What do you do when you wake up on warm, blissful Sunday in Sydney with no plans, itchy feet, and a full tank of petrol? Google trails in the national park and find one you haven't done yet, load up some podcasts and hit the road.
Less than an hour later ALT and I ended up on the Curra Moors track down in the Royal National Park, pounding along pavement and sweating through dense scrub for about 45 minutes when all of a sudden we found ourselves atop kilometres of dramatic sandstone escarpments against the sea, with not another soul in site (unless you count the crows which are as soulless a looking animal as I've ever seen and incidentally tried to steal our popcorn which only proves my point). A tranquil stream and rock pool atop the cliffs fed a waterfall that dropped into an ocean that was anything but.
If the seas are an indicator of Poseidon's state of mind the greek god was clearly pissed - thunderous 10 foot waves (hard to judge the size from atop a 100 m high cliff face, suffice to say they were intimidatingly large) closed out way out sea, eventually crashing against the vertical rock and sending spray 50m up in the air, the sea a mass of constantly shifting foam and currents.
It was an mesmerising sight, and we simply sat atop the cliffs and watched the ocean do its thing for a while before heading down to Garie to relax with a book and an excellently horrible cheese and tomato toasted sandwich from one of the most authentically old school Aussie tuck shops you are likely to come across this side of 1998. Three tiered, chocked full of so many kraft singles plastic sheets the middle was cold, with enough salt to fill the Pacific, I thought I was back in primary school in Matraville. But I digress.
Bonus photo at the end of the supermoon above Bondi as we returned home.