9.22 am, d-day
It was a soft- breezed spring morning on the Pirriwee Penin-sula north of Sydney. Bright yellow native wattle lined the winding coastal road. Jacarandas blossomed lush- purple against a cloudless blue sky. Baby chicks warbled adorably in their nests. A protective magpie, alert to potential predators, swooped like a missile at the helmeted head of an innocent cyclist. The morning rush was still underway at the beloved beachside café, Blue Blues, but the beach itself was quiet. A small dog pelted across the flat, firm sand, followed by its guilty owner, leash in hand. Surf conditions were ‘clean and peaky’. The main swell was…
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