Clifton Gardens & Taylors Bay Beaches

A lonely mooring buoy struggles erratically against the ocean's current, desperate to escape a fate chained forever to the seafloor. I try to claim it down; but, not used to human company, it rejects me violently into the sea. Patiently in the splash I float, waiting for the buoy to settle.

Eventually its suspicions calm and I’m allowed to climb onboard. Together, we watch sails dart across the harbour and out in front, on the distant shores of Nielson Park, crowds that crawl like ants. 

I’ve swum out from the wharf at Clifton Gardens, the lower north shore’s own answer to Nielson Park, a close competitor for Sydney’s best year-round coastal retreat. It’s a beloved spot for both leisure and recreation. Yet, growing up in the Eastern Suburbs, a far trek to the other side of the bridge, I didn’t even know it existed.

Maybe locals like it that way, a closely guarded secret. Maybe they don’t want others to know of their tidal bath swims in water that glints on the harbour. Maybe they don’t want others to impede their way as they plunge in from the jetty. Maybe they’d rather their spots on the sand free to tan and watch toddlers build sandcastles.

Or perhaps they’d prefer Clifton Gardens’ parks vacant for their own Sunday afternoon picnics – and the basketball court and cricket pitch empty for only themselves to enjoy. Or it’s possible they’d loathe if large crowds were to plague their favourite seaside cafés and eateries - housed in historic sandstone buildings.

Clifton Gardens

Or it could just be I never bothered to look at a map. Situated along the coastal walk between Taronga Zoo and Balmoral, I guess it’s not that much of a secret. Still, it’s hard not to feel like I’ve stumbled upon something special.

The beach itself is enclosed by bush-covered headlands, backed by dense and vibrant vegetation that teems with squawking birdlife. Coming by car, it’s concealed in a maze of suburban side streets that cut into the rockface. Leave the city behind as you twist your way down and enter the hidden sanctuary. A perfect place to wind the day away.

Clifton Gardens

Yet, I don’t plan to stay here for too long today, with still plenty nearby to discover. It gets even more secluded, or so I’ve been told, along the track south-east towards Bradleys Head and the zoo.

Along graded gravel and limestone steps, the track cuts through the bushland slopes of Sydney Harbour National Park, fringing the V-shaped Taylors Bay. A secret side-track down to the bay is easy to miss but definitely worth to look out for.

I find it eventually underneath spreading ferns, guarded intently by a water dragon. But my startled foe knows it’s no match for a fully grown man and quickly abandons post. Victorious, I waste no time to disappear down the track before the reptile returns with more troops.

The plant life soon opens to a trail of discarded dinghies down to rocks by deep, emerald water. The bay is empty save a few sleepy anchored boats bobbing on the sea.

There are times it hasn’t been so quiet. One fateful night, 31 May 1942, a Japanese midget submarine was sunk on the seabed here during what has come to be known as ‘the battle of Sydney’. It was one of three submarines of its kind launched from larger submarines off the coast into Sydney Harbour intent on attacking anchored Allied warships. All three enemy submarines were discovered and destroyed.

Today, it’s a peaceful bay, with two private beaches all to myself. At the first beach, at the bay’s northern apex, a small creek trickles calmly down the slope of greenery before cutting across the shore. I dip my toes in, but, too cold, they immediately seek respite in a blanket of soft, warm sand.  

Taylors Bay

The seawater is warmer too, and shallow enough to walk out far into the bay. In doing so, the second beach soon comes into sight, sheltered underneath the gums of Ashton Reserve, bordered by the bay’s western rocky shore.

I start to wade my way over, but a misguided foot upsets a slimy, camouflaged stingray. Oyster covered rocks are my only escape from an indignant attempt at a sting. The piercing of the oysters’ shells may not be too much better, but this route will have to do.

Slowly over greasy, green sea moss and squelchy sea grapes, I reach the second beach.  The 50-metre strip of narrow sandflats sits precariously on the bay; half-buried boulders peek through, threatening to swallow it whole. Intimidated, the beach retreats into the shadows of overreaching branches. Ropes fall from one such sturdy gum to hang a concrete seat, a DIY construction. An invitation to swing the time away.

Taylors Bay

Following the rocks further along from here will lead to Bradleys Head and the beaches of Athol Bay. But by now the looming tide is likely to leave me stranded if I attempt to carry on. It will have to wait for another day.

Total Beaches: 64/173 

The Beach (Planespotting)

I recoil into my spine as a crackling roar propels across the sky, deafening me in its shadow. The Qantas Boeing 737 barely scrapes me by. It hovers for a fleeting moment, balancing on its crimson tail, passengers waving a last goodbye. Botany Bay sparkles back enticingly, but all too late, the plane sinking evasively into the clouds.

I wade below, in the path of the aircraft, through the waters of The Beach. Otherwise known as Plane Spotting, the 200 metre stretch of sand is jammed between the Cooks River and Sydney Airport by the 34L runway. The water’s brown, muddy, and a little thick, but apparently, it’s safe to swim. Still, I’d rather not dip my head below, not particularly in the mood for the chance taste of jet fuel.

Most people come for the sights instead. Strewn across the shore, aviation enthusiasts recline in camp chairs, eyes fixed to binoculars. They wait hours patiently for the glimpse of a rare registration, marking it down on a score card like a game of bingo.

They’re joined by teams of dog walkers making the most of a relatively empty beach. A few dozen dogs are now disentangled, frolicking leash free. They pause to bark at an incoming Singapore Airlines Airbus A380, landing to kiss the tarmac only metres away. The chase of the pack, defending their ground from the noisy intruder, is held back by a mere wire fence.  

On the other side of Plane Spotting, to the south-west, modest waves lap gently onto Lady Robinsons’ shore. Stretching out in all its glory, the first-class beach is calling me for departure. It’s time I too take flight.

Total Beaches: 61/160

Towra Point Beaches (Towra Beach, Elephants Trunk, Taren Spit Beach, Pelicans Point)

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

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

Hacking River (Wants Beach & Shallow Rock Reserve)

The emerald waters of the Hacking River flow 42 kilometres north east from deep within the Royal National Park into the estuary at Port Hacking on the outskirts of Southern Sydney. Along the banks sit lush rainforest and eucalypt towered over by sandstone cliffs.

A river rich in wildlife, at shallow depths the spotted backs of jollytail fish poke out, joined by long finned eels, migrants from the ocean. As it deepens turtle shells float on by, splashed occasionally by a hungry platypus diving down for dinner. Azure kingfishers meanwhile observe from branches above, waiting to swoop on prey. Crabs, oysters, and other crustaceans cling to riverside boulders, trying to hide in stillness. The silence is broken only by the chorus of chirping crickets that pervades all over.

Small stretches of sand can be found along the banks at various points but only twice long enough to form proper beaches. First up, Wants Beach at Audley within the national park curves round underneath a stoned wall and picnic area. Yellow-green and silver water reflects the foliage and clouds above, sporadically rippled by the passing of a family of ducks. Toddlers play along the shore amongst the scattered leaves of a forest red gum, their parents watching on from fold up chairs under the shade of the tree's trunk. 

Wants Beach

Rent a kayak from nearby at the Audley Boatshed for a leisurely glide winding downstream to the river’s second beach at Shallow Rock. At the edge of civilisation, houses perch in the trees over the reserve. A popular spot for family picnics, the cries of playing children here merge with the squawks of river herons and visiting seagulls competing for bream and flathead with fishermen’s lines cast from the river’s edge.

The Hacking River extends from Shallow Rock Reserve

This may be the final beach along the river but those who venture further are sure to be rewarded. A small boat ramp here can launch trailer boats, canoes, and kayaks to explore into Port Hacking, where swimming spots are a plenty. Plunge into the netted pools at Gymea Bay and Lilli Pilli before paddling the pristine beaches of Bundeena. I’ll be back soon to continue my quest.  

Total Beaches: 56/160

Sirius Cove & Little Sirius

Sirius Cove and Little Sirius are dog friendly harbour beaches located in Mosman.

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Cheers erupt across the beach as I gracefully spring to snatch a spinning frisbee from the sky. Landing on all fours, I canter over towards a flurry of hands greeting me with pats all over. I turn onto my back, feet high, rolling in their praise.    

“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

“Oow-ow-oow-ow.” I’m a good boy.

But no time to bask in their applause; a sniff of something special has caught my attention. It’s the scent of an elegant Afghan hound, a gleaming shampooed coat bounding along the shore. A trail of kicked up sand chases after her, as do I, tongue out, licking at the air.

Oh, but not so quickly, snarls a hostile pit bull, a raised upper lip revealing a set of slobbering fangs. You’ll have to get through me. A bulging muscular wall, the canine’s chest puffs out, neck stiff, tail rigid.

I bolt away but warm breath follows on my tail, a lunging jaw slicing the air behind me.  Leaving the sea behind, prickly grass replaces the soft sand beneath our paws. Picnic rugs are turned over, the contents of baskets spilling outwards, people escaping in all directions.

Along a ledge and a dead-end approaches, a gap that opens over a storm water drain. Full speed, I dig my heels in and flip onto my side. The pit bull is not so quick. Soaring past me, a bed of oysters welcomes him below.

A long cry pierces the air, a whimper of defeat. 

Little Sirius Beach feat. oysters 

Trotting triumphantly back towards the shore, I find the Afghan hound awaiting. Together we splash along the water’s edge, playfully gnawing at each other’s faces, lost in the moment, in doggy heaven.

But before long, a familiar voice is dragging me back to earth.

“Marco! What in the world are you doing!”

I look up with puppy dog eyes.

“Running around with animals again!” the enraged voice continues. “You’re a grown man for Christ’s sake. Get up – I’m taking you home.” 

“Oh, geez. Sorry, mum.” I stand up and make my way to the car, ashamed, tail between my legs. 

Sirius Cove Beach & dogs

Total Beaches: 54/160