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: 86/175 

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: 79/175 

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: 78/170 

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: 74/170

Long Reef - Dee Why

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

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

Reg doses off

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Total beaches: 73/170

Basin Beach & Mona Vale Beach

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

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

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

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

…until the sunlight peeks through and calls me back.

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

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

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

Mona Vale Beach

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

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

Mona Vale Beach

Total beaches: 72/170

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

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

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

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

Battle Boulevard Beach

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

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

Clive Park Pool

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

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

Pickering Point Baths

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

Flat Rock Beach

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

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

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

The beach at Echo Point Park

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

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

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

Middle Creek Beach

Total beaches: 70/170