Spending time in the bush, as the Aussies call the Outback, is something I had always fantasized about. Again, it was something my grandmother used to talk to me about when I was a young boy. I was particularly fascinated by the Aboriginal peoples in the books my grandmother showed me and I wondered aloud to her why black people in Indiana, my childhood home, did not live like that. I don’t really remember how she answered that one, except, of course, to laugh at my precociousness. It was not until much later at school that we learned about Australia and her indigenous people – of course from the white man’s perspective. Cast as savages in these books, some of that early indoctrination still lingered, although logically now, I knew better. I had questions relating to blood drinking, spiritual beliefs, dream time, and the like. Even before my interaction with some of the indigenous Aboriginal people, I still firmly believed that Western people completely missed the opportunity to learn from and learn with indigenous people whenever and wherever they have invaded and conquered (this opinion is now firmly cemented). In the case of the Aboriginal people of Australia, it is not outside the realm of possibility that various groups (8 major classifications I believe) of indigenous people whom have survived as long as 80,000 years in the harshest of climates, may actually know a thing or two about their land. And, the customs, traditions, culture, and norms may actually be something to value and learn from instead of ignored and tossed in favor of those things associated with the dominant military might.
With my left-leaning pondering aside, and filled with a great deal of trepidation, I could hardly wait for the experience. I landed in Alice Springs – in the center of Australia – without a hotel, but pre-registered with much anticipation. The flight from Bris transpired smoothly, I dozed a little on the plane, tired from my travels with Simon. Exactly like I had been warned, the heat and humidity greeted me warmly in Alice Springs. It was very similar to landing in Phoenix, Arizona in the middle of summer. While waiting for baggage, I noticed a mass of younger people heading over to the hostel greeters who were standing around, waiting to find all their guests. I chatted with a couple of the greeters, and then selected the place closest to the center of town. I jumped into the transit van provided by the hostel called Haven, and soon we were on the road. The drive into Alice Springs provided a small window into this place – certainly not prosperous and metropolitan like Sydney or Melbourne, nor beachy and touristy like Bris or the Gold Coast. No, Alice Springs immediately presented itself in a similar fashion to a small, dying manufacturing town somewhere in the Midwest of the United States. The obvious difference here, unlike other parts of Australia that I had seen, was that dozens of Aboriginal people were peppered throughout the landscape – literally sprinkled randomly around the place, under trees and squatting, as if taking a break under the shade, waiting out the heat of the day. They wore oddly mix-matched western clothing that appeared to be ill-fitting. Trash blew freely with the wind, giving the dusty environment something to toss as the dry air tore across the flat landscape. The driver pulled through the gate and into the parking lot of the hostel, exposing a modest looking structure whose facade appeared as if it had also been beaten by the elements and never healed. A nasty pool sat to the left of the structure and some brave German women tourists sunbathed in the heat. The woman who greeted me upon arrival wore a cheery expression and she immediately booked me into one of the dorm rooms for $22 Aussie bucks – a wonderful deal considering the cost of hotels, food, and activities thus far during my travels. My room, number 19, contained 10 beds bunked style. I grabbed one of the lower beds since I was first to enter. By this time, late afternoon had come and I was eager to wander about town and get a better view of life in central Australia.
Armed with my required list of supplies for my time in the bush – sunscreen, bug repellent, wide-brimmed hat, fly net to go around my face, 1.5 liter water bottle, hiking shoes, and a towel – I headed into the city center (barely an accurate term for this place). The heat of the day beat down on me, making the 8 minute walk I took with a Dutch kid heading the same way, nearly unbearable. I found a few shops straight away that catered to bush visitors, but opted to look at all the shops before making a purchase for supplies (I hate being the tourist who gets ripped off by not surveying the situation first). While walking, I encountered many more Aboriginal people (later, I was to learn that Aboriginal is a bit of a misnomer. It is like saying American Indian – a generic term that ignores various descriptive groups like Cherokee, Navajo, etc.). Sadness could be seen in many of their eyes. These were not the proud people in the pictures I saw in those books years ago –with paint markings and feathers as important ritualistic adornments (and obviously no Western clothing). These were faces of unspoken loss, perhaps confusion? I picked up on something amiss. Considering myself something of an intuitive, empathetic person, my mood immediately darkened. The spiritual energy was low here, damaged somehow? It reminded me a little of being in some of the economically depressed areas of the US where life for people of color and newly arrived immigrants is tough and unwelcoming. It also reminded me of the melancholy I felt trying to fit in to the larger society back home in Fort Wayne, Indiana when my mother, sister, and I lived in a government-subsidized housing project on the south side of town. I knew I did not fit for some reason. I felt others knew it. At school, I was teased for being poor and not having the right clothes, toys, lunch. I tried hard to be one of them; to succeed in a place where rules, norms, and the general understanding or outlook on the world were foreign to me. I tried to ignore this aspect of the place, and then pushed onward to complete my chosen task.
Eventually, I ended up back at one of the first shops that carried supplies. It was probably the best, most authentic and non-touristy places to gain the needed equipment. I chose not to buy hiking boots as per the recommendation by many of the kids at the hostel who had just arrived back from the bush. I did however procure all the other items on my list. The sun block and a proper metal water bottle were the most essential items according to the young people returning from their own bush adventures.
I spend a quiet night writing and doing emails – being sure to get to bed early for the 6 AM pick-up that would come all too soon the next morning. Surprisingly, I slept extremely well with the other 10 kids in my room. All of us, minus one, were getting up at roughly the same time for pick-ups by the various tours we had pre-arranged. It was nice chatting, all of us excited and curious for an adventure. Way before sunrise, I grabbed a quick cup of instant coffee and some toast, luxuriously provided by the hostel, then headed out to the lot for my pick-up. About ten past 6, my tour guide arrived. I noticed the name on the truck as it pulled up and greeted him half-way. I shocked him by screaming with my arms raised as he approached. Inside, I was thinking that that this tall, lanky Aussie with long blond dread-locks coming at me at 6 AM was a little surprising as well. Happily, the uniqueness of my guide’s appearance proved to be a harbinger of the odd and fruitful experiences which were to unravel. At least that is what I told myself as I smiled widely and gained my seat on the vehicle that resembled some kind of bus/truck/4-wheel-off road jeep type hybrid.
As with many adventures I endeavor to take, I fail to do research and instead opt to just let it happen. This trip shocked me immediately because I did not realize that the first six hours would be spent driving. In spite of the vivid landscapes that were to come before my eyes, I just knew that I would be asleep instantly in the front seat of a moving vehicle (trains, buses, cars, planes, boats – it matters not. Once the hum of the motor starts, my mind shuts off and takes me to a sleepy place). The land mass of the United States can be put inside that of Australia, so I am not sure why I was surprised that it would take us hours and hours to get further into the bush (outback) from Alice Springs. I was the last pick-up of our small tour – 14 people in total. Steve, our golden dreadlocks tour guide, asked if anyone wanted to sit up front with him. I jumped up too quickly for anyone else to finish their consideration of the opportunity. In this situation, my eagerness (or selfishness) or instinct was immediate, and I gained this prime travel seat for the duration of the five day sojourn. Talk about being up front and personal with the experience, this front seat position allowed me to ask questions when they came to me, to see animals and sights freely, and to feel overall more in control of the ride (verses being a passenger in the back of the bus so-to-speak). The downside was that I missed the bonding time with the group as the days progressed – that would have been nice too.
We stopped mid-way to grab a cold drink at a Camel ranch – yes, where I enjoyed eating a camel burger (my first) while actually playing with the camels at the same time (I have a picture of it as proof). Now, before the judgment starts, I will offer a little history. Australia has a problem with over a million wild camels running freely in the Outback. They are aggressive feeders on the delicate bush, breaking trees and injuring the wildlife. The damage they have caused is really hurting indigenous species of plants, shrubs, and tress. Back during the early days settling the central part of Australia and during the establishment of the telegraph line, camels (and Afghan camel handlers) were imported to do the hard work. Everything that was moved and needed during this period was arduously done by camels – including hauling full-scale cast-iron stoves (more than 1000 lbs) from the port towns to the central part of Australia in the settlement areas. What at the time appeared like a very smart idea since camels were extremely strong, needed little water (unlike horses), and were much more capable of dealing with the sands of a desert, has turned into a big problem. Once the railway was established, the camels became, well, worthless to the settlers since the new trains did all the work the camels had once accomplished. Thus, the early settlers simply released them into the bush – set them free into the wild (into a land that was not their own). This turned out to be a terrible decision. As we fast forward a hundred or so odd years, the camels have done a great job adjusting to their new home, proliferating like proverbial bunnies. Now, there are various Governmental and environmentalist programs to deal with (read eradicate) this scourge on the Outback.
Some modern entrepreneurs (I being one of them) see the potential here. Basically, anyone can go into the bush and collect as many camels as desired (take them as one’s own) without consequence. Millions and millions of pounds of free meat that could be fed (pun intended) into the marketplace (can anyone say China) where quality, lean red meat is in short supply. The work has just begun creating a market (demand) for camel meat, but I smell opportunity. When maintained properly, camel are less harmful to the environment than the cattle (Australia is well-known for their beef) ranches that dominate the outback. With all that said, I quite liked the burger.
At our next stop, the last place to buy alcohol, most of us freaked out, fearful at the thought of not having booze, and happily paid the excessive prices they were charging so that we would have beer and wine around our camp fires over the next five nights. Since half of the group was poor kids, I bought a case of Aussie beer ($70). It pained me to do so since I don’t even like beer and could buy it back home for probably $20 for cheap beer. Our guide called the extortion a more neutral term – the Outback tax.
After five or six excruciating hours of travel (and I was riding in front remember), we finally neared Uluru (U-lou-u), more famously named Ayer’s Rock by the white men involved in “finding” it. Any Google search for tourist sites in Australia will probably pull up this place which has been photographed and featured in probably thousands of various media forms. It is basically a giant sandstone chunk of rock that has been pushed to the surface by a giant geological shifting of plates deep beneath the surface of the planet. Uluru is unique in that it is deeply ironized (offering a brilliantly amazing red color) and it rose from the earth almost vertically, instead of horizontally. Thus, the lines of rock can be seen at about 89 degrees (verses the horizontal lines most often seen in various other rock formations, mountains, and the like). To say the thing is massive and beautiful is probably an insult of simplicity. It is also a place of great spiritual and cultural importance to the local people, who, even after the land hand-back allow visitors to one of their most sacred sites. Years ago, the white man began climbing “the rock,” although now doing so is seen by most as a major affront to the local people and their customs. Climbing the rock by the local indigenous males is a highly ritualized practice (relating to the transitioning, or rite of passage, of boys to men) in their culture. Luckily, the weather was too hot during our time there for us to even consider the climb (it is outlawed during periods of extreme heat since people have died doing it). Part of the land hand-back agreement allows for the climb to stay open even though it is an insult to the local people and their customs.
Around 1989, I believe, most of the indigenous land was given back (by the Australian Government) to the original owners (the various groups of indigenous people whose people had occupied the land from time eternal) from the mostly white owners who had, by western standards, “owned” the land from as long at 100 or so years ago when the central part of Australia was beginning to be developed as part of the telegraph system which ran from South Australia to the North by Darwin. So, now, many of the sites that have become famous tourist sites due to their beauty are now managed jointly and “owned” by the locals. The locals, however, do not own the land individually. The Western understanding of owning land is foreign to them. They consider themselves group custodians of the land, the current managers who will pass the land to those in their group who follow them into this world as they pass into another. Something about this outlook really pleases me. The land caretaker mentality ensures that they do no harm to future generations of people, plant and other animal life.
We walked around Uluru with our guide; he showed us some of the culturally sensitive and sacred spots. After the first section of the tour, he then told us we could take the longer walk ourselves around the north side (if I remember that correctly). I raced ahead, not because I am anti-social, but because I like to experience spiritual places by myself, alone – free to hear, see, or feel the forces beyond our understood and accepted three dimensions. I made a great call, as the rest of the group seemed to mingle together and walk in unison. I keep a quick pace, but tempered it with stops when I “felt” things of significance. Part of the teachings of the Aboriginal owners of the land is that we “Listen” to the place. I took that to mean more than just listening with my ears (as I am certain that is how they meant to listen). Thus, throughout my walk of solitude, I did listen and hear many wonderful things with all my senses. It was a two hour or so sojourn though the bush around a highly spiritually charged site. It was bliss!
As it was now nearing sunset and the team had regrouped at the vehicle. Steve, our golden dreadlock guide, told us we needed to hurry so that we could have a nice sunset on a hill a few miles away which over-looked Urulu. We jumped aboard and buckled up. He drove that truck like a true race car enthusiasm, the only concern being that it was a large 4-wheel drive vehicle and not a race car on a smooth, manicured track. I earned what were to be many, many white knuckles as he drove throughout our journey in the bush. At the hill, other tour groups had gathered much earlier than we, since they had tables set and were already dining, chatting, and milling about like ladies at a Sunday tea. True to form, Steve jumped out, began off-loading supplies, and then instructed each of us to grab what we could and run up the hill before the sun fell. I loved his style already. As fate would have it, we all managed to get up the hill, unpack our gear and food, and even uncork our Champagne before the absolute showcase of sunsets transpired across the open outback sky. Urulu radiated an even more intense shade of bright red as the sun, now at its level in the sky, blasted rays from the West across thousands of miles of land mass onto the massive facade of this red beast that proudly dominates the Eastern horizon. I was torn, like most of the group, by the beauty of the actual sunset to the West and the magical show the sun was causing on the rock to the East. My head ping-ponged back and forth, right to left. I imbibed the Champagne with glee. The cheese and crackers melted nicely in my mouth. All my senses fired, overjoyed by the magnificence of this moment. Quickly, the show ended, as true dusk took over the sky. We socialized as a group as our guide – whom we learned is quite the photography enthusiast – took some terrific photos of many of us against the back drop of the rock and the competing beauty of the sun-setting sky. This was going to be a very memorable trip.
We arrived at our campsite under the darkness of an extremely black night. The clouds had moved in, cutting off the light of the moon as well as the stars. The site of our first camp was just outside of Urulu, and from the business of the place, it appeared to be the first night’s lodging for just about every other tour company as well. Steve gave us the quick once over – offering us the lay of the land. Showers and toilets down the path. To find our site, he offered that we were to head back away from the toilets and make a left turn at the green trash bin on the side of the road. He also instructed us not to walk through the bush (the trees, bushes and grass) as it is delicate to man’s footprint. Being the first night – and considering we were all city folk – most of us made our way to the toilets and showers. Some, like me, stayed and helped prepare the meal first, and then headed off to wash off the red dust and freshen ourselves from the long day. If I had known that that night’s shower was to be my last for the next five days, I probably would have scrubbed a little harder.
Upon my return to the site from the showers, the food on the open fire was offering a lovely and fragrant symphony of aromas. The Kangaroo meat mixed with onion and garlic combined to give us a brilliant, albeit foreign, offering for most of our noses. The vegetable stew also added a nice contrast of aromas. This night, I spent more time as an observer. I helped with preparation and clean-up, but attempted to hold back my personality for fear of being the over-bearing American stereotype (which I guess I was to become anyway as the days un-winded). Our meal was white rice, Roo stew (as in Kangaroo), and curried vegetable stew, which we were to mix up on our own as we had a vegetarian with us. Throughout the trip we needed to keep the meat and veggies away from each other so that everyone had something to eat.
After dinner, although still relatively early, Steve began pulling out the swags (Aussie bedroll thing similar to a sleeping bag, but much more durable – made of canvass with 3 inch think foam at the bottom to serve as a cushion on the earth). The sky decided to spit on us a little, and despite Steve’s statement that he would sleep under the stars anyway, the group sort of rebelled. He begrudgingly pulled out a large canvass to enclose the very small tin-roof covered area where we had enjoyed our dinner so that we could put our swags under it. As I assisted with this canvass room enclosure project, the sky opened up even more, sending heavier rain down upon us. One of the Canadian girls was off doing something else while the rest of us found a spot for our swags. When she returned, she threw a slight fit about not having a place to sleep. I found the outburst – full of F-bombs – overly dramatic, but I kept my opinion to myself. I pushed my swag, and those of two others, closer together to make a space for her. It was a gesture of kindness yes, but mostly I wanted to calm her nerves and screaming. At this point nearly half the group had already fallen asleep due to our 4:30 AM wake-up call Steve had set at during our dinner conversation. The last thing we needed was someone melting down so early in the trip.
Some rustling noises stirred me from my slumber around 4 AM or so. I looked behind me to find Steve stoking the campfire, his golden dreads flying around as he moved quickly to smother the still red fuel from the previous night’s meal preparation. Surprisingly, I jumped up and folded my swag without hesitation, feeling the anticipation of the day. Others stirred as well, and soon, and we were packing up the site and cleaning our footprint on the place. Considering the hard rain we got, I was surprised to find the sand relatively dry, and learned from Steve that the sandy part of the Outback easily sucks the water deep into the ground after unsubstantial rains. We drove in the dark until we reached our destination, and it seemed to me like the sun had already risen. There was a lot of light above us, and to no avail, I looked around to find the center of our known universe. Steve reassured me that this is how the morning sky looks just before sunrise. Just like at sunset, the change is gradual (just like the sky after the sun sinks, it takes time to go to black). We carried our supplies up the path and onto a viewing platform. Maybe a dozen other tourists had endeavored to see the sun rise as well, and were already ahead of us. Once on the platform, unlike the other tourists, we prepared our morning breaky – boiled water for the French press coffee, broke out the cereal bowls and muesli, got the milk and OJ flowing. At this point, we were looking at Kata Tjuta, another formation of rock that formed at the same time as Uluru (and geologists believe is part of the same layer of sandstone that pushed up when Uluru did so). I found this formation equally, if not more break-taking. It was at least twice or three times as wide as and much taller into the sky than Uluru. But, for some reason, this place has never earned the fame as her famous sister Uluru. On this morning, the group was beginning to bond more, learning names, chatting about home countries, teasing each other, and generally enjoying the time, space, and journey as one unit.
Later we hiked around Kata Tjuta, through the Valley of the Winds Walk and other areas. Most of our group mentioned that we enjoyed this hike better because unlike Uluru, we were able to get up close and personal with this formation (meaning we actually got on it and through it). The hike was moderate by my standards although lesser fit and older, less stable climbers might find it difficult at times. Our group at this point – an older English couple, an older single German woman, a young German couple, two young Canadian men, a young French woman, a young Swiss woman, a young German woman, an older German man, myself, and Steve, our guide – all did fine. Except for the fact that I had 5 cups of coffee at sunrise which later came back to haunt me during the hike (no toilets at this site), the morning unfolded like a naturalist’s dream – beautiful sights, animals, plants, history, artifacts of sorts, weather changes, brilliant landscapes – nature at its best! This hike, like the one at Uluru from start to finish, took about 3.5-4 hours in total. Basically, I was beginning to see the pattern of our tour – get up early to do a nature hike/walk until lunch time, eat lunch, travel to next destination during the heat of the afternoon, set up camp, prepare dinner, clean up after dinner, socialize with the group over beer/wine, prepare the sleeping arrangement, go to bed, and then repeat the next day. It was like a real camping adventure (the ones I always imagined, but never seemed to do growing up in Indiana for some reason).
The second night, we camped far into the bush at another camel ranch property with a make-shift shower and toilet – no doors, three sides wrapped in tin roofing material. There was also a small enclosure, this too, covered with tin roofing sheets. It did have running water, a make-shift kitchen/preparation area, and three semi-secured walls. Basically, it was a four posted tin shack which partially enclosed a 15 foot by 10 foot area of sandy dirt. Preparation for dinner that night began immediately, cutting and dicing veggies went to the Germans mostly. My task was to start the camp fire. I think I did a decent job, and others assisted as well. We got the thing blazing and I was proud of our effort. Later, I somehow volunteered myself for chicken preparation (what a boring meat at this point, right?). The stuff was still half frozen and the camping knives sucked, but I had fun with my task. I enjoyed my beer and the young German woman (part of the couple previously mentioned) assisted. After the chicken was sliced and diced, Steve mixed it up with some spices and on the campfire it went. The veggie curry stew concoction had previously been cooking. We all devoured the food, hungry form our day’s hike in the bush and through the mountains.
Earlier that day at a gas stop, I purchased the raw materials for “So-Mores” – the pink and white Aussie marsh-mellows (the only kind they have here) and chocolate chip cookies (since they don’t have graham-crackers). I opted against buying chocolate since the cookies already had them, but Alan, the young Canadian guy, bought a bar just in case (this proved to be an excellent decision). This American/Canadian camping treat would surely please our international friends in the group. True to expectations, the Germans and French had never heard of this delicacy, so that made it all the more fun – breaking virgin moments for other travelers through life gives me the feeling a parent might experience when they introduce their young children to life’s simple pleasures for the first time. I have to say, the fire burned the marsh-mellow during my first few attempts, but I managed to get the hang of it. By the end, I had prepared about 15 or so pieces and everyone at least tried the treat. They were a little too sweet, but the basic result was similar to the taste back in the States.
The night sky appeared clear. We eagerly unrolled our swags randomly throughout the campsite. I opted to stay somewhat close to the fire; others went deep into the bush for privacy. We enjoyed about two hours of sleep before the thunder started, waking several of us from sleep. Within minutes, the rain started. Unlike the comparative drizzle from the night before, this was rain, real rain. I jumped my ass up so quickly form the swag that I forgot to grab my baseball cap and socks that I had laid out next to me. Since I was so far from the shelter, the others had begun bottle-necking at the entrance, so I walked around the structure to the kitchen entrance. While they all fought for space on the softness of the sand, I made my bed under the make-shift sink on the slab of concrete (read hard, hard surface) by where I had previously cut chicken. Turns out, I was pretty savvy. While the others got soft sand by waiting in line to get into the structure, they also got wet. I stayed relatively dry, but ended up sleeping on concrete. Given choices, I think I did okay. I don’t like to be wet and certainly not while I am sleeping. Wetting the bed for ten years sort ruined me in that regard. Around 2 AM, I awoke with a raging urge to urinate (probably from drinking four beers when I rarely ever drink beer). I made my way in the dark to the bush, not bothering to walk all the way to the toilet. Whilst peeing, I looked up to find the most spectacular sky since my time in New Zealand. Although not quite as immediate and accessible a sky as the one at Cape Regina, this one was close and managed to draw another few tears from my appreciative eyes. Brandon, another one of the young Canadian guys, scared the hell out of me when he wandered into me in the middle of my moment. He too was out marveling at the wonder of the night sky’s performance. After a few minutes, it occurred to me that the rain had stopped. I reached into the red sand to find it barely damp. Perfect, I thought, then quickly grabbed my swag and pulled in out of the shelter and into the bush where I climbed inside and watched the splendor of the night above me. I tried my best to watch the show, but like falling asleep to Letterman, it sometimes just happens when the good guest finally comes out.
Morning preparations woke me again. This time I found Steve boiling a large pot of water for the coffee and tea. He had almost finished putting out breaky at this point. I dressed myself and headed over to him. We chatted and I enjoyed some coffee. All the others took forever to come over to eat breakfast, which I could tell annoyed our guide. I took it upon myself to assist with making another pot of French-pressed coffee for everyone while Steve did something else. I poured grinds into the container, and then made my way to the fire for the boiling water. Once back at the table, I shoved the plunger into the black water, sending a wave of hot water and coffee grinds up and out with much pressure. Most of it went on me, and a little ended up on the table. Later, after we were cleaning up and the sun had lighted the morning sky, Tammy, the young Canadian woman who had melted down the night prior, went to put on her only fresh pair of shorts only to find that the coffee grounds/hot water that I had sent flying into the air actually flew all the way over to her shorts – that she had nicely laid out that morning – landing squarely on them. It looked like a kangaroo had shit on them, which is probably what she thought when she noticed. She grabbed them, began with the F-bombs again, ranting about the mess on her shorts. As I write this I am laughing aloud remembering it. I didn’t dare confess, even though I was and am fairly certain that I had caused the situation, unless of course, someone had deliberately poured a cup of Joe on them. This time, most of us just left her alone to rant and rave, until she calmed down and just wiped the mess off her shorts. I did feel bad about it, but it was an accident. If you are reading this Tammy, I am sorry.
Our hike on day three, King’s Canyon outperformed the previous two, each of us claiming that the hikes were only getting better day to day. There is a lot of indigenous history and white man history here, but suffice it to say, this place is now run by the national park service as too many indigenous groups are claiming rights to this land. The hike up King’s Canyon was a rigorous for me. By day three, my knees (having had surgery already on one) were sore and the steep first part of the hike was true to its name, something like Heart-attack Hill. Still, I was the first one up, passing all the young people and fighting for the top spot with the young Canadian kid, Alan. At the top, he and I waited for the rest of them. He took pictures. I just marveled at the view. It certainly instigated perspiration making it up this mountain side, and when the others reached us we took a break to take it all in. The vastness of the Outback could easily be seen from here. Open space everywhere the eyes could see. Beautiful country indeed.
Along the way, Steve informed us that this is where a lot of the filming for “The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” took place after they could not secure filming rights to do so at Uluru. He took us to a place the locals fondly call, “Priscilla’s Crack” – an opening in the gorge where I believe the drag queens in the movie sauntered through in full blown drag regalia. I cracked up as he talked about the movie as I was the only one to have seen it. I promptly took off my shirt and posed for a picture – naked and dead center in Priscilla’s Crack. This made the Germans laugh, probably at me, not with me, but I did not really care. I was just happy to be standing in such an iconic site to a movie that I so enjoyed; the movie spoke to me years ago when I was dealing with my own issues. That movie really made me smile and I was inspired by its message – strive to persevere in the face of adversity, fight to be your authentic self, and love yourself and others even when you don’t understand or approve.
When we made our way to the part of the gorge called “Garden of Eden,” our guide handed out apples to enjoy. He said something about making the original decision all over again. I didn’t listen to that, too amused by his obviously pre-planned situation. I did eagerly tear into the apple – give me knowledge any day of the week!
After the King’s Canyon adventure, we headed our resting spot for the third night, passing by a place called Gosse Bluff, a 140 million year old meteor crater. The site is now off limits to visitors as it is also a re-claimed sacred site of the local indigenous people. There is a dreamtime story about how the crater was created that loosely aligns itself with the modern, white man scientific explanation. According to legend, some early female ancestors in heaven were dancing happily when one of the women put down her baby on the Milky Way. The restless baby, upset at being ignored, then rolled off the basket and fell to the earth, causing this massive crater. As with all dreamtime stories, the lesson here is an easy one to grasp.
We made an unscheduled stop at Glen Ellen Gorge, where we swapped trucks as our gear box went out in our initial truck. We got a new one, named Possum – which made me chuckle thinking of how Dame Edna calls her audience possum during her shows. Guessing the name is uniquely Australian. It was at this stop that we bid farewell to those in our group that were only on the 3 day tour. We also gained two new passengers, an older French couple. The wife spoke no English at all.
After getting back on the road and driving for another hour or so, we found our camping site for the night. This place, even more remote than the last, would have no showers, no running water, and no toilets. Perfect, I thought. Finally we were going to really rough it. On the way to our river front camping site, our truck got stuck in the bog (sand). We all had to get out of the truck and push. We gathered some of our firewood to place under the tires for traction. The strong guys – me and the young German guy, named Ika, pushed at the truck since we were the perceived strongest of the group; the rest pushed at the trailer. Steve worried that we might be stuck here for hours. I quickly realized that this was part of the trip (a bonding task and memory they probably pre-plan too). I went along with it nonetheless. It took only one real attempt and we had the truck up and out of the blog in less than twenty minutes from start to finish. We all cheered and felt pretty accomplished. Whether it was a real or staged situation did not really matter. The thing was brilliant and similar to the exercises I used to do with students back when I did a lot of speaking, training, and team-building activities with student groups around the country.
This night, we received no rain. We all found perfect spots around the remote area. The clouds had recessed, opening up the night sky for all of us to witness the brilliance of the burning stars. The only thing different this night was that it grew incredibly cold. I woke mid-way through the night needing to pee again, and then quickly realized that I was too damn cold to get out of my swag. The pervious nights, even with the rain, were warm allowing us to sleep without the top canvass over us. Something in the weather pattern had turned dramatically overnight.
Eventually, I remembered that we also had sleeping bags on the truck so I ran in my underwear over to the bags and grabbed one quickly. Returning to my swag, I shoved the sleeping bag inside, and then quickly jumped inside, immediately warmed by the extra layer of insulation. In the morning, we all relived our “oh my God it was cold last night” stories. About half the group had done what I did; the others forgot about the bags and just soldiered through the cold night in their swags.
Day four we journeyed on to the Western MacDonnell Ranges, most notably the Ormiston Gorge. This place easily became my favorite hike. We started early like every day, making a quick pace up the mountain, then down the valley and into the Gorge. I marveled at the massive amounts of stunningly colored river rocks in the bed of the river – boulders that I spend hundreds of dollars on for my landscaping jobs – were everywhere here. I could hardly believe the beauty. Most of the others probably took little note of it, but to me the place screamed heavenly bliss – full of natural beauty everywhere I looked. The sides of the gorge held massive, brilliantly colored orange rocks (a different type of rock that had been pushed up from the center of the earth) which contrasted amazingly with the sediment river rocks which naturally occurred on the top layer of the earth. We climbed the gorge sides, took pictures, talked and chatted. This hike was a long one in comparison to the others, but none of us seemed to mind. Each of us took great pleasure at different parts, but all of us truly appreciated the site.
For lunch we stopped at Ellery Creek, a water hole where most of the group swam. I opted against swimming in the water this time, my stomach had been bothering me and I was bloated from days of inactive body regulations and simply felt too grumpy to get wet. The place was beautiful and on any other day, I probably would have been the first to jump inside the cool water. After lunch we traveled to our next camping site, only to discover that none of us, including our guide wanted to camp here. We did, however, stop to hike up to a peak on the mountain side where a very large round rock rested strangely alone as if placed there supernaturally. Not everyone could get up to the top, but those of us who did were amazed. It was quite possible one of the most naturally beautiful places I had ever seen. We stood atop this giant red beast and looked out into the openness of the Outback. Mountains and open spaces everywhere we glanced. It was just before sunset, so the colors and lighting offered more brilliant vistas than normal. We spent a good deal of time on this rock, taking pictures and teasing each other; the group had indeed bonded well.
Once off the rock, we drove over to the campground. It was at this point, that the campground inside the national park seemed too structured and soft for us hard-nosed bush campers. We all wanted something more extreme again, so we decided to go off tour and find another remote spot outside the national grounds, again on the side of the river where we could build our own fire (and not use the grills, toilets, showers, etc of the park). A group consensus to rough it more leased me deeply. We had truly grown during our time together in the bush.
At our last camp site for the tour, we all pretty much knew the drill. We started the fire and got meal preparations under way. Since the meal that evening was going to be a big omelet, I decided to cook up the pasta we had. Earlier at a stop, I purchased some red sauce that I augmented with a variety of vegetables and cheese. Steve seemed okay with me doing this as I said I just don’t like eggs. Turns out that my part of the meal became part of most everyone’s too. Honestly, I just wanted to cook a meal from start to finish on my own and I figured this was my one opportunity to cook it in the Outback. The pasta dish I created turned out amazing (modesty aside) and I found myself quite pleased that I made it happen on an open fire with no modern conveniences. That night we also celebrated Kristen’s birthday (she was the young German girl who was part of the couple with Ika). We sang Happy Birthday and shared cake and bottles of wine we bought for the occasion.
During the night we had some dingo encounters, but it was mostly a quiet one, each of us warmly snuggled up in our sleeping bags and swags, having learned our lesson from the previous night. I fell asleep by the camp fire while the youngest in the group stayed awake to drink wine and talk. Apparently, I snored that night and the youngsters laughed at it, but ignored it as the wind mostly concealed the noise. In the morning, I was the first to rise. I gathered some wood and started the morning fire for our hot water. Steve woke to find that I had already begun his typical morning task. I saw a slight smile as he noticed me, and then he headed out to the bush to do his business. Pippa and Rob, the lovely English couple on the tour pulled me aside for a little chat. We had talked on previous occasions during the trip and they wanted to tell me that I appeared to be a natural at this outback thing. They encouraged me to try to start something up like this trip back in the USA. I really liked the compliment and the thought of what they were suggesting. To be honest, I could see myself doing this kind of thing. Serendipity, as Pippa said, sometimes just offers us the next course we are supposed to take. They said they would be the first to join a tour that I started. I liked them a lot.
After our breaky ritual, we discovered a scorpion under one of the swags, but no one was bitten. We packed up quietly, each of us realizing that our time was no nearly over. We all found it hard not to move to the future end of something in our minds, especially when the journey had been so enjoyable.
The last hike, Palm Canyon was not too far away from our camp site, so we got there relatively early. We stopped off at the toilets before we began. This is where some excitement took place. The guys went into the men’s room and the women into theirs. While I was alone in my stall, I heard a scream, then a lot of commotion next door. Then, I heard some more screams and gasps. I quickly exited and ran over to the ladies room, where I found most of the group had already gathered. As I approached, asking what was happening, I saw it – a large python had crawled out of the toilet tank and into the bowl when Claire (the lovely young French woman) was using the toilet. Now, this is stuff of legends, so I thought, but here we were, watching a large snake crawl from the toilet pipes. At the time, I was holding a little frog that I had found in the men’s room, but no one took notice of my little friend as he was completely eclipsed by the much more dramatic creature.
After the snake excitement, we calmed down, left him alone in the toilet, and then made our way to the starting point for our next adventure. We took the long hike, without Steve even offering the short one at this point. After watching us during the trip, he knew we all would do the long, strenuous one. The gorge here has provided the only suitable place in the outback for native palm trees to grow and thrive. It was an odd sight to see palms growing in the desert. During our hike we encountered amazing wildlife, tracks of various creatures, and new flora. As we were rushed to make it to the very last part of the trip – a visit to an Aboriginal community where we would get a chance to get up close and personal with native people – we skipped lunch and instead had a series of snacks while we journeyed hundreds of more miles on bouncy dirt roads (I mean unpaved, uneven, rocky gravel, sand, dust roads).
Finally, after waiting for our Aboriginal guide at the community, Craig, our indigenous guide, showed up to take up on a quick tour and talk about his people. We followed him through his land and asked questions – many of the ones I had always wondered about since I was a kid. I learned many interesting things about how they endured over 45-80 thousand years here (it is debated about the length of time they have been in Australia). Mostly, I walked away more cemented in my belief that Western culture has ruined nearly ruined them. More and more indigenous people are finding their way back to their ancestral ways, but many were lured away from their traditional culture as part of massive assimilation programs over the years. As a response to the problems of the indigenous people (alcohol abuse, domestic violence against women and children), the Australian government has outlawed alcohol and pornography on Aboriginal land. Yes, they cannot buy, possess, or consume either product. Huge signs are posted at the entrances to their communities. The white people in the Outback can still do what they want with regard to these things.
Craig showed us cave paintings done by his ancestors and other notable sacred sites on his land. He explained how the dreamtime stories were practicable and spiritual – relating to procreating, hunting, foraging, intra-group relations, sexuality, punishment, and relations to other indigenous groups. We saw rock carvings with markings that indicated the migratory paths of kangaroo and emu. I witnessed a wild kangaroo hoping along the rocky cliffs, and eagerly pointed him out to the group. Craig explained to me how they would have taken him out while hunting – a large rock to the head while the kangaroo was temporarily blinded by the sun. At 7 PM, we made our way back to the entrance to the community and Steve was waiting anxiously. We should have been on the road by 4:30, but the day had gotten away from us. Now, Steve had to drive on the rocky, bumping, dirt roads at night with the risk of both wandering cows and wild Roos jumping out in front of us.
He drove like the proverbial bat out of hell to beat the nightfall, but we lost that battle. After just 30 minutes, we were in pitch black racing down the road, bouncing around the truck like popcorn in a hot kettle. Only this time, we could not see anything. This was our first nighttime driving adventure and it was frightening for all of us. I still managed to dose off somehow, even though I was nervous. We made it back to Alice Springs safely, obviously. And, with only a half hour until all the restaurants in town closed down, we ventured as a group to Tully’s Backpackers for some grub. There we shared our last meal and beers together and promised to keep in touch.
I will never forget this time in the bush. I will always appreciate the people, animals, plants. mountains, wind, and spirit that combined to give me a once-in-a-lifetime experience!
