There are only so many summers.
That’s what someone said to me recently — you’ve probably only got 20 left. I laughed it off and replied, well actually, it’s more like 40 if you count European summers. But somewhere between the joke and the silence that followed, it landed.
Twenty. Forty. However you count it — it’s not endless.
And just like that, the bucket list began.
Right at the top, always, was swimming with whale sharks.
One of those dreams that quietly lingers. The kind you assume will happen “one day.” Except every time I found myself in Perth, it was the wrong season. Close, but never quite right.
Until suddenly, it was.
A friend had a last-minute spot open up on her trip. No overthinking, no research just a full yes. Within minutes, I was booked.. All in.
Destination: Ningaloo.
In the lead-up, February served nothing but perfect 30-degree, blue-sky days. The kind that makes everything feel inevitable. And then, of course, Cyclone Narelle arrived.
Is the reef okay?
What’s happening in Exmouth?
Should we cancel? Postpone? Pivot?
Message after message, uncertainty bouncing around. But eventually, a decision: we go.
Not everything goes to plan, but that’s rarely the point.
Sydney to Perth — five hours.
A two-hour layover.
Then another two hours up to Exmouth.
A long way for a swim.
We landed to a makeshift airport and a sky still deciding what it wanted to be. A little grey, a little unsure. But spirits? Intact.
Nothing a quick cocktail can’t fix🍸🍹 . First stop: Whalebone Brewing Company. And honestly, it was exactly what you want after a day of travel — unpolished in the best possible way. Rustic, quirky, a little nostalgic. The kind of place where you immediately exhale.
Cold beers brewed on-site. Pizza made with local ingredients. Live Music drifting and laid-back energy that makes you want to stay longer than planned.
Then, reality check: accommodation.
Our original resort? Cyclone damage. Unusable. So, Plan B: Potshot Hotel.
We arrived to find the sign missing a few letters (which, we later learned, had absolutely nothing to do with the cyclone — just part of its long-standing charm). No WiFi. An empty pool. Slightly chaotic energy. Not quite the luxury reset we had imagined. But again, not really the point. So we pivoted. Back into the car, chasing something a little more polished, landing at Exmouth Escape Resort for cocktails and dinner at Whalers Restaurant.
And just like that, balance restored. Good food. Strong drinks. That feeling of we made it settling in.
The next morning came early.
A quick coffee at first light, still half-awake, with that familiar shot of "travel calm " pills with caffeine. Early birds hit the spot.
Then it was off to the harbour to meet our tour crew — Live Ningaloo.
Cloudy skies. A 2-foot swell rolling through with a bit of chop on top. Not exactly postcard conditions. But no one seemed to care.
There was a shared energy on the boat — a kind of collective optimism. Everyone equally aware that perfection was never really the requirement here. Just being out there was enough. First stop: a snorkel at Coral Bay. And it was stunning.
Clear water, coral gardens unfolding beneath us — all colour and movement and life doing what it’s been doing long before any of us arrived. The kind of place that resets your sense of scale without trying too hard. I wore the new lulu wesuits which was prefect, keep me warm as the water and windy was chily.
Then the spotter planes went up.
Small dots in a big sky, scanning the horizon, doing the quiet work that turns hope into direction. Whale sharks somewhere out there, just waiting to be found.
And suddenly the day shifted. Searching for hours the crew on Live Ningaloo what started as positivity was now doubt we had to face the fact that today was not our day, we headed back to the dock with a voucher for another day. Our group was devasted.
Our glamorous eco tent, sunset drinks and stunning dinner at Sal Salis restored our mood.
After a bit of hustling — and by hustling, I mean shamelessly asking every operator in Exmouth if there was any possible way onto a boat — we somehow scored spots for the next day. Honestly, pure luck. The cyclone had caused cancellations, which basically never happens during whale shark season. Normally, you’d need the organisational skills of a German tourist and a booking made six months earlier.
The next morning started with a beach walk and an “easy swim” that turned into an accidental fitness session because the current was absolutely ripping. Within minutes we spotted two reef sharks, a ray and a turtle cruising past like the welcoming committee. We took it as a sign. Ningaloo was finally warming up for us.
Back at the dock, a fresh group arrived — all excited faces, coffee cups and nervous energy. But unlike the grey chop from the day before, the ocean had transformed overnight. Glassy seas. Blue skies. Not a breath of wind. Suddenly everyone was hotter, happier and speaking with unwarranted confidence.
By 11am, the call came through.
“Whale shark spotted.”
Chaos.
Flippers on. Masks cleaned. Half the boat pretending to stay calm while aggressively speed-waddling toward the edge. Then came the briefing — which felt less like a snorkel tour and more like preparing for a Navy SEAL operation.
Stay in line.
No splashing.
Four metres from the side.
Three metres from the tail.
Do NOT touch the whale shark.
Copy that, Captain.
Then Ella, our guide, slipped into the water and we launched in after her like overexcited baby seals.
We floated there in a line, staring into the deep blue nothingness, waiting.
And then… she appeared.
Massive doesn’t even cover it.
This giant spotted creature emerged out of the blue like a slow-moving submarine with polka dots, swimming directly towards us with complete calm confidence — as if she owned the entire ocean, which, to be fair, she probably does.
Then suddenly we were swimming beside her.
Or attempting to.
Because although whale sharks look relaxed, they absolutely move. One minute you’re gracefully snorkelling, the next you’re panic-kicking for your life trying to keep up while inhaling half the Indian Ocean through your snorkel.
She was about six metres long, but underwater she felt twice that size. Completely majestic. Ancient-looking. Beautiful. Like swimming beside a moving planet.
We had four swims in total, and somehow each one got more exciting. The rules about staying four metres away became increasingly theoretical as the adrenaline kicked in and everyone turned into overly enthusiastic sea puppies trying to stay close to this magnificent spotted queen.
People always ask if I was scared.
At first? Yes. Absolutely.
That first moment when something bigger than your apartment glides underneath you is quite humbling.
But after the second swim, something shifts. You stop thinking and just exist in it. Floating in endless blue water, following this enormous creature through the ocean, completely hypnotised by how wild and peaceful it all feels at the same time.
By the time we got back to Sal Salis we were absolutely buzzing. Sunburnt noses. Salty hair. Slight dehydration. Pure joy.
The only downside? The rest of our group still hadn’t seen the whale sharks yet. Their second attempt was the next day, and suddenly we’d become those deeply annoying people saying things like, “Bucket list for us… ‘fuck it list’ for everyone who missed it.”
Naturally, after conquering the sea, we decided the next logical step was the sky.
So the following morning we climbed into what can only be described as a lawn mower with wings — technically called a microlight aircraft with Birdseyeview Ningaloo
Dressed like Maverick and Goose, we took off down the runway and immediately I was thinking: Kaz… why are you doing ??
But within minutes, fear turned into complete awe.
At 4,500 feet, flying over the reef with my arms stretched wide like I was in a tourism commercial, the view was insane. You could see turtles, rays, hammerhead sharks cruising through the water below. The reef looked endless, colliding with the red dirt of WA in this crazy, dramatic way that makes you realise how ridiculously huge Australia actually is.
Honestly, there are only so many summers.
And this one?
This one was very, very good.