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.
