Silence.
Not eerie, foreboding, midnight-in-the-graveyard silence, but a profound calm and a total absence of sound.
It is 1 a.m., and I am lying on my back in a swag on the soft red sand near the middle of the Australian desert. I’ve never seen a sky like this: a carpet of little lights, with the Southern Cross laid out brightly and the Milky Way, a faint brushstroke by the Almighty.
A dingo howls in the distance. Another answers. Nice timing – albeit a bit cliché.
But star-gazing and nocturnal creatures are mere sidelights: I’m here for Uluru.
Uluru, aka Ayers Rock, is one of the most recognizable symbols of Australia: a giant loaf of sandstone, rising 348 metres out of the desert plain. I had been obsessed with Australia since I was five, but my first trip Down Under – 50 years later – was mostly spent in cities. So, when I came back, I decided this was “next-level” time: four days and three nights on Way Outback Tours’ Galah Dreaming Red Centre Safari.
My group consists of 15 people: a dozen are young enough to be my kids, and I must confess to a little trepidation about being “the old guy.” There are other tours, with older participants and more creature comforts, but I wanted the Bush Experience: sleeping under the stars in “swag” and clambering by day over rough, unstable terrain in 30-plus-degree heat.
Leading us through this is Emily Sewell, Way Outback’s guide and master multi-tasker. She drove the bus, cooked, provided water, and hectored us out of bed at 4:30 a.m. so we could finish each day’s hike before the midday sun turned us into mad dogs (if not Englishmen).
More than that, her range of knowledge of the region (something that appears to be typical of the guides there) made our tour into a “taster course” in its history, culture, geology, and even botany.
In the desert night, I can reflect on what I had learned about Uluru, just in that day. The sandstone monolith is pock-marked with holes, caves and crevices. Each one has meaning for Aboriginal people: legends, meeting caves for the men and women (separately), a teaching cave for boys (you can still see ancient rock art on the walls), and a meeting cave for the elders (eldership is more about wisdom and experience than age). The watering holes around Uluru are a source of meat-on-the-hoof for the people.
But it’s not for climbing. Until October 2019, climbing Uluru was a “must-do” for adventuresome visitors. But when the land was handed back to the Aboriginal people in 1986, a campaign began to ban climbing. After more than 30 years, the climbing chain was finally removed and a AUS $10,000 penalty was enacted.
I had to ask. “What’s the big deal about climbing Uluru? Because it’s there?”
“Lately, it’s been Japanese tourists,” Emily answered. She explained that they would re-enact a scene from a Japanese movie, in which a young woman dies; her lover finds a list of things she planned to do and does them, finishing by climbing Uluru to scatter her ashes.
“So, people who had seen the movie,” Emily says, “would come, climb Uluru and shout, ‘I love you!’ when they get to the top.”
Romantic? Maybe. But Uluru is not a Hallmark movie. It’s the focal point of Aboriginal Australians’ traditional laws and spirituality. In the interpretive centre, you can read about the legends, consider the striking similarities with other cultures’ legends of creation and the eternal war between good and evil, and the generational connection to the land. On a video, you can hear Aboriginal elders talk about what Uluru means to them – especially having it handed back to them. Climbing Uluru would be almost like putting a Ferris wheel on Temple Mount.
Besides, climbing anything is about self: experiencing Uluru is about connecting with others and their culture, and you can do that at ground-level. Is it not sufficient to stand and gaze in awe at this enormous thing rising out of the desert? Climb it? Why?
Any urge to climb is satisfied at two other landmarks on the tour, Kata Tjuta (aka The Olgas) and Kings Canyon. More magnificent than Uluru, but not as culturally significant.
Emily explains that the monoliths began as sand, compressed by a prehistoric sea covering central Australia. When the sea dried up, a series of seismic events called orogenies tilted these sandstone formations upwards.
Kata Tjuta towers nearly 550 metres above the ground. The hike takes you over rough, uneven terrain and steep, slick hills. The Valley of the Winds is aptly named – the cooling breeze is a relief, but hold onto your hat! Be prepared to be surprised at the amount of green around you. Porous sandstone allows whatever rain that falls to seep into the earth, rather than evaporate, and acacia, desert oak (whose branches tilt downwards to direct the rain to its roots), and the spectacular grevillea survive: the ghost gum tree sends roots as far down as 75 metres to find water. The torrential rains that hit Australia in March 2021 were devastating in some parts of the country, but welcome in the Red Centre.
Kings Canyon is “only” 300m high and starts with “Heart Attack Hill”: 420 steps almost straight-up, with sheer drop-offs on each side. Unlike Kata Tjuta, though, these steps are generally solid, so once you’ve made it, the “Rim Walk” is relatively easy. You’ll see spectacular views at the top and descend into the Garden of Eden with its surprising variety of plants. Emily shows us her favourite: the palm-like Western McDonnell Ranges cycad, estimated to be over 600 years old.
“The cycad adds one frond for every year,” Emily explains. “When a frond dies, it droops, then eventually falls off and leaves these nubs around the trunk. Someone has actually counted all the living fronds and the dead ones and the little nubs and that’s how we know how old it is.”
Speaking of “old,” it didn’t take long for me to get over the trepidation I felt in the company of millennials. They came from Germany, Switzerland, the UK, France, and I have to confess to being surprised at the number who, at that young age, were on “life-reset” journeys, stepping back from careers to get their heads together. And I did not feel out of place: when I would straggle – partly because I was recovering from a knee injury, and partly because I like to take pictures – there would always be one or two who would walk with me. “We’re in no hurry, and it’s good company,” says Emma, a young woman from Netherlands.
Some of the tours have now resumed after a COVID-imposed hiatus, so it’s worth checking online to see what’s available again. A journey to the Red Centre brings you in closer touch with a civilization that many of us in North America rarely consider. Your eyes are also opened to the fact that a place may be a “desert,” but it’s not deserted, given the plant, animal and human life that have lived there for thousands of years. You can feel it in the heat of the day, the cool of the valleys or the almost tangible silence of the night, and this tour brings you up-close-and-personal with life as you have never seen it.
Drew Snider is a writer, communications consultant and recovering broadcaster living in East Sooke. His most recent book, God At Work – A Testimony of Prophecy, Provision and People amid Poverty, covers 10 years of pastoring on Vancouver’s Downtown East Side. This trip was not sponsored.
IF YOU GO …
- Be honest with yourself and with the tour company. How well can you handle heat? How much walking can you do? How steady are you on unstable terrain, like loose rocks, deep sand and steep climbs? (There is a reason why emergency radios and defibrillators are placed strategically along the walks.)
- Understand terms, like “rustic”, “participatory” and “swag.” How are you at pitching in with food prep and cleanup?
- These are necessities:
a. Water – 1 litre per walking hour (yes, you can pay around AUS $6.50 for a 1.5-litre bottle, but this is an investment)
b. Electrolyte-replacement tablets
c. Sunscreen (parts of Australia are prone to wicked UV levels)
d. Sun hat (see above)
e. Fly net (don’t bother with insect repellent)
f. Hiking boots or sturdy walking shoes (sandals or flip-flops: bad idea). - Cost (2019 dollars) AUS $945.00 including flights between Melbourne and Ayers Rock Airport; additional night at Ayers Rock Resort (due to return flight time).
Photo Credits: All photos by Drew Snider, unless indicated.
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Drew Snider is a writer, communications consultant and recovering broadcaster living in East Sooke. His most recent book, God At Work – A Testimony of Prophecy, Provision and People amid Poverty, covers 10 years or pastoring on Vancouver’s Downtown East Side. This trip was not sponsored.