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

Bundeena (Deeban Spit, Bonnie Vale Beach, Horderns Beach, Gunyah Beach, Jibbon Beach)

A roar of engines snarls at me as I enter the Port Hacking estuary, confronting me like a pack of unyielding guard dogs before restricted territory. It’s a stark contrast to the welcoming calmness of Burraneer Bay from where I’ve paddled over. I’m no longer accompanied by gently bobbing sailboats resting anchored to the seafloor, nor by stand-up paddle boarders drifting along in quiet contemplation. Instead, hordes of shrieking speedboats and their jet ski kin prowl the water around me, churning the surface into a bubbling soup of froth.  

They stand towering between me and the village suburb of Bundeena. Located on Sydney’s most southern outskirts, surrounded by the vast Royal National Park, this slice of paradise is blessed with five pristine beaches to call its own. But getting there isn’t so easy. it’s a hefty 70-minute drive from the CBD - or 90 minutes if you’d rather avoid the traffic by taking a train to Cronulla, followed by a ferry ride across Port Hacking. Alternatively, it’s a mere 40-minute drive to the boat ramp in Burraneer Bay for a breezy kayak across...  or so I’d thought.

The incessant barraging of motorboat wakes is making me regret my decision. Gripping the sides of my kayak in a frantic bid for control, I find my cries of protest drowned out by the howling engines and slamming waves. Their spray blinds me as I’m swept into a surging current, driven deeper into the heart of the storm.

No longer in control, all I can do is watch as I’m hurled straight towards a looming wharf piling, rising menacingly from the sea. The collision comes with a violent thud, sending shockwaves through my body. Thrown off balance, my kayak flips, and I’m tossed into the ferocious currents, the world around me transforming into a blur of water and turmoil. Gasping for air, I cling desperately to the overturned hull, but a watery grave seems destined to be my end.

Until an outstretched hand breaks through the chaos.

Grasping it, I’m pulled - kayak and all – out of the jaws of fate, swiftly deposited on a nearby sandy shore, all in a rush of motion.

Brushing aside my stammered thanks with a quick nod, a humble jet skier vanishes back into the estuary, leaving me alone, breathless and disoriented.  Gradually, though, the quiet, sheltered environment soothes me, providing a peaceful respite from what I’ve just endured.

When I recover, I realise I’m on the Deeban Spit - a narrow sand spit that juts 1.2 km from the coast to separate Port Hacking from the open ocean – and I remember what I’ve come to do. This is Bundeena’s first beach as you approach from the west, and I’m on a quest to visit them all. I’m not going to let a mere near death experience get in my way.

Deeban Spit in background

So, I’m soon back on my kayak, paddling towards my next destinations.

Up first, just across the bay, is Bonnie Vale. The sheltered beach’s serene atmosphere, with calm, clear, and shallow waters, makes it particularly inviting after my ordeal. Young families seem to think so too. They enjoy dips in the shore and paddles on kayaks and stand-up boards available for rent from the sand. Behind us a grassy picnic area features waddling ducks, fragrant banksias, and smoky barbeques sizzling burgers for big-bellied bystanders.

Bonnie Vale Beach

It's possible to stay the night here at the Bonnie Vale Campground, but I’m continuing on, around the rocks of Cabbage Tree Point, to venture to Bundeena’s main beach, Hordens. The ferry wharf here is where I would have got off if I had decided to play it safe.

Fringed by residential homes and shaded areas provided by coastal vegetation, the beach’s sandy stretch spans about 600 metres, offering plenty of space for leisurely strolls, beach activities, or setting in for a day by the water. With nearby shops, picnic spots, and public toilets, you’ll never have to leave.

Hordens Beach

Unfortunately, many others today have had just that same idea. So, before long, I’m continuing on to find something more secluded. Just my luck - around the corner lies Gunyah Beach, the locals’ best kept secret.

Access on foot is limited to private stairs descending from a row of beachfront houses or a small hidden, path from the street above, restricted to those in the know. I myself sneak in between the resident’s parked boats to pull up on the shore. Small patches of soft, golden sand quickly merge with the rugged rocky edges of the beach, upon which I lay my towel. I stay for a while, watching snorkelers in their underwater adventures under commanding views of the Cronulla Peninsula in the distance.

Gunyah Beach

I’ve still got one more beach to get to though before the day is up. Technically within the Royal National Park, the larger Jibbon Beach borders the eastern edge of Bundeena and is accessible from the street. Still, it’s relatively secluded, framed by rugged rock shelfs and lush greenery, which divide the beach from Jibbon Lagoon.  

Some yachts have pulled up today among the beach’s tranquil waves. They’re blaring 70s hits from their decks, enjoyed by older passengers basking in the afternoon sun, reliving their golden days. Yet, if you listen carefully amongst Stevie Nick’s high notes, you can still hear the birdcalls of the eastern yellow robin, superb fairy wren, and various honeyeaters that inhabit the surrounding area.

Jibbon Beach

Jibbon Beach serves as the kick off point for various walking trails through the park and around the seaside cliffs. But with the day drawing to a close, I’ll have to save those for some other time. For now, my thoughts turn anxiously to the treacherous waters I still have to paddle back through.

Perhaps, if I’m lucky, a ferry will take pity on me and agree to tow me across instead.

Total Beaches: 95/179

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

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

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

Cronulla Peninsula (Shelly Park Beach, Blackwoods Beach, Oak Park Beach)

Midday Friday at Shelly Park Beach, Cronulla. It’s family time. Toddlers galore. Safe from the dumping waves at Cronulla Beach, they gather seashells on the shore. Floppy hats. Oversized sunglasses. Rashies. Skin painted white with sunscreen layered on by protective mothers. The sun doesn’t stand a chance.

I venture through a maze of prams, umbrellas, shovels, and buckets, careful not to trip. A rare space opens up at the foot of a sandcastle. Perfect to lay my towel down and settle in for a snooze under the lazy sun.

Dozing off, but I’m soon pulled back by cries that pierce the air. A two-year-old is spitting sand sporadically. It doesn’t taste like she was expecting.

Mum to the rescue. She washes it off with ice-cold water fresh from an esky. Sliced up watermelon follows for dessert. The child is satisfied. The tears dry up. She cosies into her hooded towel to rest.

I am now wide awake though. With my hopes for a midday nap slashed, I turn my attention to the sea.

I edge my way past a wall of rug rats and their floaties splashing on the shore. Out in the depths, seniors are swimming laps leisurely. I fill the age gap in the centre of the rock pool, floating for a while in complete serenity.

Shelly Park Beach

But something else is calling me. Not yet the family man, this beach is not quite right for me. I crave danger, peril, excitement, and risk.

So, I’m leaving the toddlers behind - up the Esplanade, past quiet coves and rocky inlets, to the wild edges of Blackwoods Beach. The waves here are unrelenting and raw. This is what I came for.

I wade into the water, ready for the rush. The surf builds. It towers in front of me.

I dive under the first wave, but the next one swallows me whole. My feet leave the ground, and I’m tossed and spun. I surface, gasping, only to be slammed back down again. The shore fades into a haze.

Spitting out saltwater, I crawl back to the sand, my limbs sore, my pride bruised. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.

I sigh in defeat, gather my things, and retreat for calmer shores.  Back down the path and the sheltered waters of Oak Park Beach welcomes hospitably. I slip into the quiet pool. Its stillness is a relief.

 

I glance over to the edge of the pool to a happy, splashing toddler. Her tiny hands scoop water from the shallows. Her mother stands watch, ready with a towel.

 

I feel a soft smile on my face, as I float tranquily, safe, and steady. Adventure is overrated. This is the life for me. 

Oak Park Beach

Total beaches: 31/179

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

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