There’s a small rip at the far southern end of Tathra beach where locals start their daily ocean swim. If you’re lucky, it collects you and shoots you straight out from the shallows to what they call “first rock”. It’s the first of a series of jagged rock forms that jut out determinedly, like giant barbs on a fishing hook, pointing you in the direction of the old wharf.

The wharf sits about 500 metres from the beach and dates to the 1860s, when it was constructed as a “farmer’s sea wharf”. That’s your destination. The locals meet every morning at 8 in front of the surf club.

Hamish Macdonald: After growing up in Jindabyne he has embraced the cooler waters of the south coast.Credit:

You know how some beach towns are a bit cliquey, a bit closed-off to the summer interlopers from Sydney? That’s not Tathra. Here, while they jibe you about your flashy Speedos, they gently tell you where the rip is, where the tricky turns are. And they do a headcount just before you leave. They tell you the reason for this: in 2014, their mate didn’t return one morning. She was taken by a shark.

And that’s the reason they don’t swim directly to the wharf, either. They hug the rocks, rounding the “first rock”, past the Port Jackson cave (checking to see if anyone is home) and on to the “second rock”. Turning south, there’s a tiny crevice that, when the tide is right, creates a seaweed chute that sucks you straight through. It’s fun and a bit scary. Sometimes there’s a seal on the other side. He hangs out and plays, much to the delight of the swimmers.

The water on the far south coast is a bit colder, which I embrace. I grew up in Jindabyne, in the Snowy Mountains, so pretty much anything is warmer than Lake Jindabyne. A lot of the Jindy crowd used to migrate to Tathra or Merimbula over summer. They’re the closest beaches to the Snowies.

The water here grounds me. I rinse the year, the work, the noise off my skin, and with a few more weeks, I will soak them from my mind, too.

Tathra, located between Merimbula and Bermagui, is famous for its heritage-listed wharf built in the 1860s.Credit: Alamy

There’s a dramatic drive across the Monaro plains that dips down Brown Mountain through the dense rainforest, transitioning you to the salty air of the coast. I have memories as a child of wanting the drive to be over, telling Mum and Dad from the back seat that I was getting queasy. Now I want the drive to drag out. I’m in awe of the trees and the mist rising off the mountainside. And I appreciate the dodgy phone reception more than you can know.