I distinctly remember the first time I saw this monolith. I had quit my cushy graduate position, pared my stuff down to almost nothing and got on a plane to Central Australia (in the Northern Territory). To get a sense of where this is, look at a map of the giant country that is Australia, then try and find the exact middle of it, and you'll be pretty darn close this magical red rock.I'd been hearing about Uluru (also known as Ayers Rock) since I was a child. It's one of the most remarkable features in our landscape on this very big brown land.Uluṟu (note the line under the 'r', which is the correct spelling) is the local name for this 348 metre tall, sandstone rock formation. It was given the alternate name 'Ayers Rock' by a white settler who was exploring the area in the late 1800s.What we can see of this rock is just the tip of the iceberg: most of it is still underneath the ground. And it's HUGE: The distance around the base is 9.4 kilometres (5.84 miles).
As the plane flew almost over the top of it, I remember saying out loud, to no one but myself, "Well, look at that: it's a very big rock." It's like I was confirming to myself what I'd heard all these years.But it wasn't until I started my training as a tour guide, just a couple of days later, that I realised it was far more than 'just a big rock'.
To stand near the bottom of this ginormous rock is to feel tiny, no matter how big you are or how confident you feel.It also feels like an awe-inspiring, total freakin' privilege.I don't know if it's the sheer magnitude alone, the deep desert setting, or the countless generations of Aboriginal history that made it feel this way. In reality, it's probably a combination of all three.
While the company I worked for was very respectful of the wishes of the local 'Anangu' people, with my role focused on cultural, geological and flora/fauna education, there were still many, many people (tourists) who would climb the rock every single day.During the warmer months, the climb would be closed from about 10 am onwards, so if someone hadn't started their ascent early enough, they would miss out. If there were morning storms forecast, then the National Parks Service would also close the route.I was told it is far harder than it looks. I never did it; I wanted to honour the wishes of the Aboriginal Elders in the area who consider it their duty to look after the well-being of all visitors and who would mourn every time a tourist died climbing this rock that had been part of their culture forever.When I was there, 37 people had already died attempting this climb. More died in the years that followed. And then a few years ago, the fight to close it off altogether came to an end, and to my knowledge, no one has climbed it since.
When I was guiding, there were two main tours I would do out to Uluru. One was a walk around (almost) the entire base of the rock - that was my favourite. The other was a short drive around, a stop at a big car park to watch the sunrise over the rock, and then a visit to the Mutijulu Visitor Centre, where passengers could learn more about the local Aboriginal culture and buy arts and crafts made by the locals.This is what the rock looks like at sunrise almost every single morning. It was like someone would 'turn the lights on' all of a sudden and nearly every one of the hundreds and hundreds of tourists would simultaneously gasp at the sight.
I don't remember why I took this photo. Initially, I thought that the woman facing the camera was me. But now that I think about it, I don't think it was. However, they looked like the uniform we wore, so perhaps these were my co-workers or trainers in the early days of my guiding there.I also don't know what the bird was that she (!?) was looking up at. But it was probably some kind of bird of prey, as it's the right shape for it and there were definitely lots of carnivorous birds out in the desert.
What's interesting about this photo is that I can't recall where it is exactly. Somewhere near the base of the rock, yes. But where? I walked around this wonder-filled place so many times I knew it so well, but I don't remember this.I left it in this post because I think it's interesting to show you the trees. It's easy to think that the desert is all just sand. Lots and lots of red sand. And maybe a few spiky grasses. And yes, there is spinifex grass for days. But there are also several different types of trees. Mostly there are she-oaks, and while these could be young she-oaks (it's hard to tell), they look more like eucalypts.
This is a different spot, with more trees. These were always the coolest places to take a rest break when walking with clients.
These were two more of my co-workers. At least, I know that he was (the person on the left), because we lived in the same house. I no longer remember his name, but I remember his vibe. We weren't friends; he was a bit too cool for me, but we tolerated each other well enough.What's way more interesting is the waterfall. Obviously, it's dry in this photo, and for almost every day of the year, no water falls down it. But the pool of water at the bottom is quite protected from the sun, and so it seems to stay full enough. I think it was called the Mutijulu Watering Hole. At least, that's what my brain finds when I go digging in my memory banks.
Rain is very rare in the Australian desert. But when it does rain, it makes the rock transform in front of your eyes. I think we had one or two days in a row of actual, decent rain in the half a year I was there. I recall the tourists who had flown in specifically to see Uluru were, for the most part, disappointed.They had in their mind the pictures they'd seen over and over again of a bright red rock, surrounded by red sand, with a bright blue sky as the backdrop. But a couple of smart ones realised that rain was something special when they saw the locals going out of their way to grab their huge cameras and drive the 30+ minutes out to Uluru.This photo is of the same spot as the photo directly above it. The rain makes the rock show its many colours, it gives it a shiny sheen, and it fills all those watering holes. Not to mention showing off what its waterfalls actually look like with water running down them!
The day I went out in the rain to get a bunch of photos of the wet rock, I asked to have some of the photos printed in black and white. (This was before we had smart phones or digital cameras and I was still using rolls of film that had to be taken to a store to get developed!) It looks pretty rad, hey?
There were a few cool little caves hidden within Uluru's base. This is one of the ones that is accessible to the public and hence why I could get a shot like this. I remember it fondly.
Uluru again, but from a different location. I'm not sure where I took this photo, but it was probably from within the National Park, as the resort town where we all lived was a bit too far away to have this kind of view unless you had access to a spot on private land the resort company had cleverly captured.
And this is probably my favourite photo of the lot.It feels deeply familiar to me. I must have had it up on my wall or as one of the very first photos inside the envelope where all these physical photos lived. It shows the unexpected variety of colours that can be found in the Australian desert. From the reds to the pinks, the beige to the browns, the dull to the dark green, with an almost always present blue sky hiding behind everything.This part of Australia left a deep mark on my heart. I will love it always.
Thanks go to Brad (
Hive account@new.things) for encouraging me to dig out these old photos, and to Wikipedia for reminding me of some of the details I used to teach on my tour bus and have since long forgotten.
Have you been to Uluru? I would love to know =) Tell me in the comments!
View this post on TravelFeed for the best experience.
