This story was originally published on Adventure.com, October 2019.
Uluru’s long-awaited climbing ban came into effect in October 2019, but there’s still so much of Australia’s sacred sandstone heart to explore at ground level, says Oliver Pelling.
Our bus is hurtling along the Northern Territory’s Red Centre Way. It’s a long, hot road and it’s shepherding us some 321 kilometers from Kings Canyon—where we camped the night and hiked the morning—back into Uluru Kata Tjuta National Park, where we’ll begin our education on Uluru proper.
Up front sits Justin Burrill, our charismatic guide. One hand on the wheel, the other clasping a fly swatter, he slaps at flies while facilitating the hurtling, resembling a character from a Monty Python sketch. Aretha Franklin’s Respect is playing on the radio; a big red smudge paints itself across the bus windows. It is, predictably, hot as hell.
“None of my mates back in Melbourne would know diddly-squat about Aboriginals anywhere in Australia,” Justin yells back at me between swipes. “People need to get out there and learn more about it. We owe these people at least that, I think.”
This park and, more specifically, the hulking 3.6-kilometer-long, 1.9-kilometer-wide sandstone rock in the middle of it, have been in the news a fair bit lately.
See, for decades, scores of tourists have flocked to Uluru (the icon formerly known as Ayers Rock). And for decades, a good percentage of those tourists have opted to tackle the 348-meter climb to the top—despite protests from the traditional owners of Uluru, the local Anangu people, for whom the rock is sacred. Not to mention the 35 recorded deaths en route to the summit.