Uluru to Cairns - from rock to reef

The last few days have been a whirlwind - but certainly a spectacular one.

My camera broke the day before my trip to Uluru (Ayres Rock). The poor battered thing, which had already broken twice during this trip, finally gave up after parts Darwin's Mindil Beach decided to escape to more exotic climes.

Luckily, I was able to buy a new one before my trip - I was literally weeping on the man's arm as I handed over the money.

But it was certainly worth it.

On Tuesday, I joined 13 fellow travellers and tour guide Ryan on The Rock Tour - a three day jaunt from Alice Springs.

We had a brilliant group - funny and lovely couple Chris and Carly, hilarious Italian Francesco, teens Carly and well-travelled Jess, Oirish Dave and Michelle, watercolour whizz Esther and German boy Jo and four Japanese whose names we never really caught onto - but who were very lovely too.

Our first stop (after a five hour bus ride) was King's Canyon. Here, we climbed a very steep rock with a gorge on the left and the canyon with cliffs 270m high on the right. The difference? A gorge is formed by a river cutting through the rock over millions of years. A canyon is made when water seeps through cracks in the rock which widen until the roof eventually caves in. Apparently.

Apparently, this also means the Grand Canyon is actually a gorge...




After a hike to the rugged, rocky top, looking at imprints of jellyfish and ripples made in the rock when central Australia was a sea, we descended into a lush ravine called the Garden of Eden.

Here, the brave went for a very quick dip in a very, very cold pool surrounded by the sand-coloured cliffs. Chris went first, I followed, then Carly and Carly. It was refreshing... it took your breath away.




After peering over the edge, we made it back to the van and headed to forage for wood for our campfire.

We set up camp for the night on a 1.1 million acre cattle ranch (size of Holland). Basically, in the middle of nowhere.

Miles from the nearest town, shop, campsite, toilet.

We piled up the logs and lit bark to get the fire going, chopped veggies and cooked chilli in the ashes of the fire. We sat on our rolled up swags and drank beer or goon and huddled closer to the flames as the daytime heat disappeared into the night sky and the temperature plummeted.




Later, we rolled out our swags - canvas bodybags with a flap to pull over your face.

We tucked our shoes underneath so dingoes couldn't grab them and pushed our sleeping bags inside and crawled into them. Ever fearful of bugs, spiders and snakes and with the moon ablaze, I pulled the canvas flap over my face - it felt like being in a coffin.



Sleep was therefore fitful and in the early hours, I woke and pulled the flap off my face. I lay back and looked up at the night sky. The moon had disappeared and billions of stars winked back at me. A blanket. A canopy. Everything you imagine that you can't imagine in a country so clogged with light pollution as Britain.

Just a short time later, our cheeky chappy guide woke us up. The fire was blazing for our toast. It was 5am.

By just after six, we were packed up and ready to hit the road. It was a two-hour drive to pick up more logs for the fire and check into Ayres Rock resort - the only place to camp in the Uluru-Kata-Tjuta national park.

It was our first glimpse of the red rock Uluru. It's hard to describe. Deep red in colour, weathered by rivers of water in rainy periods and rising startlingly and steeply from the flat plains.

Our morning was set aside for visiting Kata-Tjuta, which means 'many heads' and otherwise known as the Olgas.

These huge dome shapes are made up of millions of rocks, cememted together with dirt and time. They are the only things other than Uluru for miles which rise from the semi-arid desert of the red centre.

Aboriginal tales tell that children were playing in the dirt and wanted to take all the stones out. So they threw them over their shoulders - and created Kata-Tjuta. Then they made a mud patty with the dirt - and created Uluru. Better than the mind-blowingly weird geology that some scientists have come up with.

The freezing temperatures of the night had all but disappeared when we arrived - and within minutes of our walk, it was baking hot.

We walked through the Valley of the Winds and up a steep cliff in the centre and sat and looked out. Behind us was a winking face in the rocks - carved out by mysterious erosion and at the centre of an Aboriginal story about a medicene man who lived there who sent a devil dog to Uluru.

After lunch, we visited the cultural centre which included a 'sorry' book with letters from hundreds of people who had taken stones from the rock, or climbed it, and who had returned them. Many had had bad luck ever since...

And then we were driving towards the rock. Listening to 80s power ballads. It towered above us. Rust-red. Flaking like old iron. But all one huge piece of sandstone which sinks at least 7km below the desert plains.

Ryan took us on the Malu walk - showing us places that had been classrooms, a kitchen, a sacred wedding-bell shaped cavern where women had given birth. Shockingly, this had been used for wedding pictures in the 1970s. Now, noone takes pictures as it is too sacred. It takes away from the spirit of the place for the indiginous people.



"And then a big cheeseman came bursting out of the rock..." Err ok Ryan.

We beat a retreat to a spot a few kms from the rock to watch sunset, drink a glass of goon or two (next to a few busloads of people drinking champers and hors d'oeurves) and eat a tasty supper after the other groups had long gone.

Allegedly, the rock turns 21 shades at sunset - but I took about 600 pics and it looks red, very red, bright red, dark red, purple, black, very black to me.

Then it was back to the campsite for more goon, giggles and 80s uplifiting power songs courtesy of Chris.

Hangover or no hangover, it was up at 5am again to see sunrise at Uluru. We cunningly escaped the crowds by returning to the bus sunset viewing place and avoiding the throngs at the sunrise spot. Instead of seeing the colours of the sky as the sun rose behind us, we saw the sun rise to the side of Uluru; first silhouetting it and then slowly lighting it.

We ate breakfast in the dawn light from the back of the trailer and drank hot tea huddling the cups in the frosty morning.

But there was no let up. It was then to the base of Uluru again. This time, we had free time to climb or to walk the circuit around it. Those who climbed had to hold onto a low steel chain to haul themselves up the steep walls. It looked thoroughly dangerous and is highly disrespectful to the Aborginal people.



Sadly, it was the end of our trip. Carly, Chris, Jess, Dave, Michelle and I all left from Uluru airport while the others returned to Alice.




From the airstrip, you can see Uluru and Kata-Tjuta and as you take off, you fly low over the desert. The patterns made by trees and rocks and dried rivers look remarkably like Aboriginal paintings.

And now I'm in tropical Cairns where the tree-covered mountains run towards the clear blue sea. Here, I will work on a dive boat for four days and am allowed to dive for free, eat and sleep for free in return for washing up and a bit of cleaning.

The Rock is a distant memory - but a bloody great memory at that.