Schoolies week in Byron Bay is like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates.
A choose-your-own-adventure, whether that be an afternoon jog to the lighthouse with your best friends and a game of cricket on the beach, or creating a tower out of empty beer bottles and watching your mate vomit on the dancefloor before 9pm.
The week of partying has been a fixture on the Australian calendar since the 1980s, when groups of high school graduates descended on Surfers Paradise to celebrate their newfound freedom.
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Now, the rite of passage attracts tens of thousands of teenagers, including more than 5,000 in the northern New South Wales town of Byron alone. But while controversy still lurks when darkness descends, daytime in the influencer capital has become more about kayaks and surfboards than vodka shots and bad choices.
At the Red Frogs tent, dozens of volunteers gather from the early morning, working in eight-hour shifts to cook hundreds of pancakes which are delivered to hotels and villas for bleary-eyed teenagers.
The Christian charity remains in the centre of town until 3am, making more pancakes, dishing out water and walking intoxicated teenagers back to their accommodation.
Its founder, Andy Gourley, has noticed a cultural shift since Red Frogs began 30 years ago in how young people celebrate.
Part of it is money – a night out is expensive. But he says young people are also more health-conscious than ever before, “almost trading beers for Boost juices”.
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“The last five years have been the healthiest schoolies we’ve seen,” Gourley says.
“Half the kids aren’t big drinkers now, which mean you have more designated sober crew who are walking their mates home, ringing [us] early if needed.
“Cafes used to be empty in Byron … now by 9am they’re full of schoolies doing their smashed avo and lattes.”
Audrey, 18, agrees. Tanning on the beach with her two friends, the Melburnian says there’s still a big drinking culture among young people, but “it’s OK not to now, people aren’t under so much pressure”.
The latest Australian Institute of Health and Welfare data shows young people are drinking less frequently than they used to, and 16% of those aged 18 to 24 have never had a full glass of alcohol (up from 7.5% in 2001).
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“Older generations were more rabid than us,” Audrey says. “During the day, we basically just tan, have some lunch … It’s been pretty chill, low key.”
A milestone, if you can afford it
Further down the beach, packs of friends kick the football in the shallows while others read books and complete Sudokus.
There is a fairground atmosphere, here – with a caveat. Of the dozens of people Guardian Australia speaks to, almost all are from private schools in Melbourne, Sydney or Geelong.
Asked why they chose to attend Byron, most respond: “You’re seeing everyone you know.”
Accommodation typically costs upwards of $1,000 a week – not including the $300 party pass. It’s a milestone, if you can afford it.
Speaking over doof music blaring from his friend’s speaker, Josh, 18, says Byron has been the “talk of town” at his Melbourne school for years.
His mates were unorganised – hence ending up in dorms in a hostel dominated by backpackers (“nothing special, but it does the trick”).
Josh says schoolies is made out to be “very unsafe”, but young people are better informed on how to look after each other than they once were.
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It’s not paradise. An OnlyFans model had her visa cancelled this year amid plans to film adult videos on the Gold Coast with “barely legal” 18-year-olds, and while sexual assaults have dropped significantly, drink spiking and harassment remain a risk.
But education has improved, even if expectations haven’t. The previous night, Josh’s friend got “very, very sick” – so he walked him home with the Red Frogs who kept them both hydrated and chatting.
“We got up at 3.30 in the morning for the flight and finished up at 3.30 the next day,” he says. “Stuff like that you just want to tick off – you’re only 18 once.
“This is, for a lot of us, the last time [our friends] see each other. We’re all going elsewhere next year … I’ll miss them.”
Polite – and frighteningly athletic
From mid-afternoon, the sunburnt schoolies flock back to their accommodation armed with slabs of booze, frozen pizza and two-minute noodles.
At the Wollongbar motel, the smell of sausages and vapes wafts through the common area, where gangs of boys armed with tongs work the barbecue while others stretch out in the sun like lizards.
“The best part [of schoolies] is hanging out with your mates and just having a good time,” Seb, 18, says reflectively from the motel pool as he sips on a lukewarm beer. “I expected to just be partying the whole time, but it’s more relaxing.”
Harry, who is rapidly losing his voice as the afternoon wears on, has been getting up at 5am every day to run 10km after dancing into the early hours of the morning.
“You can’t be 18 again,” he says, gazing admiringly at his group of friends as Daft Punk plays softly in the background.
“We’ve had a lot of moments where we’ve sat down, taken a break for a second and said – ‘hang on, this is actually a lot of fun’ … it’s bloody unreal, actually, everything we’ve ever dreamed of.
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“If every day was like this, it’d be the best life … my throat is killing me.”
Upstairs, a group of giggling girls are getting ready to a soundtrack of pop music, their room a bomb site of half-drunk sports drinks, makeup and wet bathers.
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“Everyone looks out for each other, we were a bit nervous but it’s really safe,” Nina, 18, says. Their diciest moment so far was their friend, Brigitte, “munting all over the pub at like 9pm”.
“It wasn’t even nine, it was 8.55!” a friend interjects. “It got all over my feet,” cries another.
Brigitte, sitting serenely on the bed, humming to the music, says the experience was a learning curve. “I felt so much better once it was out.”
The manager of the motel, Andy Turnbull, opens to schoolies every year and says the kids are “having a good time, but the majority aren’t trashing themselves”.
“It feels like there’s been a generational shift,” he says. “No one was going to the gym and doing lighthouse walks in the morning 30 years ago.”
A tattoo artist who has been offering a two-for-$200 deal to school leavers (mostly dominated by fine-line palm trees, waves and moons), also reflects on the “old days” when riot police used to man the streets.
“I tattooed one girl who did yoga in the morning and was in bed by nine,” he says. “They’re much more polite now.”
Polite – and frighteningly athletic. Every afternoon, a group of footy player mates have jogged 6.5km to summit Byron’s rocky headland in the punishing heat. It’s worth it for the views, which take in the whole eastern coastline – an expanse of sea and jagged rock and sand.
The boys stop to chat halfway down the trek, dripping in sweat. “This bloke goes double, morning and night,” James says, gesturing at his friend, Michael.
“Most blokes have a sleep-in and then we’ll go in the afternoon. It’s rewarding. We get a photo every time for the Instagram. I don’t know how to explain it – it’s weird that we’re here. You’re always looking at older kids and now it’s us.
“This is the time you’ve got nothing else to worry about, after worrying for so long.”
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A week of independence
Approaching sunset, girls dressed up in sparkly dresses, heels and eyeliner emerge from their squalid motel rooms, their formal outfits a stark contrast to the beige surroundings.
Boys ditch their boardies for shorts and shirts.
Later, they will spill out of pubs on to the street, downing cans of mixed drinks, Snapchatting and yelling at buskers.
Police will loom over a crowd of hundreds sweating at the Great Northern hotel – a mess of limbs shrieking under neon lights to a piano rendition of Abba’s Gimme Gimme Gimme.
But for now, the regular crowd of backpackers and loved-up couples gather on the grass at Main beach alongside the schoolies – a haphazard mesh of XXXX Gold and ukuleles.
In the distance there is a paraglider and dogs catching frisbees on the sand and two young girls splashing in the shallow ocean. They jump over waves, clutching each other, striking poses in the dwindling light.
“This is what schoolies is about,” I think to myself, kicking off my shoes and wading into the water. This is freedom, friendship – a world away from sticky dancefloors and neon lights and hangovers.
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How thrilling to experience something for the first time – your first kiss, your first heartbreak, your first time dancing at the club with friends, giddy on alcohol and the promise of the future.
It is only later, often much later, that you realise the significance of such moments.
That you will never be 18 again, with this group of people and your whole life ahead of you like a sheet of white paper. A week of independence, every decision yours to make, teetering into adulthood.
“Hey guys!” I cry out to the girls, water lapping at my knees, “sorry to bother you, are you with schoolies?”
“No,” they reply politely. “We just live here.”
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