It is not for no reason Australia is termed an urban coastal nation, housing more than 85% of the population along its outer edges. The further you travel inland, the hotter and dryer the climate becomes, until you reach the Australian outback where life is met with the most cruel and unforgiving conditions. This region remains the beating heart and soul of Australian aboriginal history and culture, with Uluru and Kata-Tjuta amongst the most sacred sites in all of Australia. Welcome to the ‘Red Centre’ mate!

 

Setting off from Adelaide airport bright and early, I had already caught my first sunrise of the trip. Little did I know this was to become a regular occurrence for the next four days, and probably for the best this remained unknown. I was met at Ayers Rock airport by a bubbly, energetic woman wearing a pair of Blundstone boots, one of those dark green cargo shirts with more pockets than could ever be filled, and head of pink hair to match the bright pink bus waiting outside. This could be no one else but Liv; our number one Mulga Adventures tour guide! We cruised straight to Uluru itself, briefly passing by our Yulara camp to dump our bags and slap on a thick layer of 50+.

 

Commonly known to tourists as ‘Ayers Rock’ after the Chief Secretary of South Australia in 1873, it has since been reverted to its true name Uluru. My first sighting of Uluru was surreal and unforgettable, largely because I had a hard time believing it was real. A huge, bright orange red rock scarred with downward cracks, punctured with small holes smoothed and sculped by years of weathering. I squinted at it, first with both eyes then just the one, deliberating whether it would be disrespectful to tap it to check if it were hollow. Perhaps, yes. Instead I focused on our walk that began on the secret side of Uluru, unmarked by the flash of cameras or the critical eye of the internet, for this side is sacred. Historically, there has been significant divide between the concept of place between settler and Aboriginal Australian, particularly regarding Uluru’s cultural significance. Whilst this issue continues to perpetuate today, land has now been handed back to the Anangu people, thanks to cooperation between the Anangu Tribal Elders and Members of the Board of Management. As a result, climbing the rock was banned in 2019 and there is strict regulation on photography and tourist behaviour.

 

The walk was a mixture of beautiful and striking, helping keep our mind of the stifling heat and flies that kept us company along the way. Halfway through we restocked our blood sugars and salts with some freshly sliced oranges; Liv wisely living up to the importance of first impressions. Here the rest of the group joined us and were quickly made aware that the next four days would be accompanied by a constant hum of energy and hilarious jokes thanks to the two loud, silly, and highly excitable young English folks- lucky them! We all listened eagerly as Liv taught us some of the Tjukupra, or stories of the creation time, that explain how the Anangu ancestor spirits created the mountains, rivers, and landscapes that encompass these sacred lands. Tjukupras are passed down to generations, building the bones and foundations of wisdom that surmount to mature the most knowledgeable children into Elders. One of my favourites was Minyma Kuniya, a Senior Python Woman (obviously), who laid her eggs at the base of the Eastern End of the rock before rushing to the other side to confront Liru for attacking her nephew. You can see the huge boulders that represent the eggs, and the slanted ‘S’ scar through the side of the rock.

 

The walk was followed by an incredible sunset overlooking Uluru itself, triggering one of those “WHAT- so random, am I really here!?” moments. In fact, being accompanied by champagne and dips (french onion is a new one for me) Anton and I chuckled at how we had never felt less like 20 and 21 (I am the elder btw), but more like a funny collection of retired pensioners on a cruise. We soaked in the views, enjoying the sun warming our wrinkled foreheads and arthritic joints, before embarking on a scenic drive back to camp with the iconic Aussie “Down Under” song blasting through the speakers. The evening was spent cooking up some wraps, getting to know each other, and setting up our swags outside ready for some much-needed sleep. Now, any sane person who had done their research before booking the trip would know the moon is in its New Moon stage, meaning the stars would be most visible. We lay in our swags under the stars, gazing up at Jupiter outshining all its glittering counterparts, while it silently protects Earth from incoming comets. Mars also took centre stage, hot red in the sky, while the outline of the Milky Way gradually shed its shyness with the setting sun and came into focus. I remember seeing a shooting star before dozing off to sleep, cosy in my cocoon.  

 

The first morning we were woken at 3:45am to the sound of “Storm Boy”, a sort of country western lullaby, had the earliest breakfast known to man, and quickly drove to a sunrise lookout over both Uluru and Kata Tjuta. We peacefully watched as the sun sleepily cut through the horizon, bathing Kata Tjuta different shades of pink and red on our left, while outlining the dark, bold silhouette of Uluru on our right. A sort of slow game of ping pong, our heads would turn between the two, unable to decide which was the more impressive of the two posing sisters. We concluded the most rare and special sight was in fact neither of these, but instead not one, but two, men who carried ukuleles. So random!?

 

Now that it was 6am, it was time for some real outback activity, so we embarked on a hike through Kata Tjuta’s 36 domes. Against common assumption, this site is more sacred than Uluru for the Anangu people, with only one walking trail open to non-Aboriginal people and photography banned all over. The route took us through a Jumanji labyrinth, with huge smooth domes projecting upwards, surrounded by rich red sand and spikey deep green vegetation. There was a particularly great viewpoint where we were given mini cookies and Liv announced it was Linda’s birthday! The second half of the walk was a strain on the bladder as there was no chance I was going to surrender myself to the terrible karma that would emanate from urinating on such sacred land. However, this was eventually relieved (thank God), as was blood sugar levels with some fresh apples and Tim Tams. Again, Liv did not let us down.

 

The rest of the day was spent driving four hours to our next camp in Kings Canyon and a lunch and dinner bbq of camel burgers and kangaroo steaks (fake meat for the veggies…less good on the digestion). It was a relaxed evening spent watching the sunset, deciphering the different nuances to the same card games, and settling on Icelandic Horses for the name of our favourite. This, however, was less enjoyed by certain Irish amongst the group (soz). This night was set in proper Australian bush with few facilities and the added excitement of wild dingoes in the vicinity- what fun! We all laid our swags shoulder to shoulder outside, fully embracing the “safety in numbers” logic, and laughed about Mara’s dog park adventures before enjoying another peaceful sleep under the stars.

 

The next morning Liv kindly delayed the alarm soundtrack to 4:15am, then hurried us through breakfast and onto Pinkie for our Kings Canyon sunrise hike. Much like the three wise men, the stars lit our way for the 500 steps up, providing gifts of a dramatic canyon, stark yellow orange sunrise, and fresh, cool air. We were thankful to escape the heat, particularly since there were no water fill-up points here. The walk skirted along the outer canyon cliff face, down into the Garden of Eden for our forbidden fruit (apples provided), and back up onto the other side of the canyon. Anyone verging too near to any vertical edge was threatened by teaspoon of Vegemite… Here, the sheer size and flatness of the canyon plains along with the harsh hot weather served to remind us quite how small and insignificant we are. Nature here is powerful and stubborn, showcasing its wide range of capabilities from the lush green plants and blissful canyon water holes to the bronze tomb-like mounds littered across the canyon ceiling. If Kata Tjuta was Jumanji, Kings Canyon was Jurassic Park, with the sound of prehistoric bird calls bouncing off the canyon walls playfully and ornate ferns sprouting out of cracks in the rock. We learnt tales of various bush tucker and survival rules essential to the Aboriginal peoples, one memorable example being never to sleep under a Ghost Gum tree. When times are hard, they amputate their own branches to enable sufficient nutrition for the rest of the tree. On the other hand, keep your eye out for a billy goat plum; tiny but contain 50 times the amount of vitamin C than oranges!

 

That afternoon we recovered by the bush pool, Anton and I getting into all sorts of mischief diving through the rubber rings and performing our top tricks to our rather exhausted audience. We managed to get others involved in our silly antics, to the point where I managed to successfully convince Mara that backflipping off a chair was not only 100% safe but also just a fantastic idea from an entertainment perspective. I hate to think how many teaspoons of Vegemite Mara would have had to consume if we were under Liv’s watchful eye! All limbs still intact, we enjoyed lunch of salad and 48 eggs (indeed, you can cook 48 eggs ALL AT ONCE), then began our journey back to our Yulara camp. En route, Anton and I competed on best sitting-down dance moves, questioned fellow companions on our lates ‘What would you rathers?’, and conversed with a noisy cockatoo at the Curtin Springs toilet stop. We stopped briefly at a Salt Lake and Atila (Mount Connor or Fool-uru), another flat-topped mesa that can be easily confuse with Uluru from afar.  

 

Arriving back at our camp from night one, we settled in quickly, making it back just in time to watch our final sunset over the Uluru and Kata Tjuta once more. Liv cooked us up a pasta bolognaise (veggie also) and garlic bread (bbq of course); my favourite meal yet! Everyone happily munched and chatted, becoming rather nostalgic that this was the final eve. An incoming storm was expected, but Anton and I were determined to sleep up at the lookout to see the stars and watch the sunrise from the comfort of our swags. We defiantly marched up, others watching us shaking their heads worriedly. Even the biting ants and buzzing flies were begging us to turn back and sleep under the cover of camp. We set ourselves up happily, giggling at how silly others were for not joining until a few other brave warriors came to join us. My Pompeii (song) alarm was for 4am and 5:15am, the first to allow us to see the stars and Milky way at their prime, and the second for sunrise. We dozed off…

 

1am: Light rainfall. Flap goes over our head. Easy stuff.

1:15am: Pattering gets louder. It’s chill, just a nice lullaby. Swags were designed for this, right?

1:30am: Toes and shoulders start to get damp. Dw, just sleep and all will be well.

1:45am: CODE RED- WATER SEEPING THROUGH SWAG. RING ANTON- WE GOTTA GO UNDER COVER!!!!

 

….. dramatic 5 min walk/run dragging our wet, heavy swags and sleeping bags back to camp…

 

Approximately an hour later we woke to see the stars before enjoying another hour or so of heavy slumber to watch another stunning sunrise. We stayed up for a slow, chilled breakfast of toasties with leftover bolognaise and bacon (meat CENTRAL), or vegemite for the veggies. We wrote in Liv’s guest book and enjoyed some final time together as the sun beat down on the surroundings. A rather unusual morning was spent at the Ayers Rock Resort pool (non-guests allowed… cool but strange) with a whistle stop tour of the Ayers Rock Museum before saying my farewells and getting the bus to the airport.

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Shout out to Uluru Tours, Mulgas Adventures for an unforgettable experience! https://mulgasadventures.com.au/ 

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