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

Western Sydney Beaches (Penrith Beach, Lake Paramatta, Simmos Beach)

Stale air smothers my skin, choking me in the stifling heat. Sweat beads on my forehead form a river torrent, distributaries cascading down my neck, spine, and across my chest. A shirt long abandoned, my slippery skin clings reluctantly to the car seat, irritable fidgeting gaining me no relief. I roll down the window to invite in some airflow, but there are no RSVPs on this hot summer’s day. All I can do is watch as the temperature display on my dashboard gradually rises. Thirty-four degrees. Thirty-five. Thirty-six.

Low-rise brick buildings, wide windows, car dealerships, and roller doors – this isn’t the scenery I remember from past trips to Bondi. A steady flow of traffic in the other direction adds to my confusion, each passing car seemingly scoffing at me, engines growling as if they know something I don't. Yet my GPS stays adamant, insisting I continue westwards down Paramatta Road and onto the M4.

Stretching on for an eternity, the motorway finally gives way to a sprawling carpark, stranded amongst open paddocks. There’s no sign of the Bondi staples— Range Rovers inching into tight beachside spots, backpackers’ vans wedged between surf racks, Mercedes-Benz G-Wagons perched outside trendy cafés. Instead, the lot is packed with Holden Commodores, Ford Falcons, and Toyota Hiluxes, each proudly displaying Penrith Panthers stickers.

And then it hits me—like a punch to the gut. A damn typo. One wrong letter. I’m not in Bondi, I’m in bloody Pondi.

Officially known as Penrith Beach, the site was originally a sand quarry on Nepean Lagoon before a $1.7 million investment transformed it into a man-made beach in late 2023. A further $2.5 million upgrade then saw it reopen in December 2024 for an extended summer season, featuring a larger beach, improved amenities, and enhanced water quality monitoring systems.

Penrith Beach

With temperatures in Sydney’s west often soaring up to 10 degrees hotter than the coast - and many residents more than an hour’s drive from the ocean - the new beach has been eagerly welcomed as an essential spot for westies to cool down in the summer.

Lake Paramatta has also been recently upgraded with this in mind. Here, 40km away in the heart of western Sydney, a small gravely beach gently slopes into calm water, framed by 73-hectares of native bushland reserve. Outside the beach’s designated swimming area, people float aimlessly on inflatable donuts, drift past on swan-shaped pedal boats, and jump in from rocky edges.  Beyond the water, winding walking trails weave through the bush for a shaded escape into nature.

Lake Paramatta

Until the spots in Penrith and Parramatta opened, the only beach Western Sydneysiders could call their own was the small stretch of sand known as Simmos Beach along the Georges River in Sydney’s outer southwest. Located in the densely populated suburb of Macquarie Fields, the swim spot has long been a locals’ favourite. Since the 1970s, in particular, it has been the centrepiece of a nature reserve, regenerated with native vegetation and complete with walking trails, barbecue facilities, and picnic tables

Still, only small, the beach could never accommodate the crowds that Pondi now can. And that’s something to appreciate. True, Penrith may be no ocean beach. No hordes of surfers chasing grand swells — just kayaks and canoes gliding across the still water. No rows of towels laid out for tanning—but picnic rugs, barbies, and loaded eskies. No sneaky seagulls swooping for chips – only ominous crows hovering above.  

But despite the mix-up, I find myself drawn to its water just the same.  It’s no Bondi, but the cool, fresh lagoon beckons me anyway. The water might not have the ocean’s waves or its crystal-blue colour, but it’s still a relief – something to wash away the heat on a scorching summer’s day.

Total beaches: 99/179

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: 96/179

Georges River Baths (Jewfish Bay, Oately Pleasure Grounds, Carrs Point Baths)

Muddy sand engulfs my feet as I trudge towards the low-tide shallow water of Jewfish Bay Baths. With each step it becomes harder to free my feet from the sand’s eager grip, a hungry endeavour to swallow me whole into its vast belly beneath. A sulfuric stench of stomach fumes rises above in anticipation of the coming feast. Agile crabs heed the warning, scuttering away from the feeding zone. They mock me with their ease of movement, lightly gliding across the sand before disappearing into the murky water.

I should have known better. Much of the Georges River, the main tributary of Botany Bay, located in Sydney’s south and south-west, is deemed unsafe for swimming. Due to stormwater and sewage leaks the water here can be both toxic and contaminated with high concentrations of pathogenic microbes.

Sharks are also a problem, with deadly bull sharks known to travel as far up as Liverpool Weir, 45 kilometres from the sea. Although it’s been some time since an attack, there were a number of recorded fatalities throughout the 1930s and ‘40s when the river was cleaner and swimming here was much more common.

For this reason, as part of my quest, I’ve decided not to swim at many of the beaches that dot the middle and upper parts of the river all the way up towards Chipping Norton Lake in Sydney’s west. The lower part of the river, on the other hand, is supposedly safe, with pollutants here flushed out by tidal water movement, and a number of netted enclosures protecting swimmers from sharks.

Jewfish Bay is one of them, its mighty 320-metre shark-proof net protecting vast swimming baths, backed by a narrow beach and the lush vegetation of Oatley Park.  

Jewfish Bay

I wrestle here aginst the persistant clutches of the sand until a final determined leap launches me into the waist-high water. Keeping my feet off the seafloor, I paddle pooch-like from the peril, before clambering to safety up onto the bath’s pontoon, stranded in solitude in the middle of the bay.  I lie here blanketed in the warmth of the sun and the cicada-cum-cockatoo hum of the Australian bushland that looms over the bay.

A venture into this bush, through Oatley Park, will bring you up to the Oatley Castle – a remnant of Sydney’s alternate medieval past repurposed for barbeques and picnics. Further up and Websters Lookout provides views over the grand Georges River, pointing us south-eastwards towards our next destinations.

The Como Tidal Baths is the first of these, located across the river on its southern banks. While there’s not technically a beach here – unless you count the sliver of sand in one of its corners – I’m giving it an honourable mention as one of the few netted enclosures on the river.

The baths here offer cleaner access to the water than Jewfish Bay, with boardwalks on either side from which you can descend via ladders or dive straight in. Or, for those who still fear the odd pathogen lurking, a dip amongst chants of “Marco Polo” is also possible in the chlorine pool directly behind.  Afterwards, you can enjoy a meal at one of the riverside cafes before a pleasurable stroll through the aptly named Como Pleasure Grounds beneath palms, gums, and figs that arch over the water.

Equally pleasurable are the Oatley Pleasure Grounds back on the northern side of the river. Here, located at the bottom of a steep, meandering path, down a hill and through a tunnel of trees, you'll find the netted Oatley Bay Baths. At high tide the small swimming area provides for a refreshing swim, at low a place to wander longingly over the sandy bank in wait of the returning current.

A family of ducks greets me when I visit, waddling in sequence, one after the other, out of the water and up the concrete stairs, before spreading their wings to dry in the sun. Birds' songs call out to them from the trees above, intermittently breaking the stillness of the late afternoon bay.

Carrs Point Baths - the river’s final netted enclosure before reaching Botany Bay - is much more lively today. I’m greeted by traditional Greek tunes puppeteering a hand-linked audience dancing the circular Kalamatianos. Behind them stretches an Aegean Sea of people, mingling between carnival games and stalls of jewellery, candles, food, and decorations. A smoked-scented air of souvlaki, octopus, spanakopita, and halloumi pervades all over.

I’ve stumbled into the Greek Summer Festival. With the surrounding suburbs home to a large proportion of Sydney’s sizeable Greek community, the festival is held on the parklands here each year to showcase the people’s vibrant culture.

Greek Summer Ferstival by Carrs Point Baths

Joining in the celebration, I grab myself a haloumi gyros before squeezing my way through the crowds down to the shore. I blanket my towel between sets of beach chairs filled with elderly Mediterranean folk reclined luxuriously under the final spurts of the sun’s embrace. With the day getting on, I sneak in a final dip in the river, before returning to shore to watch festive fireworks blasting colour across a lilac-canvased sky. 

But I don’t stay long, distracted by skin starting to prickle, a burning sensation beginning to simmer, a reddening colour on the verge of bursting all over. The microbes are swarming, and I need to go home for a long, deep shower.

Total Beaches: 91/179

 

Pittwater's Southern Shore (Bothams Beach, Church Point Beach, Pittwater Road Beaches, Bayview Baths, Bayview Dog Park)

Today we venture to the majestic southern shore of Pittwater, peacefully secured an hour’s drive north from the hustle and bustle of the Sydney CBD. Our journey there takes us over the Harbour Bridge, through the North Shore’s suburban streets, and alongside the soaring trees on the edge of Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park. By Ingleside’s extensive lawns and mansions and down the twisting hills of Bayview we go – until, finally, we burst out onto paradise.

We’re welcomed by panoramic sights of towering vegetation over golden coastlines. They stretch before bobbing boats and yachts scattered in their hundreds atop an azure sea, extending all the way across the length of Pittwater to its mouth at Broken Bay.

Pittwater is Sydney’s northernmost open body of water - a tidal estuary often considered a bay or harbour. Bordering the tip of the Northern Beaches peninsula and Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park, it separates greater Sydney from the Central Coast. On its southern end, in the suburbs of Bayview and Church Point, seven beaches lie awaiting.

Starting from the west, Bothams Beach sits on McCarrs Creek underneath the sloping hillside. Access the 300-metre stretch of sand via steps down from McCarrs Creek Road through a thick bush of Grey Ironbarks and River Red and Spotted Gums. A spot on the shore awaits us amongst stored dinghies and fallen logs. Meditate here on the sound of wind rustling lightly in the branches over gently lapping water. When you’re ready, turn your eyes out over the crystal-clear creek sparkling in the sunshine. Give into seduction and submerge yourself deep down into divinity.

Bothams Beach

From here’s ideal to launch a kayak and paddle up the creek, darting through perched sail boats, to merge into Pittwater’s open sea. Church Point Beach welcomes us, resting around the corner. Here, footed sand prints swerve amongst tethered rowboats, motor dinghies, and an old corroding kayak, before disappearing across the seafloor out to Scotland Island.

Dark, amber-coloured rocks lead the way back up from Church Point’s shore towards the coastal fringe of land, where outstretched gums dominate over sprouting tufts of grass. We lie here in the shade engulfed by the sounds of afternoon chatter and an acoustic guitar trickling over from a nearby restaurant.

Church Point Beach

But let’s not diddle-daddle here entranced too long - three more beaches are now calling us south-eastwards. Their sands spring sporadically like skin shredding from the serpentine Pittwater Road as it slithers along the shore. One falls off just below the Church Point carpark, another round the bend by a small marina, and the final on a bay dominated by the headquarters of the Bayview Yacht Racing Association.

Each lies still, unassumingly, only slowly growing in size as the late afternoon tide reluctantly withdraws. We chase the tide as we follow the beaches, navigating our way through tangled dinghies, recently afloat, now buried into the sand. Quick dips, waste high, are all that we can manage.

Beach on Pittwater Road

Perhaps we’ll find a more suitable swim at Bayview Baths further along. Added to the wharf in 1915, contiguous with the shoreline, the structure is one of Bayview’s earliest items still intact. Featuring timber piles and vertical steel bars, it used to serve as vital protection from the biting sharks once prevalent in Pittwater. Still a popular hub for the community, it continues to offer safe and easy access to the Pittwater estuary for those who wish to swim and wade.

Alas, our bad luck continues with the retreating tide; today the baths are little more than a pool of murky, shallow water. Better to settle ourselves on its sloping concrete steps for views of darting speedboats in the distance, resting a while before our final destination.

Bayview Baths

Bayview Dog Park, located at the south-eastern most edge of the estuary, is where the real action is at. Tread carefully though, for raucous, unleashed packs hurdle across the fields. Their eyes are fixated on one thing and one thing only: buckets of bouncing balls fleeing from slobbery deaths in the jaws of the canine killers.

Barks, howls, yelps, and growls follow the most desperate of the balls stumbling off the grass onto the spit of sand that curves into the water. Some balls burst through with a last hurrah into the swelling sea, praying the tides will carry them off to distant lands of safety. Persistent pups are not afraid of getting a little wet, however, paddling with all fours, nose forward, past leisurely swimmers and stand-up paddle board goers, in hot pursuit.

Bayview Dog Park

It's amongst this chaos we take our final plunge. Drifting away from the balls and pooches, we merge with the vast depths of sea below and sky above. Fading together from orange to pink to purple hues, we float endlessly away from Pittwater’s shores - on into the evening.

Total beaches: 88/179

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: 81/179 

Paramatta & Lane Cove Rivers’ Beaches (Bayview Park, Chiswick Baths, Greenwich Baths, Woolwich Baths)

A pied shag perches itself on the net of Bayview Park’s swimming enclosure, its wings spread wide drying black feathers underneath the late afternoon sun. In its hooked bill squirms a hapless fish freshly plucked from the Paramatta River. Protecting its catch, the water bird’s green eyes, sparkling like emeralds, peer out guardedly over the riverscape. Suspicions mount as its eyes lock with mine bobbing on the water; a deep guttural grunt starkly accuses me of eyeing its lunch.

I can’t help but be a little offended. A toastie grabbed earlier from the local café has already done wonders to satiate my hunger. And I don’t really feel like sashimi today anyway. But my confutations fail to soothe my weary feathered foe, my voice drowned out by the beating of wings steering off into the distance.

A pied shag in flight / Glen Fergus / CC BY-SA 2.5

I try not to take it personally, reminding myself that the pied shag’s likely still not accustomed to so many people round here. The beach at Bayview Park has only opened again recently for the first time since the 1960s. Originally established in the 1930s, it was once a popular place to swim but closed in 1969 due to pollution of the waterway. However, a $700,000 revitalisation project from the City of Canada Bay, Sydney Water, and the Paramatta River Catchment Group has now revitalised the river and reduced pollution. According to water and sediment tests conducted over the last few years, the site is safe again for swimming.

To accompany the reopening of the site, a netted enclosure, picnic facilities, outdoor showers, and an improved access to the foreshore have also been added. There’s also a boat ramp, barbeques, a playground, and toilets.

Bayview Park netted beach

With this, Bayview Park joins a handful of other swimmable spots on the Parramatta River, including two other beaches. There’s Cabarita Beach, where I’ve visited before. Located at the northern end of the expansive Cabarita Park, it’s perfect for a quick dip after picnicking under the shade of a giant fig tree. And there’s Chiswick Baths, a small beach complete with netted enclosure about 25 metres in length, backed by a steep, grassy slope that leads to picnic seats and barbeques. Swims can also be had on the river at Dawn Fraser Baths and Lake Paramatta.

There are also a couple beaches on the Lane Cove River, a northern tributary of the Parramatta River. At the river’s opening, at Greenwich Baths, you can enjoy stunning views of Sydney’s skyline and Cockatoo Island while lounging in a beach chair - calamari, fish and chips, and iced coffee in hand fresh from the café. The protected inlet and shark proof net provides ideal conditions for calm and gentle laps, while toddlers can splash in the shallows or play with the supplied beach toys.

Woolwich Baths, meanwhile, on the sleepy southern side of the Lane Cove River, is a perfect place to stretch out under the sun, either on the boardwalk or two pontoons. Here you can enjoy views back on the riverside Moreton Bay Figs or out to anchored yachts floating beyond the shark net, before diving in for a dip amongst peaceful jelly fish.

There are now plans to make the whole of the Paramatta River swimmable by 2025, with swim spots allocated for Bedlam Bay, Mcllwaine Park, and Putney Park. With all these new places to swim, it seems the local river birds are just going to have to get used to us. And who knows? In time they might even share their lunch. 

Total beaches: 80/170