Perth is blessed with beautiful stretches of yellow sand, crowded with people on days >40C and reasonably quiet besides. If you’re able to avoid Scarborough, Cottesloe, Trigg and a few of the other more frequented beaches, you should be able to catch more than a few (often little) waves, without having someone’s armpit, foot, surfboard colliding with your person underwater.
Personally, I love Autumn for swimming in Perth. You have some remnant swell – whipped up by a day or two of squally Sou’westers – on crisp blue-skied days with a good few hours of light off-shore breezes. Thanks to the Leeuwin Current, water temperatures are quite pleasant, but still brisk enough to wake you from your weekend lethargy/hangover.
I’m glad to start my Beaches 30×30 with Brighton Beach as it is, by far, my favourite and most frequented stretch of sand in Perth. Our ritual usually commences with a coffee, purchased at 33 Degrees South (if we’re lazy or in a hurry) or Milkd (if Storm’s overly vocal) and enjoyed on the 15 min drive west along Scarborough Beach Drive. Scarborough Beach Drive also happens to be home to all of the large retailers/car-yards/light commercial vendors who are able to afford the hefty rents that proximity to IKEA, the city and the ‘burbs brings. This can slow the trip down, and add some frustration as over-eager mergers, swervers and right-across-double-lane-turners abound on Saturday mornings.
That said, once feet hit sand and the sparkling blue is in front of you, little else matters. Hangovers disappear or rapidly diminish once that first wave of water courses over your head and neck. Small barrels offer the opportunity to fill the rather-sizeable void of “Look at Me!” with which I (and others) have been gifted/lumped. The vista provides for sneak-peeks of Rottnest Island across the channel and the many large carriers plying their trade in and out of Fremantle Port.
The only downside of Brighton Beach is the sad necessity of leaving it once tummies rumble/skin cooks/squinting eyes tire and the realisation that our clothes haven’t washed and hung themselves sets in. Argh, back to reality…