How to get there: Seal Rocks is about 140 kilometres from Newcastle, and the trip takes just under two hours. The road turns to gravel just before you get to the village.
What to take: If you've got to the top of the waiting list for accommodation at the Sugarloaf Point Lighthouse Cottage, you won't want for much. Otherwise, if you're camping or in a cabin, stock up. The nearest groceries are at Pacific Palms, an expedition that will take more than an hour.
Any surfers or divers should bring their gear or risk bitter regret.
Who should go: Anyone who knows how to make their own fun, likes the quiet, or experiences a sharp intake of breath when faced with an achingly beautiful and rugged seascape.
Where to eat: By your own fire, or that of some some new friends. Legally lit, of course.
Best-kept secret: Scotland's not meant to be too shabby, but if it can top the crumbling shore and morphing dunes of Treachery Beach, why aren't you over there?
SEAL Rocks doesn't welcome you with open arms. More like narrowed eyes.
The road winding into town before it turns to gravel is blazed with a message: PUT IT IN THE BIN.
Call about vacancies at either caravan park and, unless you sound over 40, the voice at the other end will ask, "Are you going to behave?"
If your curiosity survives the threats of eviction for nocturnal mischief, congratulations. You're about to be let in on a secret.
After the humming grey highway and Lakes Way's bloody-minded bends, spotting the village is like pulling back the drapes.
You descend on the sea to be dazzled by its endless sheet of diamonds that darken to aquamarine lapping white sand.
Then, an hour later at Treachery Beach, you gasp at howling cliffs and cruel plinths that climb from seething wash.
Those rocks battered dozens of ships in the past two centuries and, with the monstrous seas, are the reason for the storybook lighthouse guarding Sugarloaf Point.
Some wrecks can be seen from the beach, and the ocean has blasted tunnels in the rock wall. These waters shimmer with shoals of baitfish and grey nurse sharks.
To call Seal Rocks a town is a bit rich. That sinks in once you've been to the shop, given way to a Kombi and gingerly patted a salty dog.
There are fewer than 100 permanent residents, and families wanting bucket-spade-and-bistro holidays tend to go to Forster.
But you, here at Seal Rocks, find it unlike its coastal neigbours. There are no cardboard dolphins or other suggestions of what paradise should look like.
The guy ahead of you in line has a dense tattoo peering from the back of a sandy wetsuit, and the twilight chatter near your camp builds up steam in melodious Spanish.
They're cooking something on a fire that wafts a spicy envy downbreeze, and you might head over soon for Coronas and tales of Cartagena.
Up to you, really. It's a place for hoodies, boardies, bare feet by the fire and plastic cups of wine.
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