Coogee Beach

I spit out a mouthful of sand and disentangle seaweed from my hair. A wave has left me stranded on the shore. Wiping the salt from my eyes, I seek out imploringly for an apology, but it has already retreated behind Coogee’s flat horizon. Better not to chase after it, I pick myself up and walk to my towel, my head bowed down avoiding the eye contact of a group of nearby British backpackers giggling at me. I’ve never liked Coogee.  

And if its name is any indication, I’m not the only one. It’s derived from Koojah - a Dharug word spoken by the Aboriginal people who lived in the area before white settlement – which means ‘stinking place’.  Some say this is after the rotting seaweed that frequently washes up on shore, others after the surprise they leave in your ice cream at the Coogee Bay Hotel.

Either way I’ve always thought of it as a bit of a try-hard Bondi. The surf isn’t quite as good, the sand not quite as golden, the promenade not quite as grand. As a teenager I lived a ten-minute walk away but must have come here only a handful of times, preferring Gordon’s Bay around the corner.

But every beach has a silver lining, and Coogee’s has got to be its grand ocean pools. Spoiled for choice - five distinct spots all glimmering underneath the surrounding escarpments - I’m going to have to leave the sand behind for this one.

At Giles baths, under the archway and into a hidden world, moss green rocks peer through clear water. Grab on to boulders at the water’s edge underneath a waterfall of surging waves. Snorkel in the deep end for sights of majestic fish gliding beneath. Or just relax in the pool’s centre, basking in the fresh respite of the scorching sun.

Giles Baths

Ross Jones Memorial Pool gazes northwards from the opposite end of the beach. Situated under the iconic Coogee Surf Life Saving Club, two adjacent rectangular concrete pools tuck into a cliff face. Wall turrets project as if from a defensive medieval castle, fortifying swimmers from the crash of oncoming waves.

From these, cheeky children launch to land by leisurely swimmers, their parents dressed in matching rashies chasing after. Leather-tanned grandparents chuckle as they watch on from their camps on the surrounding rocks. At 3:30 pm the cries of the playing children begin to crescendo. An after-school rush means it’s time to move on.

Ross Jones Memorial Pool

Next up’s McIver’s, but they won’t let me in. Fair enough, it is the last remaining women’s only seawater baths in all of Australia. Going strong since 1886, I doubt that’ll change soon. Perched on a cliff face, well screened from the surrounding area, I can only imagine what goes on inside. It must be special though. From what I read the baths have long held significance for many women, all who enter greeted by magnificent ocean views and a respectful community. 

I find my own community further along at Wylie’s Baths in line at the kiosk for a frozen treat. From up above, on the timber boardwalk that hugs the cliff, we watch keen swimmers struggle against waves brought through by incoming tides. Warm sweat trickles down our brows in anticipation of our chocolate paddle pop sensation. A sticky affair, I’m soon washing off in the open ocean pool myself, remnants of chocolate dissolving into the azure waters.

Wylie's Baths

Ivor Swimming Pool

Drying off along the Coogee-Maroubra coastal path, past gums and rare coastal plant species, I reach my final destination. Ivor swimming pool, a small circular crater carved beneath the cliffs, is easy to miss. Don’t wander too far in search of it; lurking waves will pounce and drag you to their lair. A grim sign reminds of two who failed to heed such warnings.

I arrive just in time to float underneath the departing sun. A sky of oranges and pinks merges with the Pacific. A pair of affectionate dogs run laps around the pool’s edges, stopping to lick my toes that poke out invitingly.  I guess Coogee isn’t so bad. 

Total Beaches: 51/179

Darling Point Beaches (Carthona Avenue & McKell Park)

Sydney Harbour’s blue horizon peeks out fleetingly through gaps between towering mansions onto Carthona Avenue. Sandstone slabs carved in the gothic revival style stand between me and the next beach on my quest. It’s a residence supposedly so historically significant it deserves its own Wikipedia page – a gem in the crown of the Bushells Tea family fortune – with its own private beach.

But you can’t own a beach, man. Unlike the situation for our friends over in Europe and the Americas, the beautiful sandy beaches here in Australia are free for everyone to enjoy. All of them are technically Crown land, public assets for public use.

Yet, backed by four private properties and their lap pools, this beach isn’t quite so easy for us common folk to enjoy. With access restricted from the land I’ll need to hit the water.

Aerial view of Carthona Avenue Beach. Source: http://www.homehound.com.au/listing/withdrawn/nsw/sydney-region/eastern-suburbs/darling-point-eastern-suburbs/3a-carthona-avenue-darling-point-nsw-2027-4/

So, I scurry out of the avenue’s unpromising dead end twisting up to my car parked on the hill. My deflated kayak, still sandy from my trip in North Harbour, awaits me. I pump new life into it and begin the difficult drag down the hill to sea.  

Down through McKell Park, I puff past picnickers assembled on the terraced lawns of historic cottages above exotic manicured gardens. Down, down, I descend to the Darling Point ferry wharf protruding from a sea wall. The sprays of gentle waves brush against me as I cast into the ocean.  

First, I detour away from Carthona’s coast ducking under jetties to the west to discover McKell Park’s own “private” beach, a 20 metre pocket of sand wedged between an open boatshed and a line of waterfront houses. From the shore I enjoy postcard views of Sydney Harbour out to Clark Island, a former lieutenant’s vegetable garden and now tranquil picnic attraction.


                              

Soon back on track to Carthona I dodge flashing ferries and fishing lines to make my way intact.  A menacing stare darts to meet me from the shadows of an arched window seal gothic styled; Mr Bushell watches as he sips on his cup of tea. 

Mr Bushell's Lair & Stretch of Carthona Ave Beach

But as I drift ashore onto Crown land I know that I’ll be safe. Even the multi-billionaire caffeine mogul cannot deny my rights.  I stretch out my towel and stay a while, a win for common folk.

Total Beaches: 50 / 179 

Mackenzies Bay

Mackenzies is back for a limited time only. A hundred metres round the corner from Tamarama, tucked between the rocks, it’s only accessible every so often. Local legend is that it mysteriously comes out from hiding every seven years. The last time seemed to be at the end of 2016 though.

Although the reason why is up for speculation, it could be caused by the long term climate cycles known as La Nina and El Niño. During a La Nina phase there are more storms and bigger waves that erode our beaches. During El Niño., on the other hand, less storms and smaller waves allow the beaches to recover.

Whatever the reason, you better get down quick and take advantage while you still can. Head over early to snatch a bathing spot on the tiny strip of sand. Throw a ball to a visiting pup. Refresh yourself in the surf if you dare to brave the rips – but make sure to dodge the surfers. Take it all in. It could be seven years till you get another chance.

Total Count: 33/179

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: 26/160

Rose Bay Beach

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: 25/160 

Christmas Day at Watsons Bay (Gibsons Beach, Watsons Bay Beach, 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 one 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: 18/152

Hermitage Foreshore Walk (Shark Bay, Milk Beach, Hermits Bay, Tingara Beach, Queens Beach)

I begin my journey with an old favourite Shark Bay - or Nielsen Park as it’s most commonly called referring to the harbour park in which it lies - perfect for picnics under sheltered fig trees, Christmas Day games of cricket on the expansive lawns, exploring the area by kayak, or just kicking back in the sun.

With a net keeping out the sharks and the harbour keeping out the waves it doesn’t get much safer. Enjoy a meal at the Nielsen Park Café or an ice cream from a passing vendor, and then venture out along the rocks (avoiding the oysters) or through the park’s paths to discover new sights and marvels.

Insider tip for the more daring: follow the Hermitage Foreshore Walk and keep an eye out for an opening to the large rocks over the ocean, perfect from which to plunge into the ocean.

Younger me plunges in

Keep following along the Hermitage Foreshore Walk (or swim if you’ve got the stamina) for a spoilt choice of secret secluded beaches with incredible views. Let your eyes wander out through the leafy flora, across the turquoise waters, past Shark Island, to distant sailing ships gliding in front of a backdrop of striking Sydney City.

Starting with Milk Beach on the back lawns of the mid-19^th century mansion ‘Strickland House’, make your way to Hermits Bay perfect for a cool tinnie in the shade of a parked tug boat, before journeying down the rocky steps to Tingara Beach and then finishing off at Queens Beach for the most majestic views of them all.

Be aware you may get the odd party yacht of wealthy youths pulling into bay on a summer’s Saturday – but don’t worry any other day these beaches are as calm as it gets, hardly a soul to share them with.  Only 15 minutes from the CBD but it feels like you’re in paradise. Lie back and enjoy the serenity.

Queens Beach

Total Count: 5/160