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We arrived in Alice Springs in a dishevelled state, having had no time to shower before our early flight. The first note that I'd like to make about Australian domestic air travel is that security is surprisingly lax. We were checked for the usual explosives in our shoes and laptops, but at no point during proceedings did anyone ask me whether or not I was, in fact, Andrew Cochrane. As it happens, I am an honest soul and flew as myself for the day. The journey was uneventful and as we touched down on the tarmac, I noted that this was probably the smallest airport I will ever fly into.
We arrived at our hostel, checked in and after a much needed shower, we went exploring in Alice Springs. This was pointless exercise, as “The Alice”, as it is affectionately known by locals, has the feel of a 19
th Century wild west town. There's one main street, only a couple of bars and the court house. The rest is fairly inconsequential and makes no impact on the senses at all. Fleeing this commercial wasteland, we bought the required volume of water for our tour the next day and climbed ANZAC
Hill for the view of the MacDonald Ranges
The next morning, painfully early we awoke and we were picked up at our hostel at 6.50am by a man known only as Fitzy. Too tired to argue or acknowledge what was going on, we got on the bus and attempted to resume our sleep where we had left off, as we did the circuit around the other hostels to pick up the other 16 tired tourers. We then headed deep into the outback with a bus filled with sleeping backpackers.
Our first port of call, apart from the intervening toilet/petrol stops at remote outback stations, was the Kings Canyon. Named after a wealthy Sydney businessman of the same surname. This was part of an ancient rainforest formed millions of years ago, and tiny fragments linger on in parts of the canyon. It was a 3 hour hike around the walls of the canyon, beginning with the steps to Mordor. It was at this point that both Amelia and I wished that we were fitter. But we made it, and if we can, you can!
First nugget of information from Fitzy, the red walls of the canyon are not
actually red. The “red centre” of Australia is fantastically rich in various minerals, including Iron ore. When this come in contact with the air, it basically rusts, turning the dust red. The cliff walls are then blasted with the dust that the wind picks up and adopts the red colouring characteristic of the area. The traditional owners of this area were the Leuracha people, one of the hundreds of Aboriginal nations of Australia. However they didn't live in the lush greenery of the canyon much of the time, like all Aboriginal people they were nomadic and followed where the food went, but in times of scarcity, they would retreat back to their homeland.
The main part of the canyon floor is filled with fossilised imprints of sea creatures, which make for boring pictures, but is quite cool as you walk around. Even prior to the formation of the rainforest, all of the centre of Australia was a massive inland sea, hence the remnants of the ammonites and barnacles. Other natural interests included the ghost gums, a white tree whose sap was used by the aboriginal people as a primitive sun screen. However, as we wore our factor 20 for
this hike in midwinter, the most the ghost gums can manage is the equivalent of factor 5. Take that, natural remedies!
Having seen the delights of Kings Canyon, we headed for the evenings camp. Whilst on the bus the microphone was found and each member of the party introduced themselves by answering a series of questions: name; nationality; fears, talent, dream one night stand; childhood crush; and a weird thing about me. All the things you really need to know about someone. We made particular friends with a group of lads from Oxford (Tom, Louis and Josh) who were on a gap year, and had spent 3 months in a camper van. We were about to pick up our camper, so were also keen to pick their brains about how things work. On the way to the site there was one stop, to pick up the customary beer. The place we stopped was a real redneck joint. A large threatening man in a mohawk said something to me that was incomprehensible, so I nodded, laughed and quickly fled to the bus just in case I caused affront.
Dinner was cooked on an open fire. Several people were appointed
cooks, but Tom and I drew the short straw, having to make the scones. Mixing flour and water with bare hands is not overly pleasant, but when the mixture starts to solidify, and there's no way of washing your hands, it's even worse. Which is partially why I volunteered for washing up duty, mainly to wash my hands. Main course was a tasty chilli, washed down with lashings of weak lager. Australian mass produced beer is thoroughly rubbish! Mine and Tom's scones were naturally delicious. When bed time came around, fairly early, we set out our swags around the huge fire. Swags were basically like large hessian sacks, with a thin mattress to cushion the stony ground. When opening our swags, Fitzy warned us to check for “swag treasure”. This could be goods and valuables left behind by the previous inhabitant, or it could be a hibernating snake. Fortunately no plunder of any description was discovered. We slept under a perfectly clear sky and slept under the close watch of the Milky Way and Southern Cross.
The next morning, wiping the frost off our swags, Fitzy woke us at 5.30am for breakfast. The activity for the day was a
trip to Kata Tjuta. Formed by the same geological serendipity that created Uluru, it has a different composition, and isn't a single solid rock, which is why it's not in the record books. Also known as the Valley of the Winds, this is a place sacred for the aboriginal men, as the women and men had different sacred places. The aboriginal people have been notoriously badly treated out here since the late 1800s, and in 1983, they won a court case against the government to reclaim their traditional home. As part of the settlement, they had to lease the land to the government as a national park for 99 years. Since then, the Uluru and Kata Tjuta national park has been overseen by a committee of 12 people, 8 Aboriginal people and 4 white Australians. As a tribute to the amount of work that has been done that the park has gone from a ruin in the 1980s to winning 2 World Heritage accreditations. The trek was about 4 hours long, and I will have to let the pictures do the talking.
When we eventually finished the trek, we were told that another walk was impending. Having walked about
17km in 2 days, early starts and a very cramped bus, I was less than thrilled. The intended “Mala” walk is only 1km around the base of Uluru, so I was placated. During the walk Fitzy taught about the nature of the aboriginal cave art. The “art” is actually something of a misnomer, it isn't at all decorative. It's more like a university lecture, when you first walk into the room and the blackboard is full of doodles and illustrations from the last lecture, and make no sense to you. The “artist” would use the drawings to demonstrate his point, and to get the real meaning, you would really have to be there at the time,
Fitzy also explained the Dreamtime stories, which are closely associated with the rock. These are stories used to explain how parts of the landscape and where the animals came from to children. They consist of ancient mythical creatures which have various adventures, and explain how various physical features of the rock have appeared, even though they are simply the result of some weathering. I must say that I had very little patience for these stories, being a man of science and reason, and I was tired and grumpy. However, they are rather like Aesop's Fables in moral and style. Mildly impressive for an ancient civilisation that never managed to get around to inventing the wheel.
After a speedy bus ride to the sunset lookout point, we awaited the legendarily beautiful sunset over Uluru. But it never came. Sunset came obvoiusly, this isn't Stargate and we're not in a time vortex, just the beautiful part. All we got were some clouds getting darker over a big rock. Mildly disappointing, so we drank some beer.
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