Hit the road to explore Australia’s Sapphire Coast and beyond, and discover how its Aboriginal history and small communities put the sparkle into New South Wales

Words Jessica Reid

“I want to pay our respects to the land, the ocean and the river that we’ll be paddling today,” said my guide Nathan Lygon. His words hung in the orderly silence that followed as I hunkered down in my kayak in contemplation. I peered across the white-sand beach to where the turquoise waters of the Pambula River empty into the Tasman Sea, then over to where moss-speckled rocks stood camouflaged against a forest of eucalyptus. Everything was calm and serene.

Moments like this are what you long for as a traveller: nature in all its nameless, unknowable mystery. Yet I had come here to learn a different way of seeing. For the people of the Yuin Nation, the original custodians of these lands, this was all part of an ancient story that continues to this day. As I would soon discover, it was just one tale among many in Australia’s South Coast region.

I’d arrived in New South Wales (NSW) as one of the 38 million or so travellers who land in Sydney, the continent’s busiest hub, each year. Many (about 10%) head to the Blue Mountains for their wilderness fix, but Australia is vast and empty, and there are so many options. This state alone is more than twice the size of Germany, with plenty of corners hiding little-heard stories. Even after catching an hour’s flight south of Sydney to Merimbula, 460km away, deep in the South Coast, I still hadn’t left NSW’s borders.

I was here to explore the small communities that scatter an area known as the Sapphire Coast and beyond. This is a landscape of river creeks, forests, oyster farms, beaches, neighbourhoods and First Nations history that not many visitors to New South Wales ever see, and I was taking them all in on a sun-soaked 166km road trip.

Walawaani wishes

It was the Indigenous history of the region that I was most interested in. Beowa National Park (formerly Ben Boyd NP) recently had its Indigenous name restored to recognise the land’s original custodians. It is part of an ongoing movement across Australia to acknowledge the damage done during the colonial years. It also reinforces the idea that there are other ways of seeing these lands, and I was curious to explore the area through Indigenous eyes.

This was how I came to be on a sheltered beach paying my respects to the land and the water, having joined Navigate Expeditions’ Cultural Kayaking tour to learn more about the people of the Yuin Nation – the Aboriginal community that inhabits the southern coast.

As we took to the Pambula River, Nathan wished the group “Walawaani”, meaning safe journey, and we followed the gentle wake of his kayak upstream. I stayed attuned to my surroundings, listening for the soft splashes of our paddles hitting the water and the bird calls that filled the air. Nathan pointed to the sky just as a set of brilliant-white belly feathers flashed over our heads.

“We call this one myangah, meaning sea eagle,” he shared, highlighting how the species has featured in Indigenous storytelling for millennia. “It’s one of the most important birds to our people.”

Evidence of First Nation Australians in the South Coast region dates back some 20,000 years, and this long history has led to a remarkable coexistence with the environment. The river deltas, forests and coast have been an essential resource to the Yuin Nation, providing shelter, food, clothing, tools and medicine. This deep respect for nature, passed down through the generations, is embedded in today’s culture; it also lies at the heart of Australia’s growing number of Indigenous-owned businesses and experiences, which have increased by around 74% in recent years.

After a long paddle, we dragged our kayaks past damp rocks clustered with molluscs and onto the secluded sands of Severs Beach. Here we found an intricately constructed wall made up of layers of shells that had been cemented together by soil. It marked the boundaries of the beach.

“This is called a midden,” Nathan explained, crouching next to it. “It’s made from mussel and abalone shells that the old people foraged from the river for thousands of years, depositing here. It’s evidence that people have been collecting, eating and cooking here for a long time.” As he brushed his hand tenderly against the delicate mound of shells, I could see the pride in his smile. “It’s pretty special,” he added.

Thriving on the ocean

The river may have been a source of nutrition for First Nation Australians for thousands of years, but it wasn’t until two centuries ago that the region began utilising this natural ecosystem commercially. Oyster farming is now the largest aquaculture sector in New South Wales, with more than 280 farms scattering the coast. So, after working up an appetite from kayaking, I set off on my first oyster experience.

In a single-storey shack overlooking the glassy waters of Pambula Lake, Mel Page introduced me to Broadwater Oysters, a local business run by husband-and-wife team Greg Carton and Sue McIntyre for nearly three decades. Their speciality harvest – the Sydney rock oyster – is native to the area and thrives in the brackish waters of the estuary; it’s also a local delicacy highly prized in these parts.

“Australia is lucky to have native species of oyster, particularly in this region,” Mel explained with a grin. Incredibly, this species can take up to four years to grow to full size. Once harvested, they are sold onsite or to the many local eateries that line the coast. In fact, I’d encountered these molluscs at nearly every restaurant I’d visited so far, tempting even the most squeamish into giving them a try.

Broadway Oysters is part of the Sapphire Coast Oyster Trail, which highlights the community of aquacultural farms scattered among the region’s estuaries. As well as inviting seafood-hungry travellers to taste their oysters and learn how they go from farm to plate, it also runs a shucking school. I signed up for a lesson and, after rolling up my sleeves, I was directed by Mel to “scrape, cut, nudge and roll”. Before I knew it, I’d shucked my first oyster.

Apparently, founders Greg and Sue have been named New South Wales’ shucking champions at several seafood festivals across the South Coast, and Greg is able to open 250 dozen oysters in four hours. I still had some way to go to beat that, but I could see the value of what they were doing here.

“Being able to invite people to see working farms and learn how oysters are grown is a big part of the Sapphire Coast’s tale,” Mel told me. More than 100 million oysters are produced in New South Wales every year, and businesses like this are, for many small communities, the success story of the coast. For the growing number of travellers who just want to know where their food comes from, its tours also offer a way to connect with the area and to know that they’re helping put money in the pockets of local people.

Following my shucking efforts, it was finally time to taste my first Sydney rock oyster. Topped with a squeeze of lemon, I tilted my head back and tipped the raw oyster into my mouth. Mel smiled as she watched me parse all the flavours. The taste was intense, creamy and slightly sweet, accompanied by a kick of salt from the estuary water. Even after just one, it was clear to me that I had discovered another jewel of the Sapphire Coast.

Beyond the gold rush

The northernmost point of this stretch of coast is the small town of Bermagui, an ideal spot for a dip in the shimmering ocean. From my vantage point, up on the cliffs, it was easy to see how the Sapphire Coast had got its name: the blue waters below sparkled like precious gems in the warm sun.

After descending the rugged cliffs, a beautiful seawater-filled rock pool revealed itself, inviting me to dive straight in. As I leant against the pool’s rocky walls, some unexpected visitors emerged from the water: a dozen or so Australian fur seals playing in the choppy waves. I thought back to Nathan and his calls to respect nature, and watched them cavort with both gratitude and glee.

The Sapphire Coast had given up its treasures freely so far, but my final stop, Mogo, lay just beyond its reach. I’d wanted to finish here because it unravels a chapter of New South Wales’ history that isn’t often talked about: its role in one of the biggest gold rushes in history, which saw the state’s population nearly double in just ten years.

Gold was first discovered in New South Wales in 1851, prompting prospectors from across Europe, the USA and China to flood into Australia in search of their fortunes. The communities formed in their wake changed the cultural landscape here forever, as entire towns were born on the whisper of a promise. One of these was Mogo, which sprouted practically overnight after word spread of a find in nearby Cabbage Tree Creek in 1857. Cottages, churches and shops were all constructed to support the new community.

I was curious to see how much of this history remained in Mogo’s streets after the devastating bushfires of 2020 that saw much of the original town reconstructed. As I wandered, I spied pointed rooftops and timber cladding similar to that of a traditional miner’s dwelling – only a fresh lick of paint here and there gave the game away. But this is no museum, and it was the more recent story of Mogo that made me want to stay longer.

The town has had something of a rollercoaster ride since the last mine in the region closed here in the 1980s. For a period, it became a sad highway town that rarely saw a soul; however, over the past few decades it has experienced a revival, attracting artists, craft-makers and entrepreneurs, who run a throng of small businesses here. It’s still a tiny community – barely 350 people – but one that is home to charming galleries, jewellery studios, sweet shops and bookstores.

My accommodation, Jaguar Stay, was another example of how a local business can flourish from even a small stream of visitors. Based on a 65-hectare riverfront farm, its villa complex provides bicycles for guests, encouraging exploration of its farmland and the wider town in the gentlest way. On two wheels, it’s easy to see why you’d leave the twinkling Sapphire Coast behind for this.

Before I hit the tarmac and bid the region a fond farewell, I took a moment to soak up the serenity of nature that I’d discovered in abundance one last time. Dipping my feet into my own private plunge pool, I watched the surrounding pastures turn shades of ochre under the late summer sun. Then, as if on cue, I spotted something in the fields: a mob of kangaroos peacefully grazing on the grass in front of me. It was one final glittering find in an area whose treasures no longer lie underground.

My road trip along NSW’s South Coast had taken me from Aboriginal history to the industries that make its towns along the coast tick. I’d also seen how resilient communities could be, from the revitalised Mogo to the ongoing fight for recognition by the original custodians of this land. The Sapphire Coast might get its name from its glistening ocean, but it’s far from the only thing that sparkles in this unique region.