Leaving Cathedral Cove, we drive southeast. Barely a quarter of an hour later, we arrive at Hot Water Beach.
Underground geothermal springs abound here. Dig into the sand, provided it’s within two hours either side of low tide, and hot water escapes to the surface. As hot as 64°C, which is hotter than any onsen.
You could dig your own private hot pool right on the beach.
In theory.
Apparently during peak months the entire place is swamped with tourists digging up a bloody mess.
Today there are but two groups at this task: a quartet of young men digging a deep well closer to the water; and a pair of married couples, retirees judging by their banter, closer inland.
Neither group is particularly successful.
We contemplate joining in and digging our own pool but we don’t have the right tools. The boys are using spades and shovels; the retirees — actually just one of the men as his wife and the other couple look on, encouraging him with their laughter — only bare hands.
The retirees invite us to jump in and try their now wide wading pool. The water is disappointingly cool. “It doesn’t get hotter than that, I’m afraid,” our host admits.
One of the boys comes over for a chat. He reveals that the certain spots along the shoreline are hotter, just beneath the waves. We’d just have to find them, he whispers.
So we do. And with some luck, we find the right spots. The water, as the name of the beach implies, is indeed hot.
We dig our toes into the sand and oooh…
You shriek as the waves come in, crashing. You’re a kid in a candy store. We’re having so much fun. It’s silly but hey, that’s alright too.