When William Verity goes bush for a couple of days to walk the Coast Track between Sydney and the Illawarra, he finds paradise is on our doorstep. 

So the idea was this: walk the length of the Illawarra, from Helensburgh to Kiama, never touching a road nor passing a car.

Not possible, it seems.

"Maybe in the future. It's something we'd like to see," said the ranger from the National Parks and Wildlife Service.

Considering it took 170 years, from idea to reality, to link Kiama and Gerringong via a coastal path, it's probably wise not to hold your breath.

So the second idea was this: do the longest walk in the Illawarra without resorting to roads.

"That one's easy," the ranger said. "It's Bundeena to Otford through the Royal National Park."

With a little bit of cheating - no more than a few hundred metres of asphalt - it would be possible to tack on a walk to Mt Keira.

The beauty of both these walks is that they are easily accessible by public transport, thus eliminating the need for two cars and two people.

Though you're not meant to go bushwalking alone for safety reasons, it's great meditation for the introverted and low-risk on a high-traffic walk like the Coast Track.

So very early one morning last month, I found myself sitting at Otford train station.

"The first day is a long day, you'll need to make sure you're on the 8.30am ferry from Bundeena," the ranger warned.

Since getting out of bed before 5am is simply not conscionable in winter, and since I'm a fast walker who doesn't stop for lunch or conversation, I decided to chance it with the 9.30am ferry instead.

The walk felt like it had already started at Otford, sunk into a deep cutting of rainforest at the edge of the Royal National Park.

By the time I had changed trains at Sutherland and arrived at Cronulla an hour later, it was already a perfect, cloudless day - warm with a hint of chill. Perfect for walking.

Follow a tunnel under the tracks and you are immediately at the wharf where the green and yellow ferry makes the 10-minute crossing across Port Jackson to Bundeena and the park.

There's a cafe at the wharf whose sub-standard brew was forgiven because of its blissful location - boats, water, sky and the park beyond.

The ferry is old, small, wooden and worth the $6.10 one-way fare for the experience alone.

On board is a group of pensioners from Padstow, well equipped with day-packs, sticks and sensible floppy hats for a day's walking.

Mental note - need to get ahead of them.

Typical man that I am, I figured that I had no need to consult a map, as long as I found the start of the Coast Track and kept the ocean to my left. What could possibly go wrong?

So it was without significant doubt that I struck out along a well-used, sandy path that headed two kilometres towards the ocean.

Sure, it swung a little to the left, not right, but it would surely come around.

My arrogance was punished by the bushwalking gods when I reached the end and realised that I was on a loop track, walking in precisely the wrong direction.

There is something very debilitating about having to retrace one's steps so early on a walk, traipsing up a sandy hill through the scrub as the sun beats down.

Giving up and getting back on the ferry seemed very tempting indeed.

The first day of this two-day walk is entirely without cover from the sun, spent walking through low scrub.

So although the views are exciting from the start - and Wollongong comes into view surprisingly early - it's not something I would recommend in the summer. It could easily turn into a joyless slog.

"There are no reliable sources of water, so you need to bring your own," the ranger had said.

"That means at least six litres plus what you'll need for cooking."

That's about 10 kilograms in the backpack (with containers) and the constant worry that you'll run out before the end.

Fortunately, it had rained the week before, so towards the end of the day, there were a couple of rushing creeks that saved my bacon. I sweat a lot, drink a lot, and vomit when dehydrated. It's not pretty.

By mid-morning, like the hare in the parable, I had finally caught up with the Padstow pensioners who were travelling slowly, but always in the right direction.

The Royal National Park is the world's second oldest national park (the oldest, Yellowstone in California, predates it by seven years), established in 1879 and covers 16,000 hectares.

The Coast Track is not an authentic wilderness experience, criss-crossed as it is by roads, but it was still somewhat of a shock to come to Wattamolla where there are cars and a car park.

I startled a couple of day-trippers by saying "hello" to them, which is customary when meeting someone on a bush-track, but unusual in a car park.

The ranger was right. The first day is not to be underestimated - it's 17 kilometres over mostly flat ground, but a long hike.

So it came as a relief to breach a hill and see Garie Beach ahead, the first beach with heritage shacks dotted around.

These were first built by miners but later by families trying to survive unemployment in the Great Depression of the 1920s and '30s. They survived by returning to the land - shooting rabbits, catching fish and growing vegetables.

The shacks tempt the tired bushwalker, but there is one last, gruelling headland to scale before the night's destination comes into view: North Era.

This is the only authorised campground along the Coast Track and cheap at $5 a night, though without facilities besides a pit toilet and a stinking creek.

This is where the struggle of a heavy backpack becomes worth it, as the day-trippers return home and the hard-core pitch camp.

Strange, dinosaur-like noises come from the bush behind (wombats?) and I have to remind myself that Australia has no land-based carnivores partial to human flesh.

An eagle glides overhead as the sky turns from blue to pink to orange and the waves crash rhythmically on the shore. It feels like I've arrived.

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The next day is much easier than the first.

It's only 10 kilometres from North Era to Bald Hill and Otford, and although there are a couple of steep climbs, it's mostly shaded from the sun by the remnants of an ancient palm jungle, 350 million years old.

It's pleasant walking, soft under foot, and with remarkable views from high cliffs to the crashing surf below. Once, a couple of years ago, I watched a pod of dolphins dip in and out of the water as they travelled north.

Because I'm up with the sun, I would be finished by 10.30am, except for a detour to Weerong Beach where I join my fellow naturists for a bake in the winter sun, followed by a cup of tea made from the billy.

Once at Bald Hill, it's only 500 metres along a sign-posted fire trail back to Otford Station and the car.

There's a sense of achievement that I've walked the distance that lies between Sydney and the Illawarra. It's only 27 kilometres (31 kilometres if you get lost at the start), but it seems much further in several ways other than just the distance.

All thoughts of continuing to Mt Keira and back, just for the craic, are now gone. Dreams are of home and a warm bed.