Berrys Bay

An elderly man walks over and introduces himself.

“The name’s Sergei,” he says with a hint of a Swedish accent. “But everyone calls me Mr. Pirate.”

Today he’s in a mustard shirt and cargo pants but when he’s out on his dingy in Berrys Bay he rocks a full pirate get-up – feathered hat, eye patch, peg leg and all.

He enthusiastically shows me pictures of the last time.  Dozens of bass fish surround him. They eagerly launch out of the water and snap at the bread rolls in his outstretched hands.

He’s just as eager to waft on about Berrys Bay, launching into a saga about how the council tried to close the beach off to the public a little while back by blocking the road. A bunch of locals got together, wrote to the council, and stopped it from happening.  

“Beaches belong to the people - accessible to all,” he says.

I agree. Still, this beach is not the easiest to access. The small road off Balls Head Rd is easy to miss and there’s nothing to indicate that it leads to a beach. It’s nestled between Berry’s Bay Marina and Sydney Harbour Yacht centre; both properties exhibit warning signs of surveillance against trespassers. They’re enough to turn back the innocent wanderer unaware of the beach below. 

But if you venture just a little further down the road and round the corner you come to the dingy lined shore of Berrys Bay Beach. In front of you lay scenic views of the bay, Milson’s Point, and the Harbour Bridge. Behind towers a forest of red gum, cypress, fig, and blueberry ash.

Vines taper over the painted blue walls of a corrugated iron shed at the back of the beach. A rope tangles itself between wooden planks like a snake on a tree’s branch. Three chairs set in the shade offer a respite from the glaring sun.

A low tide today reveals bits of plastic rubbish that have floated in from the harbour. Mr. Pirate laments about party-goers littering from their boats. He instructs me that everyone who visits has to take a couple of pieces with them when they leave to help out the locals. A woman has come down recently in protective shoes and gloves and done a massive collection of rubbish and glass off the sea floor.  Still it’s never perfect. With that he picks up an armful of bottles off the sand, nods goodbye, and leaves the beach to me alone.

The view from Balls Head

I watch my feet as I creep pass bits of plastic, fallen leaves, and murky sand to dive under in the deeper end.  Sure, right on the harbour it’s not the cleanest beach - but who can complain about a refreshing salt water dip on a summer’s day?

Back on the shore another man in bushwalking gear, fresh from the scenic tracks around Balls Head Reserve, comes stumbling down. He casually throws his backpack into a dingy and pushes it out to row over past me and into the harbour, off to discover beaches beyond. I follow after.

Total count: 33/160

Shelly Park Beach

Midday Friday at Shelly Park Beach, Cronulla. It’s family time. Toddlers galore. Safe from the dumping waves at Cronulla Beach, they gather sea shells on the shore. Floppy hats. Oversized sunglasses. Rashies. Skin painted white with sunscreen layered on by protective mothers. The sun doesn’t stand a chance.

I venture through a maze of prams, umbrellas, shovels, and buckets careful not to trip. A rare space opens up at the foot of a sand castle. I lay my towel down and settle in for a snooze under the lazy sun.  

Dozing off but I’m soon pulled back by cries that pierce the air. A two-year-old is spitting sand sporadically. It doesn’t taste like she was expecting.

Mum to the rescue. She washes it off with ice cool water fresh from an esky. Sliced up watermelon follows for desert. The child is satisfied. The tears dry up and she cosies into her hooded towel to rest.

I am now wide awake. With my hopes for a midday nap slashed I turn my attention to the sea.   

I edge my way past a wall of rug rats and their floaties splashing on the shore. Out in the depths seniors are swimming laps leisurely. I fill the age gap in the centre of the rock pool floating for a while in complete calmness.

But something else is calling me. Not yet the family man, this beach is not quite right for me. I crave danger, excitement, and risk. So I’m leaving the toddlers behind for now to continue on my quest. Big surf is up next.

Total count: 32/160

Curl Curl

North Curl Curl

A rock pool shared with crustaceans. In the centre a boulder protrudes: an island retreat. My legs, numb, eagerly struggle to escape the icy water. 

Southwards over Curl Curl scattered sunbathers dot the shore - a head start on their tan for summer. A few venture further to brave the winter waters.

The sun’s crept back out today. Apparently it’s reaching 24 degrees. Not quite like the summer heat but not bad for mid-August - enough for a quick dip.

Although, it is a little worrying. Whereas Sydney has never been known for its long cold winters, it’s hard not to notice rising temperatures. This winter has been warmer than average, with daytime temperatures the third-warmest on record.

And the city’s temperature is expected only to continue to rise. By 2050 average maximum temperatures will be at least 2 degrees hotter if global emissions are not curbed, according to a scientific study conducted back in 2008. 

The same study warned of the threat to Sydney’s iconic beaches, coastal homes, and commercial properties by rising sea levels. By 2050 they’re projected to be up to 40cm higher than 1990. Low-lying beaches will be the most heavily affected with every centimetre of rise resulting in a metre of erosion. Beaches like Curl Curl, Narrabeen, Collaroy, and Dee Why risk completely disappearing. 

These beaches have already been severely eroded by storm seas in the past. As recently as June 2016 a brutal storm saw king tides pummel the area. Narrabeen and Collaroy were the hardest hit with 50 metres of their beaches eroded and a number of waterfront properties badly damaged. 

Erosion and damaged properties at Collaroy. Source: Fairfax Meda

South Curl Curl

The same storm hurled the boulder into North Curl Curl pool on which I now sit.

I climb out and retreat to the warmth of my towel. The beach stretches out a kilometre beside me, the south end beckoning me for another quick swim while the winter sun still shines. The sand crumbles between my toes as I make my way over.  

It’s hard to imagine it completely crumbling away. But business as usual and that will be the sad reality. Oceans will continue to rise while extreme sea level events and storm surges become more frequent. Some vulnerable coastal places in Sydney could be protected by sea walls and levees but where not physically possible or cost-effective a planned retreat will be the only option.

I may need to hurry to complete my quest.

Total Count: 31/160

Cabarita Beach

The Inner West finally has its own beach. No more must you trek to the Eastern Suburbs’ ocean waters to escape the heat. No longer must you cook yourself in your car stuck in Cleveland Street traffic. No further will you have to endure the hours long 370 bus ride lost twisting through the streets of suburbia. 

The Inner West’s best kept secret Cabarita Beach nestled on the Parramatta River lies awaiting. Since 2015 it’s been deemed clean and safe for swimming. The polluted waste has been removed leaving refreshing water that swells calmly onto shell-layered white sand. Located at the northern end of the expansive Cabarita Park, it’s perfect for a quick dip after picnicking under the shade of a giant fig tree.

Source: http://www.parraparents.com.au/parks-playgrounds/cabarita-park-cabarita/

To be frank though the water is still pretty murky and the odd plastic bottle does drift by. And although safe to swim, it can be hard not to think about the industrial toxins that for years flowed through. Plus you do miss the smell of the ocean and the feel of salt on the skin - also the energy of crashing waves and views stretching out to sea.

On second thoughts I might just endure the Cleveland Street traffic.

Total beaches: 30/160

Tamarama Beach

The following is a mash-up of excerpts from Diana Plater's new novel Whale Rock set in Tamrama, available to order now from SmashWords and MoshShop. Diana is a Sydney based writer and journalist whose work has appeared widely in Australia and internationally covering Indigenous and race issues. She is also my mum. 

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She pulled her powder-blue woollen scarf up around her neck; the café felt the ocean winds. The colour of the sea that she could smell in the air. Fringed by 1930s red-brick flats and yellow bungalows, the road the café was on led down to parks and a coastal walk past ancient Aboriginal engravings, which overlooked the ocean. The parks were filled by six am with skinny women who were addicted to exercise. They ran up and down the volley ball field, did weights and boxed with each other or their personal trainers, who barked orders at them.

As usual the whale rock was empty. As usual the runners and the walkers jogged and walked right past, without noticing a thing. It was surprising if they even saw a whale breaching out to sea they were so intent on their exercise and fitness routines. Sleek, glossy gym pants, all the right shoes from the most expensive exercise shoe shops. Everything was just right. Neat ponytails poking out of caps. Designer sunglasses. Phone apps. Heart monitors. Calorie counters. Babies looking shell-shocked ensconced in special prams pushed by yummy-mummy Olympians.

The whale rock

Shannon was tempted to trip the runners over, but instead smiled sweetly as, despite her big belly, she climbed over the fence and onto the rock. She nodded at the whale and her baby as she sat down on the mossy grass. The rock jutted out to sea, broken at the edges like an iceberg floating in the ocean. Freezing cold bits of solid ice breaking up into the sea.

Shannon wondered what the last Ice Age must have been like. How did people survive it? Huge drops in temperature caused by the ice build-up, at the same time as falls in sea level. Then later rising sea levels as the ice melted, waves of water gushing in and filling up areas that were once land. Like the creek when it flooded at the valley but one hundred thousand times bigger and grander. Salt and sea and blue depths covering up thousands of years of rock engravings, petroglyphs and etchings and paintings of ancient animals – giant kangaroos and wombats and dinosaur-type beings.

She removed her boots and socks and felt the sensation of warm rock on her feet. She imagined the rhythm of the whale songline, the chants that told the story. She thought of what Colin had told her about Barangaroo, and her incredible generosity – to try and bring the colonialists and her people together by the birth of her child. She looked far out to sea as she moved – beyond the last Ice Age – and then down to her favourite whale engraving. She sensed the whale could feel her questions and her loss and fears but it couldn’t answer her.

But perhaps it could give her messages or hints that might fill up the emptiness since Rafael left. It might be saying, “I have a baby inside me and it will be born one day”. It might be showing that the sea path up north to give birth and back south to the frozen icebergs of Antarctica would never change, would happen every year without fail and that life would go on, whatever happened to her or anybody else.

She felt comfort from this. It’s what drew her to this spot. It’s what made it her rock, her whale rock, and nobody else’s.

Shannon felt the sun on the back of her neck. Summer was on the way. Something made her look up and, out past the choppy sea and the small boats, she saw a tower of water shoot up into the sky. 

Total Count: 29/160

Rose Bay (Percival Park & Dumaresq Reserve)

I climb reluctantly out of my slumber, my piercing head reminding me of last night’s beers. 6:30 am. It’s early for a Saturday. I down some muesli and pour a cup of tea down my throat. The caffeine starts to hit.

It’s my first ocean race - one kilometre around Rose Bay. Shallow, murky, and crowded with boats, it’s not normally a beach where you’d think to swim. Yet the prospect of a harbour swim further out underneath the city skyline has done well to entice me.

Source: https://www.sydneynewyearseve.com/vantage-points/rose-bay-foreshore/

I’ve been training strenuously for the last three weeks since I spotted the event during a Facebook scroll. Intense sessions in the Ian Thrope Aquatic Centre in the pool and in the gym, topped off the other day with a swim across Bondi from Flat Rock in the north over to Icebergs on the south end, something I’ve always wanted to do.

After a little convincing, my mate Leech, former state swimmer, promised to join and help me train. It’s been a while since he’s been in the pool though, and I don’t think I’ve set foot in a gym since high school; but we’ve persisted.

Not without a few hurdles. The other week at Cronulla I got dumped onto my shoulder and was out for a few days. And then the first time we attempted the Bondi swim Leech got stung by a bluebottle ten metres in and we had to turn back. Nevertheless we’ve made it to today.

I arrive at Leech’s at 7:40. Ten minutes late but it’s just a quick drive over. We’ll be ready for the race at 8:00. He hops in the car and I’m setting the directions into Google Maps when he stops me – no need.  An Eastern Suburbs local his whole life, he knows the area like the back of his hand.

“Just up here to the left.” I follow his directions driving slowly along the bay looking out for the crowds of fluoro swimmers and bathing caps. A soccer mum in a BMW four wheel drive beeps me from behind. 7:50 and there’s no one in sight. I’m starting to panic.

Leech reassures me it’s just at the surf club around the corner. A sprint down the stairs and through the park but we’re at an empty beach.

“Must be the other club,” Leech tries to laugh it off, smirking guiltily.

Back on the road accelerating down to the other side of Rose Bay when suddenly the sweet sights of fluoro caps begin bobbing in the distance, soothing my soul. We’re going to make it. My career as an ocean swimmer isn’t over yet.

In and out of the car park though, I can’t find a spot. I try for something on the road behind and down a narrow back street. Nothing. I reverse out. Not in the next one either. We’re getting further and further away when quick there, look, we see one. 

I turn off the engine. 8:05, maybe they haven’t left yet. We can still make it. I reach for my stuff but my goggles aren’t there. They’re not under my seat either.  Leech is dashing off. Screw the goggles. Run.

I chase in after Leech. He’s stopped, still, staring despondently at a fluoro swarm extending over the sea. The ladies at the registration inform us we’re too late. Plus there are no refunds on our entry fees. We do get a choice on a complimentary swimming cap though. Guess the $45 wasn’t for nothing.

The crowd mocks us from a distance.

Waddling in the ankle-deep water, the laughter and cheers from the finish line mock us, the stench from Rose Bay’s storm water drains behind adds insult to injury. I don’t think morning ocean races are for us.

Total Count: 28/160 

La Perouse (Cruwee Cove, Congwong, Little Congong, Frenchmans Bay North and South Beaches)

Cruwee Cove Beach

From the pink rock pools of Cruwee Cove Beach perched over a deep sea, along the coastal Henry Head Track and down through the trees and bushland, to the two Congwong beaches where light glistens off the ocean like stars in a turquoise sky, these have to be the most beautiful beaches I’ve visited. Oases in isolated coves, protected from the outside world, the area remains untouched, untainted by development, industry and the hustle and bustle of the surrounding Sydney city life. Located in La Perouse, the only Sydney suburb where Aboriginal people have kept their territory from European settlement until today, one is transported back 7,500 years to a natural environment of pre-colonial times. 

It was at this time that sea levels stabilised to form today’s coast for the original owners of the land, the Kameygal. With an abundance of fresh water supplies, fish, and places of natural shelter, the area was ideal for sustained inhabitancy. The Aboriginal people have maintained an unbroken connection. 

But as one walks back up 
the sandy path from Congwong Beach onto the asphalt road, populated car park, and past the monuments, to look out over Frenchmans beach to Port Botany on the horizon, one is reminded of their struggle to do so against a European invasion and imposed modernity.

Indeed, the decision to name La Perouse after the French explorer itself is symbolic of the historic denial of the original indigenous occuparants as owners of the land. Landing on January 26, 1788, passing through on a scientific expedition, La Perouse and his crew stayed in the area for a mere six weeks. 

Congwong Beach

At the exact same time Captain Arthur Phillip and the First Fleet were pulling into Port Jackson to form the first British settlement. Just missing the French, eight days earlier they too had landed in Botany Bay, but finding it unhealthy for settlement due to the swampiness of the area  had moved on to find something more suitable.

Over the next century as the British settlement expanded and Sydney urbanised, Aboriginal camps would come to be scrutinised as a nuisance to white society, increasingly vulnerable to closure. However, with the request of five Aboriginal men and their families honoured by Parliament in 1882, their camps were allowed to stay in La Perouse, justified in that they were economically viable.

Soon the population in the area began to grow as the fishing sites attracted Aborigines from the South Coast seeking employment. This resulted in the decision by the Aborigines Protection Board in 1885 to officially declare seven acres of land at La Perouse a ‘Reserve for the Use of Aborigines' - the only one in Sydney. 

Reserves like these throughout New South Wales were designed to effectively segregate Aboriginal people from white Australia. In La Perouse the Aboriginal people were tied to the reserve through a dependency on government rations and were literally locked in by a fence enclosing the reserve.

This was done to ‘protect’ them from the white community, but its very isolation and absence of white settlement made the area attractive to city residents for weekend day trips. By the turn of the century the Aboriginal residents were participating in the tourist industry selling souvenir boomerangs, woven baskets and shells, while ‘snake men’ would perform in the snake pit. 

George Cann Sr., Snake Handler. Source: https://www.valeriebarrow.com/?p=1360

In 1900 concerns about the interaction between Aboriginal people and white tourists led to a decision by the Aborigines Protection Board to relocate the reserve to the South Coast. But despite ration supplies being phased out, the people refused to move on, and eventually the Board gave in keeping the reserve open.

This was the first of many failed attempts throughout the 20th century to close the reserve. Each time an emboldened people –fighting for their historical right to live on the land - refused to leave. In 1988 their claim to ownership was finally recognised when the La Perouse Local Aboriginal Land Council was given deeds to the reserve.

La Perouse remains a significant site for many Aboriginal people – symbolic of the people’s continuing connection to their land in the face of colonial invasion. In 1988, after around 40,000 bicentenary protesters from around Australia marched in Sydney from Redfern Oval to Hyde Park, many gathered at La Perouse to both mourn 200 years of violence but also celebrate survival and new beginnings. Funeral wreaths were thrown into the water, fires burned in the dark, and people danced into sunrise.

Survival Day Ceremony

Each year around this time members of the Aboriginal community gather at La Perouse in the celebrattion of their cultural continuity - inviting all to join in. As I watch the cermonial smoke loft up and over the luminescent waters I’m grateful  after everything they’re still prepared to do so.

Total Count: 26/160

For a more detailed history of La Perouse visit The Dictionary of Sydney. 

Lady Robinsons Beach (Kyeemagh, Brighton Le Sands, Ramsgate, Monterey) & Dolls Point

I’ve started making my way further out, past the airport and into unfamiliar territory. Lady Robinsons Beach on the western shores of Botany Bay stretches between the mouths of the Cooks and Georges rivers. Sydney’s largest beach, it consists of several smaller ones from Kyeemagh in the north through Brighton Le-Sands, Monterey, Ramsgate and extending round the corner at Dolls Point. 

I’ve always known vaguely about it but never thought to visit for a swim.  It’s not that it’s far away. A 20 minute drive straight down the M1, this is actually one of the easier beaches for me to reach. I’ve passed through here a bunch of times on trips down the coast or over to Rockdale for a reminder of my heritage with a Macedonian pastry called burek. But stuck in the honking traffic of The Grand Parade looking across a shore littered with coke cans and Macca’s straws I’ve never found it that appealing. Planes departing over an industrial shipping port are not the view you expect from a Sydney beach. It’s far from the picturesque ocean waves crashing onto golden shores or the cityscape viewed from harbour coves. 

This time I decided to stop and easily found a place in one of the many ample car parks. At Kyeemagh across the scorching sands I bounced through a maze of tents and beach umbrellas. I cooled off with a splash in the gentle shallow waters of the netted baths. Lazing in the afternoon sun even the odd passing plane couldn’t ruin the tranquil mood. 

But as I made my way south to Brighton Le Sands I was in for something else. Busy and noisy, right on the main road, I had made it to the real party. Cars zoomed past busy restaurants and bars, Nicki Minaj thumping. Speed boats raced across the water dragging wake surfers behind them. Wind surfers glided along the horizon, kite surfers launching out and above them.

Most conspicuously though on jet skis bearded, buff dudes with gold chains and fluro-coloured board shorts were flexing to each other. My distant wog cousins, this could easily have been me in another life. I was far from the Eastern Suburbs beaches and their blonde blue-eyed locals.

Rather this area hosts large Southern European and Lebanese communities and an easy access down the M5 from Western Sydney attracts visitors from the further diverse communities out that way. 

With them they bring their delicious culinary delights. As you make your way further down the Lady Robinsons promenade the scents of roasting lambs and grilling freshly caught fish waft over from large families barbecuing under the pines behind in Cooks Park. 

Dolls Point

By the time I made it to the more peaceful and family-oriented Dolls Point, a large section of sand curving outwards into the Georges River mouth, I could no longer take such tantalisation. A sprint to my car and I was soon back in Brighton spoilt for choice with Greek spots. A wolfed down haloumi gyros and I was on my way home detouring via Rockdale for burek.

Burek

Total Count: 21/160

A special thanks to Rena Zheng accompanying me on this one. All photos (except the Dolls Point and burek ones) belong to her copyright 2019. You can view her further photography work here. 

Christmas Day at Watsons Bay (Gibsons Beach, Wharf Beach, Wharf Beach South, Camp Cove, Lady Bay Beach)

Watsons Bay

The sun peers down through a cloudless sky. The cityscape peeks through distant heads. On they watch as I delicately lower myself off the pontoon to immerse myself in the harbour baths, all save an outreached arm beer in hand. At 27 degrees, it’s the first pleasant day in a week or so and from recent memory the first non-gloomy Christmas. I raise my bottle in salute to the holiday miracle.

An Australian Christmas - prawns, barbeques, sunburnt backs, and surfing Santas - not spent at the beach it just doesn’t feel right.

This year I’m at my auntie’s for lunch on her newly furbished deck right on Gibson’s Beach by Watsons Bay. A more secluded spot just north of the Bondi swarm, families laze around on the white sands and feast on picnics in the shady reserve. 

Sea, land, and air, our own feast has all the major terrains covered: mustard-sauced salmon, honey-glazed ham, and roast Turkey. Vegetarian options too. I guzzle down some beetroot and feta salad mixed with barley couscous, stuff myself with Turkey stuffing, and follow with a plate of the crowd-favourite mashed potatoes (my addition to the buffet).

The hours stretch on and my belly stretches over my feet. I sink further and further into the back of my chair into a distant reality, only eventually drawn back to the table from a whiff of Pavlova paired with Christmas pudding. Call me un-Australian but I can’t stand the stuff. Knowing it’ll be forced on me I need to get out.

Gibson's Beach

So I find some inner strength and quietly slip away. First another quick splash in Gibson’s Beach and a couple more by the ferry wharf in the Watson’s Bay shore and I’m off to see what else awaits. Along Marine Parade past the waterfront restaurants and into the residential backstreets, I follow the trail of bathers dripping from recent swims to Camp Cove sheltered away on the backyards of houses.  Yellows gradually blend to green to blue: sun-bleached sands, gentle shores, and a deep harbour centre.

Camp Cove

My auntie later begs me to leave it out of the blog not to spoil her hidden gem.  Yet it’s already been discovered by the Christmas crowds. Sands are bathed on by European backpackers and photos are snapped by Asian tourists on the paths above.  All the while Sydneysiders remind themselves how lucky they are with frequent refreshing dips. A site like this it’s just a matter of time before someone’s let the word out. 

Into the water and I spot Obelisk Beach hiding across the harbour. I wonder whether I’d have the stamina to swim on over but a few strokes in and an aching belly is suggesting otherwise.  Full of food if I don’t sink first it’s only a matter of time before the sharks sniff me out for their own Christmas feast. 

So I escape their prowl back to shore where I wander over to the South Head Trail for views back on the bay and to the north to Dobroyd Head and Manly out in the distance. A short stroll and I’m at Lady Bay Beach with a mixture of nudes and clothes. Concrete stairs built into the rocks shade afternoon nappers. I join them between two resting boulders in and out of a sleepy daze.

Lady Bay Beach

The sun has made some decent progress on its trip across the sky. I make my way back for leftovers.

Total Count: 19/152