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| Ayers Rock (as if you hadn't guessed) |
Back on the Ghan at 1245hrs and off to The Alice. No major hassle and I survived the irritating baggage routine without getting cross. Same routine as before in reverse with rather strident announcements concerning the rules and regulations delivered by a lady called Shereee ( at least that is how it was pronounced ). I find it tiresome to be continually referred to as a 'guest' on this train. The Great Southern Railways authorities must think that it sounds more friendly for their passengers to be called 'guests'. The authorities at Colditz may have done the same.
We arrived in Alice at about 1245hrs the next day. I was booked into the Alice YHA and it was not a bad place at all. Spent the afternoon wandering around the town doing a bit of shopping because I had booked onto a trip into the 'outback' the next day for a 3 day 2 night expedition. I thought it wise to stock up with extra rations, just as we did before going on some military 'exercise' in the army. It brought back memories.
I passed this innocuous looking building ( left ), but was interested to read the sign......
....which, of course, you can read for yourselves ( right; click on photo to enlarge ). I thought it amusing that the only thing Prince Charles was noted for here was catching food poisoning. Poor chap. I sense a distinct bias towards Diana, Princess of Wales.
Again, as per Darwin, lots of Aborigines sitting around in groups, but none ( that I saw ) working in any of the shops, bars, garages etc. Some of the older and infirm were driving very upmarket invalid carriages.
A prompt start the next day at 0550hrs. There were 13 of us in our bus ( left ) driven and guided by Mark who originally came from Kent. He had spent his life doing adventurous things in Scotland, South Africa and many other places and had been doing these Aussie tours for a few years. He was extremely knowledgeable about this area in all respects and most infectiously enthusiastic about the place, it's flora, fauna and culture. He was also carrying a broken wrist which was heavily strapped up! A hardy man.
We were to cover over 1500kms of road travel in the next three days; quite a marathon. The initial stop was at Kings Canyon, about 300kms west of Alice. This visit started with a hike up a vertiginous cliff called Heart Attack Hill, and was bloody knackering! We were told that this was to be the most energetic part of the walking bits. I was overtaken by a couple of rather overweight girl students from, respectively, Wrexham and Kettering.
Once at the highest spot, the worst was over; sort of. It was the start of a 4 mile hike.
Right: this is a gap between two pinnacles called 'Priscilla's Crack', which featured, we were told, in the film 'Priscilla of the Desert'. Who am I to argue.
Left: Another bit of Kings Canyon; the 'something or other' pool ( forgotten ). Quite dramatic drops from these ledges. A bunch of schoolchildren were swimming in this, and it hadn't rained for ages and the water was probably stagnant.
You may know already, but the reason all the soil and rock in this part of the world is a bright terracotta/red ocre colour is because it is full of iron ore dust, blown across the country over the millenia from the iron rich western deserts. On exposure to air the iron ore dust oxidises and becomes, effectively, rust. This country is covered in rust.
Right: Our indefatigable guide/driver, Mark, who not only displayed excellent geological knowledge, and I won't bore you with all the details about sedimentary sandstone rock formations, but had an enyclopaedic knowledge of the local flora and fauna, a good understanding of and sympathetic interest in the Aboriginal culture, great confidence and patience in leading a bunch of students/old gits up dodgy mountain terrain, a terrific sense of humour and, obviously, a good head for heights. He is standing with his back to a big drop.
Left: A bus we passed, long ago abandoned by some previous 'Red Centre Rock' tour. Either that or a London bus driver took the wrong at Lewisham. There was lots of long distance driving through some monotonous countryside. To keep us 'amused' ( awful ) we were invited to play games as we rattled along, but first we were handed the microphone and asked to describe ourselves to the others with some leading questions supplied. I decided to elaborate a bit and I'm sure, unless they were entirely gullible, that they did not believe a word I said.
I was expecting some of the desert countryside to resemble this ( left ), but it didn't. We were continually reminded to take lots of water with us. As it happened, the first day and night were cloudy with some drizzle ( and worse ). After Kings Canyon we had a stop at a place called Curtain Springs, the main aim here was to purchase enough beer to last us for the two nights' camping. A lot was bought. We also had to stop somewhere to rip fire charred trees to bits to get wood for the camp fire. This was extremely strenuous work and involved splinters, and getting very black from the charcoal covered wood. Thirsty work; lucky we had the beer.
Right: Also at Curtain Springs ( or it may have been elsewhere ) this brings back memories "... Ah, don't go acting the fool, Curl, just keep me cockatoo cool!" ( for the Rolf Harris fans ).
We drove on, in the dark, to a campsite seemingly in the middle of nowhere and with no facilities other than a cleared sandy patch, a rustic corrugated iron shelter and with some rocks around a space for the fire, but presumably convenient for tomorrow's escapades. Just like a place for the Squadron 'Jurgah'.
I didn't worry too much about snakes and scorpions etc.
Left: A jolly evening around the campfire and some excellent 'tucker' was prepared by Mark and his sidekick, a learner guide, Troy. Chilli Con Carni from what I remember. After much carousing and beer we all went to our 'swags'. A 'swag' is a 'slightly' waterproof canvas roll-up covering with a built in foam mattress into which you insert your sleeping bag. In the British army we knew these things as 'officers' valises'. I very gallantly offered to spread mine outside by the fire to allow the others a peaceful night away from my possible porcine snoring , and they went off to the rustic iron overhead shelter about 50 yds away. It was sometime during the night that the storm broke. All I remember was receiving a severe drenching plus crashing thunder and vivid lightening. I staggered around generally towards the shelter through mud and rain and stygian darkness dragging my sodden swag behind me. I could only see anything when there was a bolt of lightening! I aimed, by dead reckoning, for the shelter and realised I was there by the noise one makes when stepping on sleeping student's faces and feet. My arrival did not go unnoticed, and it was difficult to find a free space under cover. I collapsed somewhere and managed to get some sleep, albeit soaking wet. This episode did not go unremarked upon after 'reveille' at 0530hrs the next morning. I had indeed been warned that it might rain. Sorreeee!
The next morning it was to Kata Tjuta. May I take this opportunity to explain that this neck of the desert was 'given back' to the 'Aboriginal Nation' in a gesture of conciliation by the Oz government in 1985. Thus, overnight, Ayers Rock became known, officially, as Uluru; the Olgas became known as Kata Tjuta and Kings Canyon became known as Kings Canyon. This ( right ) is part of Kata Tjuta, the Valley of the Winds. For us 'swaggers' it was another 4 mile hike. In the summer months this place gets unbearably hot ( up to 46 degrees c ).
Left: The other three 'less' youthful group of us 'swaggers' ( and the guy on the right was not with us, he just joined in for the photo ) standing in the Valley of the Winds between two Olgas. There are about 35 of these tall red sandstone lumps in the area. It was explained exactly how they came about. Look it up if you are interested.
That evening we went to get view of 'Uluru' at sunset, at the official 'sunset viewing point'. Us plus about 500 other tourists. The very smart and expensive ( 1 day, comfortable bus, no swags ) tours were being treated to champagne and canapés. We were still working our way through the beer supply.
Lots of photos were taken...so I should show them.
Left: These were some of the champagne quaffing crowd. I may have mentioned; this rock, Uluru, was 'discovered' for the Brits by the explorer William Gosse in 1873. He named it after the financier/politician Sir Henry Ayers who had sponsored him on his expedition to the centre of the country.
Right: Yet another view. Uluru, as well as every other site of geological significance is, apparently, viewed by the Abos as sacred and spiritual. It was carefully explained to us that the Aborigines, having no written language, pass on all their laws, skills and customs by a form of story-telling from legend known as 'tjukurpa'. If you ask them a question of why, or what, the answer is often just 'tjukurpa'. They keep most explanations of this secret ( from the whitefella anyway ). Most aboriginal words and names seem to start with the letters 'tju' for some reason.
So many pics were taken of 'Uluru', because that is really what everybody wanted to see. This ( left ) is a pic of our team of intrepid explorers. OK, that's enough of the big view of the Rock.
We had supper there, and then went to another campsite. Due to all the rain the previous night the Park Authorities had put a ban on all campfires. ( don't ask why ). We went to a semi built-up site with electricity, running water, showers, loos etc, but still slept in the swags. No more rain thankfully. Indeed the weather had turned hot and dry.
The next day we started before dawn with a drive to the official 'Uluru at sunrise viewing point'. I won't dare show you another view of the whole rock with the sun coming up behind and changing it's colour. Most dramatic though it was. We then visited the Uluru Cultural Centre and shop. It was interesting to note ( to me anyway ) that for the whole time we were there, passing through the National Park check-points ( $25 please ), the museum, the Culture Centre, the cafe and the rock itself, there was no sign of any Aborigines. I asked Mark why this was. He said it is because they are not that interested. I found that strange considering we were continually reminded that this is one of their most 'sacred' sites.
We set off on another close-in walk around the rock. It's 5 miles all the way round. There are many holes and caves ( all very sacred ) in the rock and lots of strange Aboriginal 'legends' and stories concerning them involving monsters, mythical snakes and fearful nightmarish stories. These holes were created over hundreds of thousands of years by the hard outer core of the rock eroding away and exposing the softer inner sandstone to the elements.
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Left: Another curious bit of erosion on the rock. This had a name, but I've forgotten it.
There is a wire rope strung up the eastern end of the rock to assist climbers in getting to the top. If you fall on this ( not difficult ) ascent there is otherwise nothing to grasp hold of and you would slide all the way down a steep incline, and the rock, acting like course sand-paper, would rip you to shreds before you got to the bottom. I had absolutely no desire to climb up it. On the other hand, Aboriginal 'sensitivities' strongly discourage people from climbing up their sacred rock. I asked why they just don't ban it altogether, even on the perfectly justifiable grounds of track erosion and other damage. I suspect tourists and money come into the equation somewhere along the line here.
On the long hot drive home to Alice we stopped at a few places like this ( left ), Lake Amadeus. This is a dry salt lake ( excuse bad pic ). Just hundreds of miles of dry salt, with the occasional rain to make it a bit soggy.
In the distance ( right ) Mount Connor. This has some strange and 'evil' Aboriginal connotation. Something to do with graves of ancestors, and as such tours, in general, are forbidden. Unless of course they are prepared to pay $350 for a single 4x4 vehicle excursion.
.......and a camel farm. No ordinary camel farm however; this is a racing camel farm. There are several prestigious camel races around the Alice area and the owner/trainer of this establishment has had more than his fair share of wins. His trophy cabinet was bulging.
Technically speaking these animals are dromedaries ( one hump not two, vicar ).
Mark told us that he got the ride on one of these animals once in a 1000 metre race, and won!
Right: Being led in after a short piece of 'work'. I said I might make myself available for the Spring Meeting next year.
So back to The Alice, and all in one piece. I don't envy these tour operators. The scope for disaster amongst some pretty ignorant tourists out in the middle of nowhere in often quite harsh conditions is quite significant. I think I fall well and truly into that category.
We finished off our 'tour' with supper at a restaurant in Alice. Kangaroo steaks all round. And I have still not seen a pesky kangaroo.
Off back on the Ghan to Adelaide tomorrow. Looking forward to the RWC quarter finals to be watched at the multi-national YHA over the weekend.
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