“Checking, in, please, my name is Robin Esrock.”
“Excuse me, Robin…Ayers Rock?”
“Yes, Esrock. “
[Blank Stare]
“E-s-r-o-c-k”
“Oh, I see, that’s cool!”
It’s cool because I’m checking into Ayers Rock Resort, and with an accent, there’s not a lot to discern my last name – of Lithuanian descent – than the name of the resort. Like the airport that services it, the resort still goes by the name of the most iconic geological formation in the country, the beating red heart at the centre of Australia. Today, Ayers Rock is better known as Uluru, and no Australian Bucket List could possibly be complete without seeing it.
My first glimpse of this sandstone inselberg (literally, an island mountain) is from the cockpit of a small Cessna. Towering over the even outback plain and baked in its famous red hues, Uluru struck me as being far bigger than I expected. It simply struck me in general. Having seen so many photos and videos over the years, I thought I had a solid grasp on this sacred rock so integral to the traditions of the local Anangu people, and the tourism industry of central Australia. Yet there it loomed, its surface strafed with flaking red skin, further eroded into distinct holes, caves, ribs and ridges. Surrounded by the peppercorn-like low scrub of the early-dry season, I could picture the back of a giant rocky creature with head and limbs descending beneath the ground, as if it were crawling on hands and knees in search of something below. This back, it turns out, is actually the head of a huge slab of arkose sandstone that continues underground for five or six kilometres. It’s the result of hundreds of millions of years of erosion, the impact of a disappearing inland sea and powerful geological thrusts. Unless you’re into geology, this is less fascinating the sheer experience of seeing Uluru itself, from above or below.
Ayers Rock Resort is owned by the Indigenous Land Corporation, and managed by its Voyages subsidiary. An oasis in the desert, 443 kilometres from the nearest centre of Alice Springs, the resort offers various accommodation that ranges from the plush five star Sails in the Desert to the Ayers Rock Campground. With a permanent population of around one thousand people, the resort is the fourth largest settlement in the Northern Territory, operating as a small town. It is located about twenty kilometres from the great rock itself, and fifty kilometres from the domed heads of the lesser-known yet just as magnificent Kata Tjuta (formerly referred to as the Olgas). In 1994, UNESCO awarded Uluru-Kata Tjuta heritage status for its outstanding natural and cultural status. With hundreds of thousands of tourists drawn in from around the world, the resort and associated tour operators offer a variety of ways to tackle the iconic formations. Dine with a view under the stars, take a scenic flight or helicopter ride, hire bicycles, take a guided hike or motorcycle tour, skydive, mount a Segway, pop on a hop-on hop-off bus. There’s also free daily activities that include a Bush Food Experience, learning about Anangu culture and history, guided nature walks, and indigenous art programs.
The Wintjiri Arts and Museum will tell you everything you need to know about the region, and dining ranges from campground BBQs to high-end restaurants. Visitors must purchase a park passes, with most choosing the three-day pass that provides ample opportunity to tick off the boxes that appeal to you most. Having taken in Uluru from the air, I hopped on a bus with SEIT Australia for a tour to the base. Depending on weather conditions, the bush flies, and your physical ability, you may choose to walk the 10.6-kilometre loop around the base. I was grateful to have a guide explain the fascinating history of the rock, and it’s spiritual significance. The Anangu have been living in this region for many thousands of years, with Uluru serving as an important spiritual base for male initiation rites. The first non-aboriginal visitor was William Gosse in 1873, and other than dingo hunters and gold prospectors, there was little reason for anyone else to visit. With the opening of a graded dirt road from Alice Springs, the first wave of tourists arrived in the mid-1940s. Declared a national park in 1958, campgrounds and hotels were originally located closer to the rock, but with increasing interest from tourists, the Yulara town site was selected in the 1970’s. In 1985, the national park was handed back to its traditional indigenous landowners, who leased the park back to the Australian National Parks and Wildlife Services for 99 years. It continues to employ and support the 300-strong Anangu community – based in a nearby and off-limits settlement – and the Anangu co-administer the park.
I walk along the Kuniya Walk to the sole watering hole at the base of Uluru, learning how the Anangu travelled the region in search of food, adeptly burning the landscape to ensure fresh growth and the return of animals. Shaded from the sun inside the Mutitjulu cave, my guide points out rock art that dates back decades to centuries. Large portions of this art have been damaged by early visitors. These days, the impact of visitors is carefully considered, although some controversies still remain. Although the Anangu implore tourists to respect their spiritual traditions and not climb the pathway to the top, some people still do. Or did. Climbing Uluru was officially prohibited in October 2019.
Stargazing is immaculate under the outback sky. On a must-do Astro Tour, the resort’s resident and visiting astronomer navigate my eye to various constellations and nebula, focusing their telescopes onto the Galilean moons of Jupiter, and reveal the indigenous legends behind the stars. Like most visitors, I will go to bed early and like most visitors, I will awake with the stars still twinkling above. The distinctive colours of Uluru and Kata Tjuta are most brilliant at sunrise and sunset, and most tours will be operating early or late to allow you experience the spectacle at dawn or dusk. I opted for sunrise with Uluru Camel Tours, sitting on a tall shaggy beast with batty eyelids. As the sky begins to brighten, our camel train is led into the bush, with guides enthusiastically telling stories about the history and impact of camels in the outback. We park on a dune just in time to watch the morning’s first orange rays strike the iron-rich ribs of Uluru. They make a big deal about the changing colours of the rock here, and for good reason. I see the blush of a deflowered maiden, the violence of a blood orange, the rust of an old ambulance siren. Within a few short minutes, the colour of Uluru has awoken. I feel something shift in the parched desert air, and a bucket list tingle in my bones.
In 1873, William Gosse ignored the indigenous name of “this immense rock rising abruptly from the plain.” He named it Ayers Rock, after the Chief Secretary of South Australia, Henry Ayer. In 1995, Ayers Rock-Mount Olga National Park officially became Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, finally recognizing the Anangu’s ownership and relationship to the area. Visitors however still fly into Ayers Rock Airport, and stay in the Ayers Rock Resort. Perhaps that will change, and future generations of Esrocks won’t get the funny looks when checking in. As for Uluru, it will forever and always be a standout on both The Great Australian Bucket List and The Great Global Bucket List.
