Uluṟu - Kata Tjuṯa

Regular followers of our blog could be forgiven for thinking: “Hang on, they were in Jervis Bay last week and now they’re at Uluṟu? That Penguin must have wings!” But no, Loretta’s just a regular Penguin - the kind with with wheels. She’s safely tucked away in the driveway at home. The Labs are being pampered in a Labrador resort while I’ve indulged in a short side-trip to the Red Centre.

Uluṟu’s long been on my list of places to see before I’m too old to clean red dust out of previously unknown crevices. I was very excited about seeing the rock. We’ve all grown up knowing what it looks like - I remember doing a drawing of it in primary school, back in the 1800s. But knowing what it looks like doesn’t prepare you at all for the moment you see Uluṟu for yourself. The word “breathtaking” becomes literal and you’re stopped dead in your tracks. And you very quickly run out of superlatives.

There’s so much to Uluṟu, it’s hard to know what to write about. I could focus on its rich natural beauty; its geological formation (it’s around 880 million years old!); its ancient history; its modern history; the unique flora and fauna; Uluṟu’s World Heritage status; or its place in Australia’s heart - both geographically and spiritually.

But all of those facts are readily available on the web. What’s not so easily discovered through a Google search is the very thing that stops you in your tracks and leaves you devoid of superlatives - the silence.

Uluṟu is Aṉangu Pitjantjatjara Yankunytjatjara (APY) country and I must start by acknowledging and paying my respects to the Aṉangu for welcoming me to their sacred country and sharing their culture and their stories. It was a privilege to visit Aṉangu country during Reconciliation Week.

It’s the Aṉangu’s Tjukuṟpa (pronounced jook-oor-pa) that sneaks into your consciousness when you’re in the presence of Uluṟu, before you even know it’s happening. Tjukuṟpa commands quiet, respect and a reverence that seems to infiltrate all but that most annoying cohort of tourists who are so intent on placing themselves in the frame of every single vista that they fail to fully appreciate the majesty of their surroundings. Or the eye-rolls of their fellow travellers.

But that’s OK, they’re left behind once you get out amongst the red dust, and the flies, and walk amongst the ancient rock formations towering over the flat desert landscape.

In 1985 the Hawke Government legislated to hand custodianship of the Uluṟu Kata Tjuṯa National Park back to the Aṉangu people. The “Handback”, as it became known, was a big win for the land rights movement after decades of lobbying to recognise Indegenous peoples’ culture and ancient connection to country. It marked the the first small steps on the long road to reconciliation. Sadly, a road were still travelling.

I have some vague memories of the time and recall a wave of outrage and fear by some who thought we were on a slippery slope and would all be denied access to “our” national icons.

Of course, the world didn’t come to an end (although that didn’t stop an echoing of similar sentiments last year) and the Aṉangu, in their gentle and respectful way, formed a collaborative working relationship with the government to make Uluṟu Kata Tjuṯa a place that fosters a better understanding of ancient culture and in doing so, helps to preserve this special place, its flora and fauna. And they’ve done it well.

In 1995, UNESCO awarded Parks Australia and the Uluru-Kata Tjuta Board of Management, the majority of which are Anagnu elders, the Picasso Gold Medal. This is UNESCO’s highest award for outstanding preservation standards for World Heritage site management.

So what is Tjukuṟpa (pronounced jook-or-pa)? Simply put, Tjukuṟpa is “everything”. It’s the faith and foundation of society and ancestral connection to country and culture; the stories of creation; the structure and law that defines Aṉangu life. Tjukuṟpa has been passed down through the generations (over 1700 of them - think about that…) and it guides every aspect of Aṉangu life.

It’s a tricky and intangible thing for a simple piranpa (white fella) to grasp or attempt to explain. When I landed with a metaphorical (thank goodness) thud in the chaos that is Sydney airport on a Friday night, I got chatting to a similarly frazzled woman who’d visited Uluṟu last year. She said, “I didn’t expect to feel so emotional about the place, I thought ‘it’s just a rock’. But when you get there, it’s so much more.” Couldn’t have said it better myself. That’s Tjukuṟpa.

Aṉangu are a very gentle, cheeky and generous people, and you can’t help but be moved by their care and respect for the country. Tjukuṟpa dictates that some aspects of their culture and sacred stories remain secret and there are many areas of the National Park where photography is not permitted. But as you’ll see if you make it to the end of this post, there’s a lot that they’re happy to share.

I was lucky to see a relatively new cultural experience at Uluṟu: Wintjiri Wiru, which means “beautiful view to the horizon”. This is the Aṉangu creation story of Mala, the spirit dog who scared the men away from Uluṟu before the Kingfisher Woman fought off the evil spirit. Mala’s footprints can still be seen on the rock. The story’s told with around 1200 drones, seven large projectors and six lasers that light up the desert with the dark silhouette of Uluṟu in the background. It’s a spectacular light show, and a contemporary mechanism for the Aṉangu to share their ancient creation stories - something they consider vital if others are to understand their history and culture.

This post is a fair bit longer than our usual pithy offerings, but I hope it’s inspired you to see Uluṟu for yourself, if you haven’t already, or to go back if it’s been a while. There really is a lot to experience beyond a hike around the base. In the absence of the Labs, I had a family conference with myself and agreed that I couldn’t really share all of the several hundred photos I took during my stay, but it was very hard to cull them so there are a few more than usual.

Also unlike our usual posts I’ve included a few groups of photos more or less in chronological order, with some explanatory text in between.

And finally (I promise) I want to recommend a book that was recommended to me by one of my tour guides. I Am Uluṟu is the story of the Uluṟu family as told by Reggie and Cassidy Uluṟu to journalist, Jen Cowley. It’s a great read and a must for any Australian who wants to better understand Aboriginal culture and history. It also explains Tjkurpa much more eloquently than I can.

Sammy Wilson (Tjama Uluṟu) writes the foreword. He says : “We have to write it down. We can work together. Otherwise there’s a big wall in between us - I can’t come across and you can’t come across”.

Hope you enjoy the photos.

Uluṟu at sunrise. I got up very early, put on the thermals and hopped on a tour bus to watch Uluṟu change colour as the sun rose up from behind us. From there we went to Kata Tjuṯa and hiked into Waḻpa Gorge. Magical.

After the visiting Kata Tjuṯa I attended a dot painting workshop, demonstrated by an Aṉangu woman. Suffice to say I need about another 40,000 years’ practice at this particular skill. No photos of the offending artwork.

The following day I hired a bike and rode around the base of Uluṟu - about 15km. It was a beautiful warm day and produced a lot of photos. This is a small selection. Palya is the Aṉangu word for welcome/hello/goodbye/thank you and a few other general pleasantries.

When I recovered the feeling in my rear end I boarded another bus that took me back to the desert to see the sun set on Uluṟu, and to watch 50,000 stems of fibre optic lights turn the desert floor into a gently swaying field of colour. Unfortunately overcast skies and rain meant there was no spectacular sunset, but I quite like the broody skies.

I’d enjoyed my bike ride around the rock so much that I decided to return the following day and walk around it. It was exciting to hear steady the rain on the roof overnight because it meant that I would experience something only five percent of visitors get to see - waterfalls on Uluṟu. I filled my water bottle, stashed some snacks into my backpack, came to terms with the likelihood that my creamy coloured hiking shoes would never again be that colour, and headed to the rock on the early shuttle. It was a stunning contrast to the previous day. Water was flowing into the Mutitjulu Waterhole and from a distance, Uluṟu looked as if it was weeping. Also made visible by the rain was the track where hundreds of people have climbed the rock over the decades, right up until the Aṉangu banned the practice in 2019. There are 34 confirmed deaths attributed to the climb (mostly coronaries and falls) and an unknown number of deaths resulting some time after attempting the climb. When you look up at the rock face you can’t help but wonder about people.

My final evening was spent at Wintjiri Wiru. By mid afternoon the rain had cleared and partly cloudy skies made for a beautiful sunset. This first photo is of Kata Tjuṯa in the setting sun. I love a good sunset photo. Perhaps that’s a bit obvious.

And finally, there a few last minute shots of Kata Tjuṯa taken from one of the lookouts at Yulara, and a beautiful Sturt Desert Pea.

Thanks, once again, for your continued support of our blog. We’re not sure where or when our next adventure will be, but we’ll let you know.