sand spit that juts 1.2 km from the coast to separate Port Hacking from the open ocean – and I remember what I’ve come to do. This is Bundeena’s first beach as you approach from the west, and I’m on a quest to visit them all. I’m not going to let a mere near death experience get in my way.

Deeban Spit in background

So, I’m soon back on my kayak, paddling towards my next destinations.

Up first, just across the bay, is Bonnie Vale. The sheltered beach’s serene atmosphere, with calm, clear, and shallow waters, makes it particularly inviting after my ordeal. Young families seem to think so too. They enjoy dips in the shore and paddles on kayaks and stand-up boards available for rent from the sand. Behind us a grassy picnic area features waddling ducks, fragrant banksias, and smoky barbeques sizzling burgers for big-bellied bystanders.

Bonnie Vale Beach

It's possible to stay the night here at the Bonnie Vale Campground, but I’m continuing on, around the rocks of Cabbage Tree Point, to venture to Bundeena’s main beach, Hordens. The ferry wharf here is where I would have got off if I had decided to play it safe.

Fringed by residential homes and shaded areas provided by coastal vegetation, the beach’s sandy stretch spans about 600 metres, offering plenty of space for leisurely strolls, beach activities, or setting in for a day by the water. With nearby shops, picnic spots, and public toilets, you’ll never have to leave.

Hordens Beach

Unfortunately, many others today have had just that same idea. So, before long, I’m continuing on to find something more secluded. Just my luck - around the corner lies Gunyah Beach, the locals’ best kept secret.

Access on foot is limited to private stairs descending from a row of beachfront houses or a small hidden, path from the street above, restricted to those in the know. I myself sneak in between the resident’s parked boats to pull up on the shore. Small patches of soft, golden sand quickly merge with the rugged rocky edges of the beach, upon which I lay my towel. I stay for a while, watching snorkelers in their underwater adventures under commanding views of the Cronulla Peninsula in the distance.

Gunyah Beach

I’ve still got one more beach to get to though before the day is up. Technically within the Royal National Park, the larger Jibbon Beach borders the eastern edge of Bundeena and is accessible from the street. Still, it’s relatively secluded, framed by rugged rock shelfs and lush greenery, which divide the beach from Jibbon Lagoon.  

Some yachts have pulled up today among the beach’s tranquil waves. They’re blaring 70s hits from their decks, enjoyed by older passengers basking in the afternoon sun, reliving their golden days. Yet, if you listen carefully amongst Stevie Nick’s high notes, you can still hear the birdcalls of the eastern yellow robin, superb fairy wren, and various honeyeaters that inhabit the surrounding area.

Jibbon Beach

Jibbon Beach serves as the kick off point for various walking trails through the park and around the seaside cliffs. But with the day drawing to a close, I’ll have to save those for some other time. For now, my thoughts turn anxiously to the treacherous waters I still have to paddle back through.

Perhaps, if I’m lucky, a ferry will take pity on me and agree to tow me across instead.

Total Beaches: 96/179