Midday
Friday at Shelly Park Beach, Cronulla. It’s family time. Toddlers galore. Safe
from the dumping waves at Cronulla Beach, they gather seashells 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 sandcastle. Perfect to 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-cold water fresh from an esky. Sliced
up watermelon follows for dessert. The child is satisfied. The tears dry up. She
cosies into her hooded towel to rest.
I am now wide awake though. 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 serenity.
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| Shelly Park Beach |
But something else is calling me. Not yet the family man, this beach is not quite right for me. I crave danger, peril, excitement, and risk.
So, I’m leaving the toddlers behind - up the Esplanade, past quiet coves and rocky inlets, to the wild edges of Blackwoods Beach. The waves crash here, unrelenting and raw. This is what I came for.
I wade into the water, ready for the rush. The surf builds, towering in front of me.
I dive under the first wave, but the next one swallows me whole. My feet leave the ground, and I’m tossed, dragged, and spun. I surface, gasping, only to be slammed back down again. The shore fades into a haze.
Spitting out saltwater, I crawl back to the sand, my limbs sore, my pride bruised. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.
I sigh in defeat, gather my things, and retreat for calmer shores. Back down the path and the sheltered waters of
Oak Park Beach welcomes hospitably. I slip into the quiet pool, its
stillness a relief.
I glance over to the edge of the pool to a happy, splashing toddler.
Her tiny hands scoop water from the shallows. Her mother stands watch, ready
with a towel.
I feel a soft smile on my face, floating tranquilly, safe, and steady. This is the life for me. Adventure is overrated.
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| Oak Park Beach |
Total beaches: 34/179
