Gunnamatta Bay (Darook Beach, Lagano Beach, Gunnamatta Park)

It's Monday of the October long weekend, the unofficial start of summer. The sun is shining, the mercury has hit a balmy 29 degrees, and with daylight savings now in effect, the days are stretching longer. There’s only one thing to do on a day like today, and that’s to hit the beach. Unfortunately, of course, everyone else in Sydney has had the same idea.

For the last half hour, my car has been inching painfully down Kingsway, Cronulla’s elusive horizon beckoning impatiently as its magnetic blue slips away behind a growing haze of exhaust. I yearn for the water’s cool embrace, but the road holds me fast in its chorus of beeps and honks.

Suddenly, a break emerges in the oncoming traffic - an omen revealing a side street twisting to the right. I follow the sign, an impetuous swing of the steering wheel pulling me from the quagmire of brake lights and hurling me into a world unknown.

The path less travelled takes me through a sleepy pocket of suburbia, winding to and fro. Endlessly and freely, I glide along, free from all concern.

But then - an ambush! A stubborn patch of bushy parkland pounces, standing firm in my way. It shrouds what lies beyond, pretending there’s nothing else to see. Yet the taste of salt in the air hints at something more.

Abandoning the car to bake in the sun, I step beneath the shade of towering Norfolk pines and into the wild bushland. Not far ahead and my eyes encounter what they’ve been yearning for all along: greenery yields to soft white sand curving gently along a shoreline. But there’s no surf here and no lifeguards either. Just sill water and the slow cadence of the tide.

Sheltered from the ocean currents, I’ve stumbled upon Darook Beach, nestled south-west of Cronulla in the calm waters of Gunnamatta Bay. At low tide crystalline turquoise water gleams like glass, spreading across an expansive sandbar that draws the eye out towards Port Hacking, Bundeena, and the Royal National Park. It’s irresistible for a quiet float or wading in the shallows, soaking in the warmth of the sun.  

Darook Beach

From here, I watch a small motorboat drift away, its captain an elderly man clad only in a speedo, his dark skin leathery from years beneath the sun. Petrol fumes trail behind him across to the only beach on the western side of the bay, named Lugano after the avenue that leads down to it.

A few scattered rocks mark the edges of the hundred-metre hidden beach, providing perches for sunbathers or adventurous children. A modest small craft launch ramp hums quietly with the occasional activity of kayaks, canoes and surf skis. Jetties jut out from people’s back lawns, here and there a foot dangling over, playfully teasing the softly lapping water below.

Back on my side of the bay I follow hot on the trail for today’s final beach. I find it beneath the 14-acre Gunnamatta Park, an expanse of grassy lawns framed by clusters of coastal gums. As picnic blankets give way to beach towels, all are united under an air of calm and relaxation. 

The tranquillity extends beyond the sand to the netted Gunnamatta Bay Baths, where people drift lazily between the nets, surrendering to the water’s motion. Nearby, some dedicated swimmers refuse to concede, slicing through their daily laps with precise, steady rhythm. Teenagers, too, eager not to waste a precious day free from school, leap and flip into the deep blue of the baths, laughter mingling with the splashing of the water.

Gunnamatta Bay Baths

Outside the baths, the wider bay stretches freely, the movement of small boats and paddleboards mirrored in the glossy surface. In the shallows, sand swirls delicately as drowsy stingrays stir from their rest, shadowed by shorebirds foraging for their dinner.

With the beach facing west, I’m treated to a rare sunset, a fiery orb spilling orange hues over darkening water. The sun’s retreat is a reluctant one, hovering on the horizon as if to ward off the night, spoiling us with beauty in the final moments of the day.

Tomorrow the workweek will return, the traffic will crawl once more. But here, for now, everything is alright, the world held still at Gunnamatta Bay.

Sunset at Gunnamatta Bay

Total beaches: 102/179

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

Boat Harbour Beach

Vzzzzt vzzzzt vzzzzt! Like a mobile phone ignoring calls, I vibrate uncontrollably as we drive along, bouncing haphazardly along the unmarked road. “I  th-th-think y-y-you sh-ou-ould slow-ow-ow d-d-down,” I manage to stutter out amongst the pulsations.  But too late - a mountainous sand dune appears before us, like a giant from a slumber, and tosses us into the air. I clasp onto the passenger side grab handle for dear life, our tyres beneath spinning frenziedly through the sky to nowhere.

Jesus! Krishna! Mohammad! Tom Cruise and the Church of Scientology! Anyone! I was never a religious man, but I could sure use your help now.  I don’t know what to blame - the precariously rising sand dunes or my dad’s poor driving - but either way I’m not ready to die yet.

I dragged my dad along today for the use his four-wheel drive, capable of traversing the treacherous sand dunes of Cronulla - or so I thought.

The sand dunes here rise up to 44 metres high, towering above the landscape. They play an important role in protecting the coastline and infrastructure against destructive coastal storms, wind, and waves. They also provide an important ecological habitat for coastal plants and animals, and they are a vital source of sand to replenish eroded beaches.

They’ve been doing so here for around 15,000 years, although their current size stabilised along with sea levels sometime between 9,000 BCE and 6,000 BCE. Originally inhabited for thousands of years by the Gweagal people of the Tharawal nation, they still hold much cultural significance.

Unfortunately, since the first land grants to Europeans in the 1800s, the site has been continuously exploited for timber harvesting, (failed) sheep and cattle grazing, sand mining, as the site of an oil refinery, and in the 21^st century for residential development, partly cleared and covered with pavements and modern housing.

Nevertheless, the sand dunes remain an iconic part of Cronulla’s landscape, a popular natural attraction that continues to draw in the crowds. Particularly appealing are the trails at the northern end that allow you to drive down to the beach - the last spot in Sydney where you can still do so. As I soar through the air, however, praying for salvation, I wonder if that’s really such a good idea.

Alas, our tyres touch down safely in the end, finishing off our flight with a skid and a spin across a sandy runway. Thank the Lord – good old Tommo Cruise must have heard me and answered my prayers!

The car trudges along brokenly - bonnet beaten, tires deflated, smoke pouring from the engine obscuring our view – until we manage to decipher the ocean approaching.

A final right turn and the endless white sand of Cronulla beach stretches out before us. We’ve made it to the party, rows of four-wheel drives lining the beach, set up with awnings, gazebos, camp chairs, and eskies. The seductive scent of snags sizzling on barbies waft through the air, dancing to tunes blasting from car radios. The crowds amuse themselves with games of cricket, shoreline fishing, and of course dips in the calm shallow water along a glistening turquoise shore.

After our ordeal, however, we’re not quite in the mood to party. So instead, we chuck a uey to set up camp at the more quiet Boat Harbour Beach at the north-eastern side of the peninsula. We drive past the rock platforms, pools and crevices that separate the beaches, microhabitats for hidden organisms away from the exposed rocky shore.

Boulders follow us to Boat Harbour’s 150-metre shoreline before they pierce into the sea. I follow suit and plunge in between them, finding myself amongst a rainbow of shallow water fish. I stay a while, floating in crystal-clear tranquillity.

Retuning to base camp, I lounge back in a folding chair underneath our beach cabana. I pull out a sandwich from the boot and a tinnie from our esky. No gear-laden trips back and forth from the car park; we’ve got everything we need right here. And I reckon I could stay a while.

Total beaches: 80/179 

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