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

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 

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 

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

La Perouse (Cruwee Cove, Congwong, Little Congong, Frenchmans Beach)

Cruwee Cove Beach

From the pink rock pools of Cruwee Cove Beach perched over a deep sea, along the coastal Henry Head Track and down through the trees and bushland, to the two Congwong beaches where light glistens off the ocean like stars in a turquoise sky, these have to be the most beautiful beaches I’ve visited. Oases in isolated coves, protected from the outside world, the area remains untouched, untainted by development, industry and the hustle and bustle of the surrounding Sydney city life. Located in La Perouse, the only Sydney suburb where Aboriginal people have kept their territory from European settlement until today, one is transported back 7,500 years to a natural environment of pre-colonial times. 

It was at this time that sea levels stabilised to form today’s coast for the original owners of the land, the Kameygal. With an abundance of fresh water supplies, fish, and places of natural shelter, the area was ideal for sustained inhabitancy. The Aboriginal people have maintained an unbroken connection. 

But as one walks back up 
the sandy path from Congwong Beach onto the asphalt road, populated car park, and past the monuments, to look out over Frenchmans beach to Port Botany on the horizon, one is reminded of their struggle to do so against a European invasion and imposed modernity.

Indeed, the decision to name La Perouse after the French explorer itself is symbolic of the historic denial of the original indigenous occuparants as owners of the land. Landing on January 26, 1788, passing through on a scientific expedition, La Perouse and his crew stayed in the area for a mere six weeks. 

Congwong Beach

At the exact same time Captain Arthur Phillip and the First Fleet were pulling into Port Jackson to form the first British settlement. Just missing the French, eight days earlier they too had landed in Botany Bay, but finding it unhealthy for settlement due to the swampiness of the area  had moved on to find something more suitable.

Over the next century as the British settlement expanded and Sydney urbanised, Aboriginal camps would come to be scrutinised as a nuisance to white society, increasingly vulnerable to closure. However, with the request of five Aboriginal men and their families honoured by Parliament in 1882, their camps were allowed to stay in La Perouse, justified in that they were economically viable.

Soon the population in the area began to grow as the fishing sites attracted Aborigines from the South Coast seeking employment. This resulted in the decision by the Aborigines Protection Board in 1885 to officially declare seven acres of land at La Perouse a ‘Reserve for the Use of Aborigines' - the only one in Sydney. 

Reserves like these throughout New South Wales were designed to effectively segregate Aboriginal people from white Australia. In La Perouse the Aboriginal people were tied to the reserve through a dependency on government rations and were literally locked in by a fence enclosing the reserve.

This was done to ‘protect’ them from the white community, but its very isolation and absence of white settlement made the area attractive to city residents for weekend day trips. By the turn of the century the Aboriginal residents were participating in the tourist industry selling souvenir boomerangs, woven baskets and shells, while ‘snake men’ would perform in the snake pit. 

George Cann Sr., Snake Handler. Source: https://www.valeriebarrow.com/?p=1360

In 1900 concerns about the interaction between Aboriginal people and white tourists led to a decision by the Aborigines Protection Board to relocate the reserve to the South Coast. But despite ration supplies being phased out, the people refused to move on, and eventually the Board gave in keeping the reserve open.

This was the first of many failed attempts throughout the 20th century to close the reserve. Each time an emboldened people –fighting for their historical right to live on the land - refused to leave. In 1988 their claim to ownership was finally recognised when the La Perouse Local Aboriginal Land Council was given deeds to the reserve.

La Perouse remains a significant site for many Aboriginal people – symbolic of the people’s continuing connection to their land in the face of colonial invasion. In 1988, after around 40,000 bicentenary protesters from around Australia marched in Sydney from Redfern Oval to Hyde Park, many gathered at La Perouse to both mourn 200 years of violence but also celebrate survival and new beginnings. Funeral wreaths were thrown into the water, fires burned in the dark, and people danced into sunrise.

Survival Day Ceremony

Each year around this time members of the Aboriginal community gather at La Perouse in the celebrattion of their cultural continuity - inviting all to join in. As I watch the cermonial smoke loft up and over the luminescent waters I’m grateful  after everything they’re still prepared to do so.

Total Count: 24/160

For a more detailed history of La Perouse visit The Dictionary of Sydney. 

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

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