Exploring the Robe Beach Run: Sand, Sun, and Surprises

An Outsider’s Take on the Famous Beach Run

Aw yeah, I reckon that’ll take you about four hours”, the lady at the visitor’s center tells us—highlighter in one hand, tide chart ready to slide across the table in the other. She chomps loudly on her chewing gum as she looks over the counter, sizing us up. “Maybe a bit less depending on the tides”, she continues as she cracks her gum. “I’ve never done it.”

We looked at her quizzically, and then down to the hand-drawn photocopied map she had presented us with— half the beach run on one side, and half on the other.

We’re in Robe, an idyllic seaside town in South Australia, well-known in 4×4 circles as the beginning of the beach run to nearby Beachport.

The Robe Beach Run, as it’s known, ticks a lot of boxes. It offers world-class sand driving, providing the perfect shakedown trip for the Gladiator and recovery gear. It gives a small taste of Southern Australia’s gorgeous beaches, and at only 70 kilometers, it is supposed to be a pretty short trip. A full day should see us complete the run, but as usual we’re just making that up, and have no real time limits. I get the sense the lady at the visitor’s center knows about as much as we do.

Unexpected Skills

I spend my morning coffee fascinated by the litany of tracks encircling our swag— just like tracking a deer through a Canadian meadow of snow. Unlike Canada, where a morning of looking for snow tracks would likely result in finding those of a single squirrel or fawn, here I could trace goannas, wild cats, and about a hundred birds. The amount of nocturnal wildlife here was ten times anything I’ve ever seen in Canada.

As a Canadian, I don’t often get the chance to drive on super soft beach sand. Truth be told, this is my first time. The short drive leading out of town to the beach turns sandy almost instantly—the road a powdery line poking out of dune grass. The change in traction gives me a familiar rush of excitement. This is almost identical to pulling off a Canadian winter highway onto a snowy track covered with fresh snow. Momentum is key, and just like a snowy Canadian mountain road, we’re clearly headed for adventure.

Eager to really get into the track, Dan drops the tires down to 15 psi all-around before attaching the sand flag to the roof of the Jeep. We set our sights for the first gap in the dunes, and make a break for it—instantly sinking into the soft sand on the other side. While driving on the sand is very similar to driving on fresh snow, I’m happy as I soon learn shovelling it out of the way is much easier than heavy, wet snow.

Sand driving has numerous parallels to driving in fresh powder. There’s a huge need to manage your momentum, traction, and torque. This can be done in a variety of ways, including dropping tire pressure, overriding any automatic transmissions or traction control, and being calculated with your speed. Robe does not disappoint in the opportunities to practice, which was our main objective as we have our eyes set on Australia’s biggest desert crossings. Once I had the visceral memory and confidence that I could draw on from my years of driving in wintry Canada, I began to settle into the joy of the actual trip. Unlike winter in Canada, the rising tides of the ocean definitely presented an interesting wildcard depending on where exactly we got stuck.

Mountains of Sand

As a snow-obsessed Canadian, I consider beaches to be anything where water meets land. I quickly learned why Australians visiting our ski town treat our lakeside ‘beaches’ with a bit of disdain. The coast between Robe and Beachport is stunning. The windswept topography of the dunes interspersed with the sandstone castle-like formations captivate me in the same way an Alpine vista does—the wave-battered sculptural sandstone carved with the same artistic caliber as snow-caked and gnarled cedars six thousand feet up a mountain. The sky is crystal clear blue, and we rarely see another vehicle. I find the same peace and calm when skiing above the treeline in Canada. Somehow there is a different fullness to the silence, and I feel we have arrived at the edge of something truly wild.

Early on, there is plenty of evidence of other vehicles along the track, but it isn’t until well into the afternoon that we find an entire convoy of six vehicles stuck well up to their axles in the sugary-soft sand. We slow to offer help, only to sink in axle-deep ourselves. Once again, the feeling is identical to slowing down to help push a stranger out of a snowbank before becoming hopelessly stuck yourself. The soft beach sand presents the perfect opportunity to put the Maxtrax to work, which I’m pleased to report works flawlessly.

In the snow in Canada we would’ve just used our floor mats.

Time is an Illusion

The day wears on, as the beach run takes way longer than we planned. I don’t know what was being driven to complete the run in four hours, though I find it hard to believe it has tires or is even on the ground. Although we did get stuck a few times and stopped to take plenty of photos, the idea that we could’ve driven fast enough to complete the entire run in four hours is preposterous. The shadows are growing very long before we pass the halfway mark, and the temperature has plummeted. This is not Canada cold, but plenty cold— enough for shorts and flip-flops. We need to stop for the night.

Originally, we hoped to simply find a sheltered spot amongst the dunes. After seeing a multitude of signs, as well as remembering back to what our gum-cracking friend back at the visitor’s center said, we remember that CAMPING IS ONLY PERMITTED IN DESIGNATED SITES. Further, the harsh wind and rapidly shifting tracks don’t inspire a sense of confidence in our evening. The last thing we want is to wake up with the swag partially buried by a shifting dune.

Feeling Naked, er, or Nudist…

After a bit of head scratching about our limited options for the night, we happen to drive right past a sign offering beachside camping at a local resort, which sounds perfect.

After further reading, the sign mentions this is Australia’s only nudist resort, which is less perfect. Dan is skeptical, but we simply need to stop somewhere, and the promised reprieve from the wind eventually wins him over. With a hot tub, pool, sauna, driving range, happy hour, and miles of beach trails, the place sure sounds great.

The locked entrance gate swings open to reveal our host, topless in a muumuu with a golf cart beckoning us inside the grounds. “I’ll give you a quick tour! Hop aboard!”

We jump into the golf cart for a personal tour of the sprawling but mostly empty grounds. On leaving the main office, a cheerful groundskeeper gives us a wave. It should be noted he is wearing steel-toe work boots, a tool belt, and puffy jacket, but no pants. This put a fun twist on what we expected at the resort, although we anticipated there would be many folks in the nude. The temperature is decidedly frigid, so nearly everyone is bundled up with a knit beanie, puffy jacket, and shoes, but still no pants. I’m sure everyone we met was wondering how much clothing we would have been wearing if the sun came out.

The resort, though slightly older—both in occupants and in construction—is massive and beautiful. In fact, we were told that more than one hundred families had called the place home over Christmas break. Our new host seemed slightly crestfallen when we explained we were only planning to stay one night.”You won’t have time to play MiniTon! Or use the crab traps”, she points out. We nod ruefully. There is only so much time.

After a quick soak in the hot tub and chicken curry at our peaceful and private site, we wander to the beach for sunset. With nothing but sand and the rolling waves, we have the sense of being at the edge of the world. Without a doubt, these extremely friendly and happy nudists have found an epic location to be undisturbed while living their lives as they please.

Early Morning Light

On the move before sunrise, we buy farm-fresh eggs from the honesty box by the nudist chickens before making our way onto the beach where we find a lone seal enjoying the predawn light.

High winds over the last few days had erased the tracks of those in front, making us second-guess what are the best or most used tracks. Entrances and exits to the beach are generally marked by tall poles with a bright orange top, highlighting the best way through the dunes. With all the shifting sand, most of the poles have been completely buried, leaving us to our own devices.

In the soft dawn light, Dan starts using the drone for reconnaissance to suss out our best routes through the brushy inland tracks. This kind of works well at times, but actually just causes more confusion than clarity.

Hour after hour, we continue on the track—at times down on the beach racing the incoming tides, and at times up behind the dunes collecting pinstripes from the seriously overgrown track. At one notable spot, we take a detour further inland and find ourselves in enormous sand dunes that stretch as far as we can see—an explorer’s paradise.

Beachport

After powering up and over some of the biggest dunes on the track, we suddenly pop out on the edge of Beachport feeling like we just came back from the moon. Again, the feeling is very similar to finding your way back to a ski resort after exploring the Alpine backcountry for a day. We are noticeably more weathered than when we began. Exhausted too, but also more peaceful—as though the landscape of the place we have just been has somehow rubbed off.

Walking the entire length of the four-thousand-foot pier feels like the right thing to do—looking out at the dizzying expanse of ocean beyond and below us. Buying a lobster for dinner also feels right, and soon we leave town to make camp at an estuary teeming with bird life just outside town. Slightly dazed by the shock of the civilized world, and reflecting back on our two-day adventure in the wild—complete with our nudist hosts—we can’t help but feel like we just touched back down on Earth.

The Robe beach run was the perfect chance for us to dip our toes into the edge of the wild—the saltiest, windiest first taste of the adventure yet to come.

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