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