Vaucluse House to Milk Beach

Yesterday, I came across an old Time Out Sydney magazine that I must’ve kicked under my bed sometime in December. I don’t even remember reading it, but it was the Summer Issue and it had a list of Sydney’s “best” everything – from beaches to ice cream parlors, to a few secret hikes. I settled on finding the secluded Milk Beach in Vaucluse and Patagonia (an Argentinean icea cream spot in Coogee). It looked like a promising day… a cooler breeze than usual, but still hot under the sun.

I called Daniel and checked to see what he was up to – nothing planned; he was down to tag along for the day so we decided on meeting at the Junction at noon.

He came in from Inner West so it’s not the most convenient meeting point for him, but at least the 386 stop was right above the train station. We grabbed a quick bite to eat then took the 12:26PM bus on its way to Vaucluse. I think we both just made the assumption that because the bus was headed in the right direction, that it was also going to take the right road to where we were headed. We took the wrong bus.

386 goes down New South Head Road and takes it all the way up towards the direction of Watson’s Bay. But what we wanted was to go up Vaucluse Road and get off at the Strickland House. I guess that would’ve been too easy anyway.

Luckily, we got off the bus just before getting too far off track and we took Petrarch Ave from New South Head all the way down to Olola Ave. It was a long walk. We had to cut through a main road, two parks, a stable house, and several stairways before finding Milk Beach.

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The parks in Vaucluse are beautiful though. They’re empty and quiet; it’s very peaceful. There were these large trees everywhere that made me think of Hawaii.

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And Vaucluse House was pretty impressive. When we found it, we didn’t really know what we were looking at, much less have an idea of whether or not we were trespassing on private property. There were no signs and no staff. The buildings were Spanish Mission style and everything seemed grand – massive doorways, a long stable, a fireplace that I can walk into…

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The main house had multiple chimneys that looked like turrets and a wrap-around patio with plenty of seating.

-laughs- so much for making it to the beach in the early afternoon… it started to turn cloudy anyway. And the chances of me ever going to Vaucluse House (by choice) is very unlikely, so it was nice to have just stumbled onto it.

About 10 minutes walk from Vaucluse House (through a series of winding roads and a long stairway), we found the Strickland House. Yay! It’s not as impressive, but the view is pretty awesome.

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And, of course, a short walk behind the house is Milk Beach… empty, quiet, and with very granular almost-white sand.

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Much like Washaway, it’s not really a “swimmable” beach. Maybe early in the summer, but because boats dock around this little cove, it’s not the cleanest water. But it is one hell of a spot for sunbathing. We didn’t stay because the sun wasn’t cooperating, but we did follow the Hermitage Foreshore Walk. It’s a short 1.6k walk around the Vaucluse shoreline and, on the way, you’ll also find secluded Queen’s Beach. At the end of the walk, we found ourselves on a 325 bus stop and ended up going to Camp Cove anyway =)

Because it was cooler than usual, Camp Cove was desserted. We stayed until it started to rain and then made our way to Taste of Sydney at Centennial Park (we opted out of Patagonia for another day)…

Washaway Beach (Manly)

Two weeks ago, on the 380 bus from Watson’s Bay to Bondi, there was an old Swedish man who told me that the best beach in Sydney is on the north side. He asked, “Have you ever done the Manly to Spit Bridge walk?” I’ve never even heard of it.

At the time, the hidden beach he talked about didn’t really stick with me. Everyone’s got their perfect beach. It’s always (supposedly) hidden, and (apparently) the most beautiful, but I’m up for an adventure. So I packed cheese and biscuits, two apricots, peanut butter sandwiches, and chocolates. Murray brought the smoked mussels, apples, and a nice bottle of bubbly. We were pretty amused with ourselves.

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If you look up Washaway Beach on a suburban Sydney map, you’ll find it. It’s right off the coast of Grotto Point on the southwest end between two inlets that are far apart. You can spot it on the ferry ride from Circular Quay to Manly Wharf and you’ll even see a number of small boats surrounding it, where fisherman try their luck. Although, if you pick up a map from the Manly Information Kiosk, you won’t find it. They removed it – possibly to discourage people from walking down the steep (and pretty dangerous) path to the bottom. We must’ve asked six people on the way to Grotto Point if they’ve heard of the beach. No one really knew where it was.

The bushwalk off the Manly coastline is long and winding. It’s a well-defined path so you can’t get lost and you’ll see some pretty interesting things on the way… lots of big lizards (that look like gray iguanas), orb spiders (that mildly freaked me out), and freaky trees that looked like they were bleeding… whoah.

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There’s a ton of lookout points so you can always catch your bearing on the way. And you’ll find yourself surrounded by all sorts of pretty flora… one particular bush that you’ll find everywhere had these tough seeds that require bushfire to crack them open. I tried to crack one. -sighs- fail. I could barely pull it off the branch.

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Otherwise, it’s just one long trail after another. Some are dirt paths (muddy for us because of the rain) – other paths have wooden planks laid down, a few large stone paths, and then there are the massive boulders that just seem to pop up every once in a while.

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During our walk, we met one woman who said she knew of Washaway and promptly gave us directions. For where we were, her husband said, “If you walk really fast, straight down the path, you’ll find it in 10 minutes.” It’s just never that easy. We must’ve walked for another hour…

Then we met Paul, a German guy, midway into the hike. He’s new to Manly, just moved here two weeks ago, so he was eager to talk. Besides, we were the only company he had for the next twenty minutes. We told him about the beach and he hadn’t heard of it either. We also passed a runner, a woman who’s lived in the area for thirty years, and she had no clue.

The weird thing was that the older maps on the original trail had Washaway Beach listed. There were no directions, but it’s there. There were probably two or three more sets of hikers that we asked, all of whom probably thought that we were just a little crazy. We eventually found it after backtracking twice and almost missing it a third time. Tough little fucker.

You get to a fork on the trail about 300 meters from this sign, and shortly after passing an aboriginal site.

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It’s hard to notice if you’re not really paying attention to it, or if you’re not sure of what you’re looking for. But it’s definitely a trail. There are sticks and a few loose branches thrown onto the path to make you think twice before crossing it – hang a left and keep going.

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Go to the bottom of the path and you’ll get to another fork. If you go straight, you’ll miss it completely (by several hundred meters) and end up at Grotto Point Lighthouse. If you make another left at the second fork, you’ll see a couple of large boulders, one with graffiti on it that says, “No Dicks” -laughs-

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Take the path to the bottom. You’ll hear the surf. When you get to the clearing, you’ll see the beach, but no path to get down.

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There’s two ways to do this: the first is a little iffy. Walk to your left along the ledge (be very careful when it’s wet – this walk scared the crap out of me and it can be really slippery -it’s much higher than it looks). If you take it to the end, it sort of winds around like a very large staircase since you can jump from one rock to another; I’d avoid the route if there’s algae (like after a storm) – you wouldn’t want to risk it. It’s pretty challenging.

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The second way is to take the rock ladder. I swear, you wouldn’t know it was there unless someone told you. The two guys we met have been going here since they were kids so they knew of it. There are basically three slots carved into a massive rectangular boulder that allow you to come down to a secondary ridge. Once you’re down there, you just wind your way through the makeshift path until you touch sand.

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Ironically, the very first thing we encountered at the bottom of the beach was a very friendly gay man who, of course, was showing off a recent Brazilian. Oh my god.

We took ourselves to the other side of the beach to give him his privacy. It was quite a stretch of sand and it’s probably incredible when it’s a warm and sunny day. Sadly, the water wasn’t at its best… there was a lot of seaweed washing up to shore because of the storm from the previous night. No swimming accomplished at this particular beach… but I figured, I’d build a sandcastle instead =)

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We popped open a bottle of champagne, had tuna and crackers, apricots, and chilled out for about an hour. We watched the sailboats in the distance and the parasailing couple that kept rounding the Grotto Point inlet. It was pretty peaceful.

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The walk back was also pretty easy. It was humid so we were dying of thirst by the time we got back to the wharf. We took a seat outside of the Bavarian Bier Café, ordered a 500mL Franziskaner Hefe-Weissbier Hell, a bowl of fries, and called it a day. It certainly wasn’t a bad way to spend a cloudy and occasionally rainy Saturday.

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Blue Mountains

Saturday morning started off to a crawling pace… I barely dragged myself out of bed at 6:20AM, after just having crashed 4 hours before, and it felt like forever before the hot water came around in the shower. I was already running 15 minutes late when I heard the bus speed past our courtyard – guess I missed my 7AM. Shit. 29 minutes until the next one.

I contemplated my decision of leaving the previous night’s drumming “session” at 1AM… it probably wasn’t the best idea before an early hike the next day. But I met some pretty chill people that were awesome guitar players and Congo drummers, and also got introduced to the busking Irishmen. It was a good time, and it was nice to be part of another different crowd. It was 12 of us sitting around a semi-circle in someone’s backyard. There were magnolia trees that sheltered half of us from the moonlit sky and the wind, while the rest of us took advantage of that ocean breeze. It smelled like Ylang-Ylang, smoke from the grill, and salt water… funny combination, but it smelled like a good summer night. And, at some point, someone started playing Ben Harper’s “Burn One Down”…

The bus came at exactly 7:29AM. I was meeting Moses at Central Station where we would have to transfer to another train heading towards the airport to pick up his car and drive about an hour to get to the Blue Mountains. Having neglected to look it up before leaving, I didn’t realize that the Blue Mountains was an entire region, with multiple areas separated by natural rock formations (like lots of caves and steep ledges) and valleys (…more like canyons, really). We stood at the lookout of Wentworth Falls and it reminded me so much of Kauai’s Waimea Canyon. It went on about as far as I could see until the rest of it disappeared in fog. You could tell there were a lot of valleys because there were so many mountains side-by-side, but you couldn’t really see to the bottom. I asked Moses how long it would take to hike the trail and he said, “Well, we’re going to the bottom of this lookout, but there are switchbacks during the descent.” He said we’d have to traverse the valley through a shortcut (around the mountain side) because going to the very bottom would result in an 8 or 9-hour commitment. We started the descent.

It felt like your usual hiking trail; none of it seemed natural because there were hand rails, wooden planks, and man-made steps. It was also a very gradual descent for the first 10 minutes and you pass by quite a few hikers at the start. About 20 minutes into it, you start to see the drop (about 450 feet?) and get a little vertigo when you lean forward and look over the edge of the path. Another 10 minutes into it and you get the first challenge… quite possibly some of the steepest stairways I’ve ever used – it was almost fully perpendicular to the ground where it sat; certainly not a stairway for kids (or those that are very scared of heights). There was a thin rope that served as the railing on the stairs and the steps were made of stone so I can only imagine how difficult it can be to climb if there was a torrential downpour. This part of the descent took about 10 minutes and you’re rewarded with the best view of Wentworth Falls – in the pool at the bottom. This was the easy part.

The ascent can easily take an hour and 45 minutes. And the switchbacks are much worse. At some point, the paved footpaths start to disappear, there’s no railings, no planks, and no easy man-made steps. You have to start using your hands to pull yourself up, lean against the wall so you don’t slip and fall off a ravine, and stop every 15 minutes because you’re climbing too fast and there isn’t enough water.

When we left the city, we checked the weather and found that there’s a 40% chance of rain in the Blue Mountains. We figured, that means it’s unlikely to rain.

The thunder rolled in about 2 hours into the trail and it only got worse as we rushed to climb to the top. It was so loud, it felt threatening, and I might have been a little scared. Neither of us were sure how much further up we had to go, but we knew that rain would really slow us down.

Damn it. I didn’t have a poncho and I was wearing regular sneakers. Then the rain came. Yes, it was a torrential downpour. We tried to wait it out under a shelter formed by a ledge, but it only got worse and then the wind started. We probably stayed there for half an hour until we could gather the courage to run the rest of the trail to the top and it wasn’t easy.

When Chris and I did the first 4 miles of the Kalalau Trail, it was raining pretty hard, but we were both wearing water shoes and ponchos. We were reasonably prepared for it. Running up the trail at the Blue Mountains without the right pair of shoes and a poncho meant getting completely soaked in 10 seconds. Good thing, I wore my old sneakers. And the thing that really scared the shit out of me was that there was lightning and we were surrounded by trees. It was like standing in the middle of a beach during a lightning storm and I’m holding up a golf club.

We eventually got to the top and found the Tea House, a café/ restaurant at the end of the long hike. And I had the best BLT I’ve ever had. The bread was smothered with butter and lemon garlic aioli. And I had it with sparkling apple juice =)

Afterwards, it was another 20 minute hike before getting back to the car, but the toughest part was over. We avoided the longer trail because we had no time… but perhaps, that 8 or 9-hour commitment might be a new adventure to tackle for my return.