Day 13 - Outside Kata Tjuta

Friday, 11 June 2021

Hardship and outback travel are synonymous. It’s not easy, though most always it’s fun and enjoyable. It’s a long stretch between showers, water sources, fuel stations, supply shops. And then it’s never what you’re used to at home: cheap, plentiful, diverse and readily available.

The Filipino lady at Warburton’s art gallery said the road to the Northern Territory border was OK, but once over the border, it was great. The NT government had done a lot to upgrade the roads. We were pleased to hear this. Ten years ago, once across the border the roads deteriorated noticeably.

The border was full of signs. Unlike the rickety, weathered “Welcome to the Northern Territory” sign that greeted us 10 years ago, there were many, mostly new, mostly unfriendly, difficult to read without slowing to a stop. Several informed us the road was closed ahead. One instructed us to stop ahead. Another demanded every car to stop and read the “Quarantine” sign, which we did. Mostly about Covid19, but nothing clear about what we should do about it. Finally we saw the “Welcome to NT” sign, after which a very welcome paved road escorted us across the border and into the territory. Our Filipino friend was right!

Like the signs at the Warburton Roadhouse, no one seemed to be paying much notice to this last lot and no one was enforcing them. We just sailed through and happily onto the smooth slide into the next chapter of our journey.

Ten kilometres down the road the bitumen disappeared as quickly as it appeared. But rather than the relatively easy gravel roads we’d traversed in Western Australia, this road was loud and bumpy. People call them washboards for the band of ridges that build up on the mostly sandy surface from high speed travelers. I’d rather call them railroad tracks. The kind that stick up three or four inches from the ground and insist you slow down as you hobble over the crossing. But these railroad ridges come in the hundreds, thousands, evenly spaced every eight inches or so. Doesn’t matter how good your suspension is, it’s a bumpy ride.

Periodically, short spans of paved road appeared, but for the most part, the Northern Territory wasn’t yet achieving its reputation as world class road builders. Still, the scenery made up for it. The drive through the ranges, with their rustic red layers and craggy peaks, fronted by straggly mulga and desert oak trees, everything lit up by a low-lying winter sun – utterly exquisite. I feel the urge to spend more time here. There are no fences, stations or development. But unfriendly signs suggest exploring these parts is not such a good idea: This is Aboriginal Freehold Territory. No Entry. $1000 fine for Trespassing.

I understand the politics of it. The need for the dispossessed to claim their power. Yet the likely reality is, it’s just another sign that probably doesn’t have a lot of traction. And I find it sad that, like in white western culture, the land is owned and parcelled out. Free wandering about is not allowed. Stick to the roads and watch it go by. Channel humans into safe and contained and highly managed “tourist” spots. Keep them off the land. Implying that we do more damage than good wandering about.

A hundred or so kilometres past the border a strange apparition rises on the eastern horizon. Kata Tjuta. The Olgas. Otherworldly mounds of solid rock in shapes as weird and comical as those made by clouds. They’re less iconic and therefore less popular than nearby Uluru (Ayer’s Rock), but they tower 200 metres higher and win the prize for novelty.

We pull off a side road 30 kilometres from the entrance to the national park that holds Kata Tjuta and Uluru, sacred sites for indigenous people and Australia’s premier tourist mecca. The mulga trees shut in our views but once we get camp set up, we hike up a nearby sand dune with our chairs and nightly drinks. The sun is 20 minutes from setting and has lit up Kata Tjuta in a brilliant glowing rusty red. The land circling our prime viewing spot is wild, silent, empty. Until the strange whines of the twilight crickets start their nightly chorus.