Palm Beach

Sunshine on my eyelids jolts me from my slumber. I rub my eyes and squint through the bright and overwhelming light, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The sunlight is pouring in through tall windows that frame a wall, bathing me as I lie on a couch. No idea whose couch - but it’s sizeable, soft, and covered in linen throw pillows that smell faintly of ocean air. The room is a blend of light wood and crisp white tones, adorned with tropical monstera leaves, plump succulents, and floating shelves holding small decorative items. A sleek, glass coffee table sits in front of me, its surface reflecting the glow of the sun.

It's all pretty chic. But not my kind of décor. Where am I?

I’m drawn from the couch by the subtle smell of saltwater wafting in through the open windows. It’s accompanied by the faint, rhythmic sound of waves crashing in the distance, gently interrupting the silence of the room. My head still foggy, I stumble towards the door, step outside, and blink against the light. Slowly, a view comes into focus - one I know all too well.

It’s a vast shore that stretches before me, golden in the morning light. Sand slopes down grass-tufted dunes, shaded by grand Norfolk Island pines, to be seized by a vigorous ocean. In the distance, rugged headlands rise stoically - a bulwark against the eternal pursuit of the tides. A pavilion stands watch over it all, its earthy red and mustard yellow bricks blending naturally into the coastal landscape.

I must be at Palm Beach.

But something’s off. It all feels a little too perfect. The smooth and untouched sand, seemingly unburdened by a single footprint ever placed upon it. The beautiful people, effortlessly radiant, as if they’ve stepped straight out of a photoshoot. The cloudless sky that’s impossibly blue. It’s all like a scene has been meticulously constructed before me.

What’s really going on? Why am I here? And most important of all, why does this all feel… scripted?

All of a sudden, a voice cuts through the air, calling my name. I turn to see a familiar face, eyes wide with panic, rushing towards me. But how do I recognise him? And how does he know my name?

There’s no time to ponder the thoughts, however, before his voice, low and urgent, pleads to follow in his direction. “Quick,” he insists. “There’s something you need to see.” 

I nod, still perplexed, heart pounding in my chest. This isn’t your normal, relaxing day at Palm Beach. There’s tension building and the stakes feel high; I can almost hear dramatic music swelling in the background.

 

The man starts to pull me along, when a familiar tune fills the air. At first, it seems like my mind is playing tricks on me. I shake my head, trying to dismiss it. But there it is again. I stop in my tracks, unable to escape it. The distinctive opening notes. The iconic theme that’s been etched into the memory of every Sydneysider:

 

Hold me in your arms

Don't let me go

I want to stay forever

Closer each day

Home and away

And it hits me. I’m not at Palm Beach. I’m at Summer’s Bay.  I’ve woken up inside an episode of Home and Away.

 

It all makes sense now. The perfect beach, the palpable drama thick in the air, the strange feeling of constantly being on the brink of something big. This is what it feels like to be a character in the show.

 

“Come on! What are you waiting for?!” The man calls back to me, his delivery intense and dramatic.

 

But before I can answer, a new voice cries out to me from across the beach, “Marco, where have you been?!”

 

It belongs to a bombshell of a woman, with sun-kissed skin, long blonde hair gracefully catching the breeze, and a lifeguard’s bathing suit clinging to a curvaceous figure, leaving little to the imagination. What does she want with me?

 

“Something’s happened at the Surf Club! There’s no time to explain – but we desperately need your help.” The begging emotion cracks her voice just a little at the end.

 

This isn’t just any problem. It’s big. And I get the feeling it’s going to impact everything.

 

I glance out at the ocean, the swells rolling in hypnotically, and try to make sense of the whole thing. I’ve been thrown into Summer’s Bay, where every wave carries a secret, every sunrise brings the promise of something dramatic. And now I’ve got a decision to make. Do I follow the man and uncover the mystery he’s hiding? Or do I dive right into the emergency that’s broken out at the Surf Club?

 

I stand there for a moment, letting the waves crash against the shore.

 

Whatever I choose, I can already tell - this episode is only just beginning.

Total beaches: 100/179

Whiting Beach

A voracious roar shatters the air - a lion on the hunt. The thumping gallop of a zebra herd turns the other way. The trees above sway under the frenzied swings of screaming, fleeing monkeys. A trumpeting of elephants quickly follows suit.

This isn’t the relaxing time I was expecting at one of Sydney’s most secluded beaches. Whiting Beach, a 90-metre strip of powder white sand, hides discreetly under densely vegetated slopes, accessible only by walking path in the south of Mosman. An ideal retreat for a lazy Sunday snooze. Or so it seems until the howls, quacks, growls, squeaks, and snarls come crashing in. With Taronga Zoo perched above, I’m not getting any rest today.

Most of the crowds that disembark at the nearby ferry wharf herd themselves up the hill to the zoo’s entrance. But take a left on the Curlew Camp Artists' Walk and you’re suddenly encased in a jungle of blueberry ash, flannel flowers, and towering apple gums. Their branches are home to ring-tailed possums, honeyeaters, and rainbow lorikeets. Underneath, scuttering water dragons and gobbling brush turkeys revel in their freedom outside the confines of the zoo.

Taronga Zoo sits on the site of a former gathering place for prominent artists, writers, and musicians. Abandoned in the 1910s, their canvas tents and maintained gardens are no more. Instead, the walking path that honours their history winds along the foreshore. I’ve followed it along wooden board walks over barnacle-covered boulders, through a tunnel of wrapping vines, and down twisting stairs through the sandstone rock formation, to finally make it to the beach.

Out of the jungle and the sun beats down over me like the hot breath of a salivating lion. Sweat drips down my forehead like drool escaping through the lion’s fangs. Shutting my eyes, it’s easy to imagine the king of the jungle perched over me – its next meal - ready to pounce. The lions are known for escaping their enclosures in the past. But that problem’s been fixed, hasn’t it? It couldn’t happen again, could it? I resist opening my eyes to find out.

Total beaches: 73/179

Long Reef - Dee Why

Reg, Northern Beaches’ resident seal, bounds out of the surf and rolls playfully in the sand, covering his deep brown fur in a coat of rusty orange. Pointing his snout towards the sky, he honks in pleasure, the gentle sea breeze sweeping through his whiskers. A sharp-toothed grin confirms he’s glad to be here.

All tired out, he drags himself up the stairs and across Dee Why’s promenade to his favourite spot on the grass. Following close behind, crowds of adorning fans cheer him on like a celebrity. Raising his right flipper, he gives the people what they want, waving a pose for the cameras, before dozing off for an afternoon siesta.

Reg doses off

The migratory marine mammal should have moved on from the area months ago. Alas, for whatever reason, his colony left him behind.  It may have been that the old dog was no longer needed, booted out by a younger, more virile bull. Or it’s possible he made the decision to stay back himself, happy with the food supply and abundant fine dining here in Sydney’s north.

It’s his ferocious appetite that stirs him some time later, the wafting aroma of frying fish luring him from his slumber. Across the road to Dee Why’s shopfronts and he barks out his favourite order: crispy battered snapper, chargrilled octopus, and crunchy calamari. He’s put on some weight since holidaying in Sydney.

Tucked under his flipper, he carries his lunch to Dee Why Baths at the southern end of the beach. He perches himself on the rocks above for views of puffed-out swimmers lapping 50 metres. Kicking back, belly up, he enjoys an enviable meal in the sun.

But with the food slurped down in rapid succession, eager eyes soon turn towards the sea. They’re hypnotised by a ceaseless pulse of swirling waves – rolling hills across the seascape. White foam waltzes atop ephemeral crests, seizing the moment before it all comes crashing down. Reg decides to forego the recommended post-meal hour before he heads back in. The surf’s just too good today.

Dodging the swarms of seaweed that plague Dee Why’s shore, he propels himself to the breaks at Long Reef further up the beach. He shows off to the other surfers, flirting with the dangerous ‘bombies’ off the outer reefs, twisting and swerving as he rides the pipes.

He cools down with a lap of Dee Why Lagoon - a deep blue pool nestled between spinifex-covered sand dunes. The bordering urban environment observes him as he veers among tufts of salt marsh, looping back towards the sea.

But with nothing else for Reg to do, he lays down on the sand, feeling unsatisfied. The ennui of the holiday season has started to creep in. Days have all become the same, without much aim or purpose.

Then, an epiphany - a sudden conviction rises. It’s time to bid farewell to Long Reef-Dee Why Beach. For elsewhere, adventure’s calling. 

Total beaches: 72/170

Basin Beach & Mona Vale Beach

 I slam down my brakes and veer a sharp left, my tires skidding over a bubbling soup of asphalt cooking in the afternoon sun. I maintain control and switch to my clutch, rapidly shifting though the gears as I accelerate on. An outraged pedestrian and a stream of expletives chase me into the carpark. But I’ve got no time to slow down. I’ve been stuck inside working all day, fans blasting to ward off the tormenting heat of the sun, my thoughts distracted by one thing and one thing only. I need a swim. 

The handbrake up, ignition switched off, and the seatbelt unbuckled: before I know it, I’m out of the car and fleeing on foot. Dancing to stop the singe of the sand, I move to the rhythm called to by my heart’s desire. Before me stretch the cool waters of Basin Beach, flowing past North Mona Vale Headland and into the vast Pacific Ocean. They beckon a relief from the day. But I’m not there yet. Waves breaking on a seaweed-lined shore present one final hurdle.

On your mark, get set, go. Knee to my chest, I lunge forward, driving through in a fluid and continuous motion. But my back foot fails to clear the crest of the wave, flipping me into oblivion, plunging me deep into the sea.

Shrouded in darkness, I disappear from the world. No problems, nor stress, below the surface I merely exist…

…until the sunlight peeks through and calls me back.

I emerge reawakened, refreshed, satiated, triumphant - liberated from the day’s torrid heat. Free as a bird, I glide through the ocean blue, basking in my indulgence.

But the day’s not content to concede such a loss; it’s set on making me suffer. With a scathing cackle, it threatens to ruin my treat, thunder announcing dark clouds from the north. Like the waves below, they roll towards me across a silver sky.

They push me towards Mona Vale Beach, where I seek a desperate attempt at refuge. I escape over the wide rock platform that splits the two beaches - algae forests of purple, green, yellow, and red squished between my toes. Behind me, mist rises off the ocean in anticipation of the coming storm.

Mona Vale Beach

I submerge myself at Mona Vale under the last remnants of sunshine, the clouds encircling like sharks on their prey. Until, with a burst of speed, they strike, exploding the sky in an avalanche of rain that merges with the sea. The waves respond with force and throw me to the shore.

Soaked sand leads me back to find my car within an empty carpark. Inside and the heavy rain patters against my windshield, warping vision of lightning striking sporadically on the horizon. I turn on the radio, lean back in my seat, and enjoy the show, waiting for the storm to pass. A fitting end to a scorching day. 

Mona Vale Beach

Total beaches: 71/179

Middle Harbour Beaches West of the Spit (Battle Boulevard, Clive Park Pool, Pickering Point, Flat Rock Beach, Echo Point Park, Creek Beach)

Middle Harbour, the northern arm of Port Jackson, flows from its headwaters in the upper reaches of Garigal National Park south-east to its mouth between Grotto Point and Middle Head. It’s only a few kilometres north of Sydney’s CBD, but you wouldn’t think it as you float in its tranquil waters, surrounded by towering, rugged foreshores, covered by lush bushland. Much of it remains underdeveloped, protected by parks and reserves, barely changed since European settlement.

The heritage-listed Spit Bridge, running north to south, splits the harbour in two, opening occasionally to let boats through. On the eastern side of the bridge are the harbour’s better-known spots. Here you’ll find the infamously scenic Spit-to-Manly Walk, the turquoise waters of the stunning Balmoral Beach, and the safe-and-gentle Clontarf Beach popular with families. But there are also a series of unique beaches hiding underneath the leafy suburbs on the bridge’s western side.

You don’t have to go far to find the first one; it’s easy to spot as you cross the Spit. But if you’re not a resident of Battle Boulevard, it’s not so easy to get down to. Save the battle of scouring the walls of the beachside mansions and come to it by water. Launch a boat or kayak from the dock at the bridge to share an almost private beach with locals. Refresh in the gleaming blue water as you watch pelicans and sail boats pass underneath the Spit.  

Battle Boulevard Beach

Be careful to dodge them as you head westwards towards the next beach on the harbour. The sandy shore of Clive Park Pool protrudes beneath the north-shore suburb of Northbridge. One of the smallest tidal pools in Sydney, it was constructed in the 1940s using two large rocks as walls. A galvanised pipe and screen made of steel once connected the walls, but both have since disappeared, leaving behind concrete pillars to outline the shape of the pool.

You can also get here overland via a steep, stepped hike down through Clive Park. Watch out for woodland birds and species of skinks as you traverse the path. Burst out at the shore underneath overhanging red gum branches. At lower tides, the beach will appear. A hidden spot, if you time it right, the pleasant views of Peach Tree Bay will be all yours to enjoy.

Clive Park Pool

From here, if you squint hard enough, you’ll just be able to make out the next swimming spot on the harbour. Pickering Point Baths sits below a steep climb down from Gurney Crescent, at the edge of Seaforth’s backstreets. It juts out to views of mooring boats amongst descending bush-covered hills.

Avoid the clutter of oyster shells on the low-tide-exposed beach and use the boardwalk to enter the baths. Back delicately down an old rickety ladder to emerge yourself in the water. Hostile and hungry bull sharks will frequent nearby mangrove trees in search for dinner; but don’t worry you’re safe here swimming laps in the protected enclosure.  

Pickering Point Baths

Flat Rock Beach, further along on the upper reaches of the harbour, is less protected, but apparently the sharks don’t venture that far. Best be careful though and wade in the shallows, hidden amongst anchored, bobbing row boats. Peer back on the secluded bay, sheltered by eroding sandstone cliffs. Let your eyes follow a trickling waterfall flowing down through the bush, onto the beach, and into the harbour.

Flat Rock Beach

When it’s time to leave, you can head back to the suburbs by climbing up the escarpment to Flat Rock Track, on the southern tip of Killarney Heights. Navigate past fishbone ferns and tall eucalypt trees high above the shoreline, peeking through to catch views of the expansive harbour landscape beneath you.

But don’t head home just yet. On the other side of Bantry Bay, across the bustling Roseville Bridge, is yet another place where you can swim. No, I’m not talking about the demolished Roseville Baths, the remains of which now crumble into the water. For 50 years, until water pollution forced its closure in 1974, the constant sounds of splashing and laughter echoed out from the timber structure here across the harbour.

The water quality has since improved and now the beach underneath Echo Point Park is the preferred spot at which to cool off. Head here after enjoying the surrounding terraced gardens, barbeques, and grassy picnic spots. 

The beach at Echo Point Park

From here you can access Two Creeks Track, one of the many tracks that crawl through Garigal National Park. The national park is named after the Indigenous Garigal or Caregal people - the traditional custodians of the country here known as Guringai. Thousands of years of their history is recorded throughout the park in numerous shelters, cave art, rock engravings, middens, and grinding grooves.

The white man’s history in this area is much more recent. Governor Phillip first came here on an expedition from Manly Cove in April 1788 searching for food. You can follow in his footsteps along the Governor Phillip track by the Carrol and Middle Harbour Creeks.

Over steppingstones and through a wooded valley of bloodwoods, scribbly gums, and stringy bark, home to screeching cockatoos, this track will eventually lead you to Creek Beach. Curving round onto the emerald waters of Middle Harbour Creek, the beach’s sand is strewn with fallen logs from over leaning trees, out of which butterflies flutter. Fritter away the day resting here in the sun.

Middle Creek Beach

Total beaches: 69/170

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: 63/179 

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: 53/179

Freshwater Beach

On a sweltering summer’s day, January 10th 1915, four hundred spectators swore they witnessed a mirage. The Hawaiian Duke Kahanamoku, world record holding Olympic swimming champion, was now walking on water. Having paddled out almost a kilometre from the shore of Freshwater Beach, in an instance he was on his feet gliding across the face of a rolling wave.

Underneath him was a slab of American sugar pine, taken from a North Sydney timber mill, and carved into what would soon become affiliated with beaches around the Australian coastline. 
For the first time the ancient Hawaiian art of surfboard riding had been introduced to the country. 

Duke Kahanamoku, Waikiki, 1910

Enthralled locals watched on in awe as the Duke performed acrobatic feats carried shoreward. Those who could break his spell rushed off immediately to have boards modelled after his, returning to imitate the skill and grace that they had witnessed.

Generations later and they still haven’t left. On any given day, the electric blue water of the small beach, wedged between two grand headlands, is filled with surfers flocking for the legendary breaks.  A statue of Duke Kahanamoku watches over them proudly from the shore.

Total count: 48/160

Smedley's, Little Manly, Quarantine, Store, Collins Flat

“You have arrived at your destination,” the nice lady inside Google Maps informs me.

Cheers love but this isn’t where I wanted to go. I typed in Smedley's beach, a small cove in North Harbour, Manly. I’m in Manly for sure but I don’t see any beach. Just apartment blocks to either side of me and Addison Road stretching out in front. 

I do spot a small reserve at the end of the road though: ‘Smedleys Point’ a sign informs me. There’s a bench to rest at while enjoying harbour views. A gated fence blocks a drop down onto jagged rocks. But there’s no way to a beach.   

So, I follow the map back to the red pin where the beach is supposed to be. An apartment block’s drive way seems to be leading somewhere. 

The ocean’s blue horizon rises as I walk down. A fence appears. And there through the plants that line its rails I catch a glimpse of a path twisting down to the golden sands of what could only be Smedleys beach in all its glory.

The fence has a gate: an entrance to my heart’s desire. But hold on. Entry comes with a risk: 

Should I? I’m so close. I can just run down. The beach is public; once I make it I’m fine.  

No. Sigh. I better not. I promised my mum I’d keep this quest legal. I’ll have to leave Smedleys for another day. Back to the drawing board, I’ll find a way.

I’m still in Manly though with plenty of pristine beaches beckoning to be explored. I’ve heard Store Beach is especially beautiful. So, before I know it I’m back in the car and the sweet Google Maps mistress is leading me afar.

She takes me to North Head where I’m to park my car. An eighteen-minute walk from here and I’ll be at the beach. Okay. Not ideal. But whatever you say miss.

The view from North Head

Along a neglected track tightly jammed in alongside the road, dust blows over me as cars zoom past.
“Turn left here,” Google Maps suddenly blurts out. Left? You mean through that hole cut into the wire fence? Okay, whatever you say.

A jagged wire peels along my back as I climb through. I ignore the pain and focus on my task at hand. Before me twisting off through thick bushland is a sandy path that promises a beach.

Pieces of red torn cloth tied to trees ensure me I’m going the right way. I carefully avoid a minefield of branches and shattered glass - bottles from last night’s party. I probably should have worn shoes for this.

Venturing on down the hill the cloth pieces are disappearing. Multiple paths are slithering through the bushes in all directions. I ask Google Maps for help but she’s deciding to be quiet for once. I sweat nervously underneath the 30 degree heat.

Little Manly

With regret I must turn back. I don’t want to die out here. The blog’s not that worth it.  I’ll just have to be content today with a dip in the turquoise waters of Little Manly, a short drive away.

I pull up to park on the little hill over Little Manly’s cove and that’s when I see it - a beacon shining out to me – a kayak gliding across the horizon. 

Little Mamly

Without haste I’m back in my car and racing off to the nearest BCF to buy one for myself, the cheapest I can find, a nifty little inflatable number.

Then before I know it I’m back at Little Manly launching off and paddling through the calm waters, dodging ferries as I go. I turn right around the head to conquer the elusive Smedleys.

Tilers watch from the houses above as I pull into my own private beach. I fill up a bottle from an outside hose, pull out a sandwich from my waterproof pouch I picked up from BCF, and lie in the sun a while. I’ve made it.

But I don’t stay for long. I may as well visit a few other beaches while I’m here.

On to Store Beach to share the paradise-like shore with only a handful of others rocked up on their motor dinghies. The beach feels completely pristine, isolated, untouched. I try and find where the path I was on earlier comes out.  No hope.  

At Quarantine Beach I visit a little museum that tells of its history as a quarantine station for migrant ships arriving in Sydney with suspected contagious disease. Other beach goers arrive via shuttle from the road above carefully avoiding snakes and bandicoots, while more disembark at the ferry wharf. 

Quarantine Station + whales / CC By 3.0

Then finally at Collins Flat Beach I watch kids plunge from the famous Jump Rock before having a little snooze floating amongst surrounding sailboats. When I wake the sun is setting over the water westwards behind me. I paddle on back to beat the night.  

Total Beaches: 47/160

Berrys Bay

An elderly man walks over and introduces himself.

“The name’s Sergei,” he says with a hint of a Swedish accent. “But everyone calls me Mr. Pirate.”

Today he’s in a mustard shirt and cargo pants but when he’s out on his dingy in Berrys Bay he rocks a full pirate get-up – feathered hat, eye patch, peg leg and all.

He enthusiastically shows me pictures of the last time.  Dozens of bass fish surround him. They eagerly launch out of the water and snap at the bread rolls in his outstretched hands.

He’s just as eager to waft on about Berrys Bay, launching into a saga about how the council tried to close the beach off to the public a little while back by blocking the road. A bunch of locals got together, wrote to the council, and stopped it from happening.  

“Beaches belong to the people - accessible to all,” he says.

I agree. Still, this beach is not the easiest to access. The small road off Balls Head Rd is easy to miss and there’s nothing to indicate that it leads to a beach. It’s nestled between Berry’s Bay Marina and Sydney Harbour Yacht centre; both properties exhibit warning signs of surveillance against trespassers. They’re enough to turn back the innocent wanderer unaware of the beach below. 

But if you venture just a little further down the road and round the corner you come to the dingy lined shore of Berrys Bay Beach. In front of you lay scenic views of the bay, Milson’s Point, and the Harbour Bridge. Behind towers a forest of red gum, cypress, fig, and blueberry ash.

Vines taper over the painted blue walls of a corrugated iron shed at the back of the beach. A rope tangles itself between wooden planks like a snake on a tree’s branch. Three chairs set in the shade offer a respite from the glaring sun.

A low tide today reveals bits of plastic rubbish that have floated in from the harbour. Mr. Pirate laments about party-goers littering from their boats. He instructs me that everyone who visits has to take a couple of pieces with them when they leave to help out the locals. A woman has come down recently in protective shoes and gloves and done a massive collection of rubbish and glass off the sea floor.  Still it’s never perfect. With that he picks up an armful of bottles off the sand, nods goodbye, and leaves the beach to me alone.

The view from Balls Head

I watch my feet as I creep pass bits of plastic, fallen leaves, and murky sand to dive under in the deeper end.  Sure, right on the harbour it’s not the cleanest beach - but who can complain about a refreshing salt water dip on a summer’s day?

Back on the shore another man in bushwalking gear, fresh from the scenic tracks around Balls Head Reserve, comes stumbling down. He casually throws his backpack into a dingy and pushes it out to row over past me and into the harbour, off to discover beaches beyond. I follow after.

Total count: 32/179

Curl Curl

North Curl Curl

A rock pool shared with crustaceans. In the centre a boulder protrudes: an island retreat. My legs, numb, eagerly struggle to escape the icy water. 

Southwards over Curl Curl scattered sunbathers dot the shore - a head start on their tan for summer. A few venture further to brave the winter waters.

The sun’s crept back out today. Apparently it’s reaching 24 degrees. Not quite like the summer heat but not bad for mid-August - enough for a quick dip.

Although, it is a little worrying. Whereas Sydney has never been known for its long cold winters, it’s hard not to notice rising temperatures. This winter has been warmer than average, with daytime temperatures the third-warmest on record.

And the city’s temperature is expected only to continue to rise. By 2050 average maximum temperatures will be at least 2 degrees hotter if global emissions are not curbed, according to a scientific study conducted back in 2008. 

The same study warned of the threat to Sydney’s iconic beaches, coastal homes, and commercial properties by rising sea levels. By 2050 they’re projected to be up to 40cm higher than 1990. Low-lying beaches will be the most heavily affected with every centimetre of rise resulting in a metre of erosion. Beaches like Curl Curl, Narrabeen, Collaroy, and Dee Why risk completely disappearing. 

These beaches have already been severely eroded by storm seas in the past. As recently as June 2016 a brutal storm saw king tides pummel the area. Narrabeen and Collaroy were the hardest hit with 50 metres of their beaches eroded and a number of waterfront properties badly damaged. 

Erosion and damaged properties at Collaroy. Source: Fairfax Meda

South Curl Curl

The same storm hurled the boulder into North Curl Curl pool on which I now sit.

I climb out and retreat to the warmth of my towel. The beach stretches out a kilometre beside me, the south end beckoning me for another quick swim while the winter sun still shines. The sand crumbles between my toes as I make my way over.  

It’s hard to imagine it completely crumbling away. But business as usual and that will be the sad reality. Oceans will continue to rise while extreme sea level events and storm surges become more frequent. Some vulnerable coastal places in Sydney could be protected by sea walls and levees but where not physically possible or cost-effective a planned retreat will be the only option.

I may need to hurry to complete my quest.

Total Count: 28/160

Bradleys Head Walk & the Athol Bay Beaches

Join me back in the lower North Shore this week to explore the beaches along Bradleys Head Walk – a natural wonderland, native fauna and flora galore, in the heart of the city.

Dense vegetation. Lush bushland. Eucalypts, honeysuckles, and red gums. Water dragons hog your path in front. Bush turkeys gobble at your feet. Kookaburras giggle in the distance.

Photo Jamie Plaze. Source: Native Plants of Sydney Harbour
National Park, Doug Benson

Peek through the trees for Harbour views, to Bradleys Head and out along the protruding amphitheatre – an unrivalled panorama – the photo hotspot. Awe-struck tourists. Proud locals. Lovers and sunset weddings.

From here a running dive and you’re in the centre of Sydney Harbour. The Bridge and Opera House sit in your hands before you, their wonder inescapable. Revel for a while. You do not want to leave.

But on you persist. Back on the path there’s more to see. An unnamed beach is drawing you in. Under the walkway barrier and stumble down. A rock-strewn off-track twists through the gums. Branches reach out yearningly over a seaweed spotted shore. The green sea rescues you from their grasp.

Flee out to The Island where glasses of champagne are gulped diligently. A floating shipping container converted into a bar, frequented by Sydney’s finest. Try to climb aboard but don’t expect a welcome invitation. Tye-dye board shorts clash with the all-white colour scheme.

So, back to the ocean where you belong and over to the main beach of Athol Bay, where soft winds scatter over a drowsy swell building slightly under passing sails. Dodge the pulse of jellyfish fusing with the sea. Wash up onto shore. Rest and stay a while in the peaceful parting sun.

But quick there’s still more to discover. A secluded beach under a neighbouring wharf is waiting patiently. Watch your feet though. Danger signs. A bin for washed up needles, threats to pristine beauty. Tread carefully on golden sands and into safe clear waters. Seagulls perform over the ferry wharf. Families leave Taronga Zoo. Climb on up and take a seat. This is your ride home too.

Total Count: 14/160

Hayes St Beach

The water gently ripples under the effortless strokes of an elderly gentleman’s oars as he masterfully spins his row-boat round and pulls into shore. Out from hiding at his feet a welsh corgi eagerly jumps overboard. It waddles across the sand to promptly return with a plastic Gatorade bottle clenched between a grin. The man affectionately praises the dog, taking the bottle and adding it to a half-filled garbage bag.

It’s sadly increasingly common to see or hear of plastic rubbish lining our beaches and filling our oceans, dropped or left behind after a day at the beach or carried by wind and rain into drainage networks and rivers flowing into sea.

An estimated 2.41 million tonnes of plastic enter the ocean each year, the stronger more buoyant plastics floating via converging ocean currents and accumulating in enormous islands of trash. The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, the largest and perhaps most famous, is estimated to cover a surface area of 1.6 million square kilometres –three times the size of France – hosting conservative estimates of 1.8 trillion pieces of plastic and weighing up to 80,000 tonnes.

These harder plastics can take up to 450 years to decompose, first breaking down into smaller plastics and then persisting, not only on water surfaces but as far down as the ocean floor. Small and colourful, animals often mistake these plastics for food, resulting in malnutrition and poisoning from the plastics’ toxic chemicals.

Humans too risk being contaminated. As chemicals in plastics enter the body of the animal feeding on the plastic, they are then passed onto any predators feeding on them and then further onto higher predators up the food chain.

And it’s not only our health these plastics are threatening, but our wallets too, with environmental damage approximating 13 billion USD a year in financial losses incurred by fisheries and beach cleanups.

Unfortunately the secretive nature of Hayes Street Beach doesn’t help much to keep the rubbish out. Tucked away down the back hills of Neutral Bay, accessible through a little walk way slyly placed between two buildings, it’s easy to miss. Yet, one of the closest beaches to the CBD, a quick trip across the Harbour Bridge or ferry ride from Circular Quay, it remains unable to hide itself from rubbish deviously floating in from Sydney Harbour.

While Sydney hosts some of the cleanest beaches in the world and has improved dramatically over the last two decades, it’s still not perfect. Last year out of 97 swimming sites tested, 17 received poor ratings for water quality. Only the tireless work of local volunteer conservationists like this man and his dog keep beautiful spots like this unspoiled.

Luckily today isn’t too bad. Within a few minutes the loosely scattered trash along the shore and shallow water has been cleared. The man throws his trash bag into the boat, gives the corgi a boost in, and clambers over after it. A few leisurely strokes and they disappear around the bay leaving a pristine space for just me and a handful of others to enjoy, reminded of our responsibility to preserve it for yet another day.

A clean Hayes St Beach

Click here to find out how you can get involved in helping to keep Sydney Harbour clean. 

Total Count: 9/160

Obelisk Beach, Balmoral Beach & Edwards Beach

The clouds have subsided, the weather’s fine, Ricky’s chucking a sickie, and I don’t start till 4pm. We decide to do the only sensible thing we know how and hit the beach. We’re feeling adventurous and so agree to find a secluded spot Ricky once stumbled upon inside Sydney Harbour National Park just over the bridge in the North.

Not long and we’re swerving our way through the back streets of Mosman, hitting a few dead ends, before the houses start to disappear and we’re greeted by a lush bushland. Ricky soon recognises the opening to a track and we pull over. Down some narrow steps through the greenery we swiftly emerge to the scenic views of Sydney harbour, sparkling blues dancing under an empty sky - and then the not so scenic views of fat naked old men. Ricky swears he didn’t know this one’s a nudist beach. That’s not necessarily a problem, but it being a small beach with currently more skin than sand we decide it’s best we take a quick dip and keep exploring.

So we hop in the car and drive round the head to the yacht speckled crystal clear waters of Balmoral Beach situated in Hunters Bay. We avoid the $9 per hour parking on the main road and find a free spot a few streets back - behind an esplanade of cafes and restaurants ranging from every beachy suburb’s must-have fish and chips to North-Shore style fine dining. Laying our towels on the white sand and nesting in the shade of the promenade we look out upon the heads enclosing harbour waters timidly escaping out to sea. 

A quiet and relaxed atmosphere provides the perfect opportunity to dig into my novel for a short while before I give into temptation and dip into the calm inviting waters. As I surface and turn back to shore I’m greeted by a forestry backdrop surrounding the bay intersected by a promenade lined with grand old fig-trees. I float and bask in the surrounding beauty.

Soon, with the weather starting to turn and my afternoon shift looming, I reluctantly paddle back to shore and grab my things to try to leave. But first the tantalising vibrant blue waters of neighbouring Edwards Beach, separated only by the arched concrete bridge that leads to Rocky Point, are drawing me in. I give in for a quick submersion which begs for more but will have to do for now. 

I’ll be back soon though. I still need to explore Chinaman's Beach just around Wyargine Point to the north, as well as Cobbler’s Beach over on the head to the East. I’ll be back soon enough for their deep blues and scenic views. 

Balmoral Beach. Source: https://sydney-city.blogspot.com

Total Beaches: 8/160