Bondi to Coogee and everywhere in between

The seas were rough and the sun was shining and there was a breeze that kept away the sting of the sun. With friends from out of town we set off to walk to Coogee from Bondi, along the coastal track. The waves pounded the rocks with urgent energy and we picked up some beers to quench our thirst.

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Tamarama might just be the best beach in Sydney. It’s nestled far enough away from Bondi to keep the crowds down and the rocky reefs on each side of the bay form super fun waves. The sand’s soft and there’s a coffee shop.

I can’t really fault this little slice of paradise and with good friends and cold beer we all wore smiles.

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Surf Lifeguards stood sentry in Bronte. The seas were turgid and while the beaches were closed there were the inevitable heroes who dove in, it’s reassuring to know the guys and gals in red and yellow are there no matter stupid we are.

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The headland gave us a perspective on the power of the waves washing through. It was loud and salt filled the humid air and we walked-on, sweating but smiling.

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I’m well aware of the cliché of the cemetery shot, but as you turn to the corner towards Clovelly it’s an imposing sight. I’m not the first to try and capture the eery calm of the tombstones standing watch on the cliffs, a sacred corridor is formed by the beach on one side and graves on the other. It’s satisfying to see that the Sydney obsession with real estate development was able to be resisted by those that passed so long ago.

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Clovelly Bowling club. It’s infamous for its simplicity. A welcome time-warp where gentrification is off limits and shirts must be worn. Old boys in whites mix with sunburnt backpackers, united by a thirst for cold beer and quietened by the view to the horizon.

We parked ourselves on the lawn and found it difficult to move on, distracted by jugs of Coopers and lots of laughs.

(Oh am Matty lost his Ray Bans at the club, if anyone’s found them please shoot me a line.)

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We got to Coogee and the sun was dipping low on the horizon. Coogee is a strange little suburb, Wedding Cake Island  seems to dominate from every angle and it even stops the swell getting into the beach so the poor folk to the South have to suffer without surfing. The rock pool to the North however was in good form with the heaving swell. These gals were having ball in the cave as the waves formed a crashing curtain of white water.

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Evenings are for balconies and beer and cheese and good friends. We watched the sky change through shades of purple and grey before it gave way to a full moon. We kept laughing late into the night but I soon fled back to Bondi.

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