As a self-proclaimed adrenaline addict, my colleagues were surprised when my search for adventure led me to New South Wales.
For many, the state conjures up few images other than listening to classical music at Sydney’s Opera House and wandering around the vineyards sampling the wines of the Hunter Valley.
But the growth of adventure tourism means that you can now find a variety of blood-pumping activities all over the state – even in the heart of the city.
The recent launch of the Sydney Harbour BridgeClimb offers visitors without a fear of heights the chance to don overalls, a hard hat and harness and clamber precariously 134 metres up the world’s largest steel-arch bridge in around 3hrs.
However, wannabe bridge climbers have to be over 12 years old and pass a medical and alcohol test first, which not surprisingly, some delegates at last month’s Australian Tourism Exchange trade show failed.
Alternatively, holidaymakers who enjoy a tipple or two and have aspirations to reach even higher climes, can soar over the bridge by booking a scenic flight in a seaplane and land by a restaurant on a river nearby to sample some Australian food and wine.
Further north up the coast, my appetite for adventure found me not above or on the water, but in it learning to surf at Byron Bay.
Dressed this time not in overalls but a wetsuit, I struggled to carry my gigantic surf board down to the beach and enviously eyed the other surfer chicks in their O’Neill designer bathers with short boards tucked casually under their arms.
As if my enormous surf board wasn’t enough to dent my image, my instructor told me to lay down on my board – on the sand not the surf – and pretend to paddle and catch a wave.
But there was more humiliation to come – another instructor proceeded to pretend to be a big wave creeping up behind me so I could practice my timing.
“Right, start paddling when I reach your feet then use your arms to push yourself up on the board and jump up without kneeling down,” he said with a big grin on his face.
After several attempts and a few mouthfuls of sand, I was sent out to sea and, to my surprise, found I was able to catch a few minuscule waves and stand up in white water – although only for a second .
Soon I was happily discussing point breaks, rips, swells and sweeps. If this is what could be achieved in one morning, imagine what could be done in a couple of days?
I was, however, less smug the following day at Coff’s Harbour when I found myself impersonating an overdressed duck wearing a wetsuit, lifejacket and hard hat, clutching on to a rather small paddle and sitting precariously in a large rubber dinghy. Within 10 mins, a 6ft wave had turned the boat and I felt myself powerlessly pummelled in some sort of washing machine cycle – unfortunately the type programmed for stubborn stains rather than delicates.
After rolling around head over heels for what seemed to be several minutes, but was actually only a few seconds, I frantically scrambled to the surface and gasped for air before the next wave crashed upon me. Although the first attempt to catch a wave resulted in me being washed up on the beach flapping around like a fish out of water, subsequent efforts reaped rewards.
On several occasions I caught the swell and raced towards shore – on the crest of a wave in more than one way!