Almost as fascinating as the outback itself are the ways in which people have contrived to make it comfortable.
Of course, some purists would insist that wilderness should not be so easily accessible as parts of it are now. The semiarid Northern Territory couldn’t have been meant to allow without a struggle such a delicate species as homo sapiens, but that species has been around this desolate center of the continent for an estimated 20,000 years, maybe twice that long.
In the last few years the most heavily visited part, the 824 square miles of national park, has seen additions that include a smooth highway, air-conditioned hotels and an airport busy with jet traffic. The native residents and the rugged trekkers, who once found themselves alone with their camels or all-terrain vehicles, now have company numbering in the hundreds of thousands annually.
We are talking here about the main attraction of Australia’s vast nothingness–Uluru, or Ayers Rock.
The rock, which now properly wears an aboriginal label that defies translation, and its neighbor Kata Tjuta (“Many Heads”), still identified by some Aussies of European descent as Mt. Olga and “the Olgas,” would no doubt qualify for national park status in the landscape-rich United States. But those features, so impressive in the outback, might become lost amid the abundance of red-rock formations in Utah, Arizona or Nevada. Uluru/Kata Tjuta would qualify as a respectable national park in the U.S., but perhaps not a great national park.
Which only goes to demonstrate why context is so important in attracting sightseers. If northern Arizona were laced with giant gorges, the Grand Canyon probably wouldn’t stand out. If most of Australia, away from the coasts, were not so flat, Ayers Rock and the Olgas might be mere bumps in the scenery and easily overlooked.
Still, Ayers Rock and the Olgas (as most tourist brochures still call them) deserve attention for all the things about Australia that they illustrate and for the sheer beauty and power of their presence out there in the empty Australian yaw.
The geological history goes back between 600 million and 900 million years, when most of what is now central Australia formed a depression that became an enormous, but shallow, arm of the sea. Sediments piled up and compressed into a dense sandstone, sinking below sea level. Tectonic forces tilted this mass up nearly vertically.
That left what people see today, the world’s largest monolith, some 1,400 feet tall, two miles long and a mile and a half wide, its surface dyed red by oxidized traces of iron, an estimated two-thirds of its bulk hidden underground. Uluru, in short, is one big, old, rusty rock.
Australia is a fairly level continent, placed in a sort of neutral zone between the colliding continental plates. Its once mighty mountains might have dwarfed the Himalayas, but they have been scrubbed into oblivion by eons of erosion. Still, a big old rusty rock standing in the middle of all that flatness demands attention.
Kata Tjuta grew from similar forces but its sediments failed to congeal into a single massive stone, instead becoming mountains formed by clumps of basalt and granite, mortared by sandstone and mud. During periods of uplift, the Olga range tilted only about 20 degrees, leaving a series of peaks and valleys now rounded and hollowed out by water and winds. The tallest peak, Mt. Olga, rises 1,785 feet.
Those are the geological credentials. Australia’s original people recognize that even more powerful forces have been at work on the site. Uluru is considered one of many crossroads for “Dreamtracks” laid down during the period of creation, when all aspects of life and culture (tjukurpa) came into being.
The aboriginal people, generally calling themselves Anangu, are descendants of nomadic communities that passed through the area during the centuries. They live permanently near Uluru now, and only one of their scattered towns is readily apparent–the one near the northeastern end of the rock, fashioned from some buildings that remained after a general cleanup of the motels and tacky tourist lures during less sensitive times. Now visitors stay in quiet and vastly more tasteful quarters about 12 miles north.
In 1985, ownership of the national park and other nearby territories was returned to the Anangu people, who leased Uluru/Kata Tjuta back to the Australian Nature Conservation Agency (the nation’s park authority) for 99 years.
Guided walks around the base of Uluru and displays in the modern cultural center near the rock explain the intricacies of tjukurpa, interpret the stories behind cave and rock formations that have significance far beyond their animal shapes and point out the sacred places and the petroglyphs within that have been closed to outsiders.
Outsiders gather here in Yulara, most of them arriving by some sort of prearrangement with a tour operator. I came in by motor coach with a group from Alice Springs. We traveled about 124 miles south on the Stuart Highway, then a similar distance west on the Lasseter Highway.
Driver Peter Bailey gamely tried to keep us amused and alert over boring stretches skirting immense cattle stations (ranches). The occasional approach of an enormous truck, called a road train, became an event.
“The road train is usually 172 feet in length, 115 tons and 400 horsepower–although the new Mack Titan is up to 610 horsepower,” Bailey explained for the gear heads among us. “Road trains are the way most food reaches the outback.”
We reached the outback in air-conditioned comfort after a tea break at the dusty but air-cooled, aborigine-owned Mt. Ebenezer roadhouse near the corner of Stuart and Lasseter.
Passengers became so eager for respite from the featureless scenery that later on they giggled after Bailey pointed out that soon we would observe an “Australian rubber tree,” which turned out to be a leafless ironwood hung with old tires. There was another stir of excitement when a big, flat, rusty rock appeared in the distance. “On your left,” Bailey said, “you may notice a large formation. That is Mt. Conner, often mistaken for Ayers Rock.” The giggles this time sounded slightly embarrassed.
On excursions such as this, organized by Australian Adventure Tours, tourists pay about $450 to $550 U.S. for a package that includes a room in Alice Springs, the drive to Ayers Rock, two nights in one of the five hotels at the Yulara resort complex and a transfer to the airport for an onward journey. (Impressive as Uluru might be, hardly anyone crosses the Pacific to see that and nothing else.)
On my visit last November, which is late spring at that latitude, I could get a feel for the hardships prehistoric nomads and 19th Century explorers must have faced. I accomplished that empathy simply by walking from my motel-type unit in the Desert Gardens Hotel to the resort supermarket, about 200 yards away. Blowflies attacked, aiming for the eyes and mouth, never biting, just relentlessly annoying in their quest for moisture. The heat was stifling, the sunlight–even through a slight haze–at roasting intensity.
So, despite tour-operator regimentation, the lot of us boarded our motor coaches gladly–even the one that had us leaving before dawn for the sunrise view of Ayers Rock. Having already seen the Olgas in late afternoon and Uluru at sunset on the previous day, we knew what to expect. Crowds.
Our bus joined dozens just like it, and we gravitated to the roadside in the chill air. We watched the dark gray monolith before us. A large, Japanese contingent ate breakfast from neatly wrapped boxes and sat on folding chairs provided by their presumably well-paid hosts. We AAT passengers stood up and ate nothing, although we could tap into a coffee urn stationed in the open luggage bin at no extra charge. Fortunately, the blowflies still slept in.
The earth tilted enough to let the sun splash a streak of orange across the top of Ayers Rock. Flash units flared. That woke us up. However, a few buses still were arriving, drowning out most of the ooohs and ahhhs. Soon the sunlight revealed more, reddish now, streaked with a subtle violet. And then, suddenly, Ayers Rock, Uluru, was fully illuminated. Within minutes, the sun overreached, bleaching Uluru a dull pink. Creases and shadows started to fade. Bus drivers gunned their engines and honked their horns.
Next, we were taken to the base of the rock, at the point where climbing begins. This activity satisfies those who cannot imagine traveling great distances to a famous site without ascending it. The hike is said to be strenuous–and dangerous for those who unthinkingly let go of the chain provided and chase a windblown baseball cap off the edge.
This happens about once a year, and it makes the Anangu sad.
That’s one reason they request that visitors not climb the rock. Another reason is that Uluru belongs to their spiritual world, not anyone else’s, the complex tjukurpa of the people who live here.
Consequently, I understand, the ranks of climbers lately have thinned, although, that morning, I saw plenty mounting the rock and following the black streak where countless soles have scraped off the Dreamtrack rust.
Some of us chose, instead, to tour the base of Uluru. On most itineraries, that means making an either/or choice. While climbers climbed, those of us at the base would be guided to sacred pools, see the hidden waterfalls, observe the battling serpents and the meaningful emu leg formed upon the sides of cliffs. We tried to soak in the aura and the significance as best we could. Failing that, at least we showed a little respect.
“This is a very sacred place to the aboriginal people,” our guide began. “We’d like to thank you for not climbing this morning.”
IF YOU GO
GETTING THERE
Qantas Airways and United Airlines have been quoting fares from Chicago to Sydney for slightly less than $1,800, including the round trip to and from the Los Angeles gateway. After April, ticket prices generally drop by $200. But watch for sales and other kinds of deals any time of year.
Consolidators sometimes come up with even lower rates. And keep an eye out for packages that include a bargain fare in conjunction with hotel and other land arrangements. Consult a travel agent for details and for help in obtaining the mandatory Australian visa.
Round trip fares from major Australian cities to Ayers Rock come to about $430, including tax. But ask about the Qantas Boomerang coupons, which can lower the prices for domestic travel considerably, particularly when several cities are involved. The coupons should be purchased before leaving home.
The city of Alice Springs is a favorite gateway to Uluru, about 250 highway miles away. Motor coach and air-excursion companies stand ready to go the distance with a range of prices and options too numerous to list here.
I rode the Ghan train from Adelaide to Alice Springs (more about that in a later issue). One-way fares for the 22-hour trip range from $150 in coach to $524 for a first-class sleeper.
GETTING AROUND
Rental cars are available in Yulara at the airport and at hotel desks. Bus tours of the rock sites and other points of interest in the national park can be had at a wide range of prices, depending upon the extent of the tour and the amenities offered (such as champagne at sunset). Also for hire: scenic flights, motorcycle tours and taxis.
LODGING
The Ayers Rock Resort in Yulara includes campsites starting at about $13, dormitory beds at $14 and hotel rooms ranging from about $60 a night to $200-plus.
DINING
Food purveyors also cover a broad spectrum, from basic carry-outs and groceries to fancy dining in the two priciest hotels–Desert Gardens and Sails in the Desert.
INFORMATION
The Australia Tourist Commission offers a planning guide and other advice. Call 800-DOWNUNDER or, to speak with a travel counselor, 805-775-2000. The ATC web site is www.australia.com.
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Robert Cross’ e-mail address is bobccross@aol.com
