Northland

The stunning coastlines, clear water, warm climate, and numerous off-shore islands make the Bay of Islands, New Zealand a popular vacation spot for both Kiwis and tourists. Unfortunately our visit to Pahia, in the center of the Bay of Islands, coincided with rainy overcast weather which made water and beach activities out of the question. Large waves churned up the sand turning the normally deep blue waters orange-brown. However, we soon discovered that the history of the area is as equally impressive as its scenery. Northland is where Polynesians first settled in New Zealand, Europeans first made contact with Maori, and the Treaty of Waitangi between Britain and Maori chiefs was signed.

The Treaty of Waitangi was signed in 1840 by the British Crown and 500 Maori chiefs just down the street from our hostel. This treaty forms the basis of Maori relations to this day. We visited the treaty grounds which are complete with a beautiful nature trail winding trough coastal vegetation and mangrove forest. We were especially impressed with the Maori meting house and 12 ton waka (war canoe) carved to mark the 100 year anniversary of the treaty.

We headed further north to see Cape Reinga, which is not quite the most northern point of mainland New Zealand, but comes awfully close. The 20 km gravel road combined with misty rugged hills, massive sand dunes, and the expansive sea created an end-of-the-world feel. No wonder why this cape is the entrance to the Maori Underworld – the jumping off point for souls who travel back to Hawaiiki (Polynesia). This 23,000 hectare group of four reserves hold 700 recorded Maori archaeological sites - including forts (pa) and food storage pits. We felt honoured to be visiting the most important cultural heritage site in New Zealand.

We descended to Tapotupotu Bay, whose steep coastal cliffs, pounding surf, and lush almost tropical feeling vegetation made for an absolutely beautiful camping spot. After registering for a campsite we started a 4 km coastal hike towards the cape. The pounding surf and wind-shorn vegetation dominated the landscape. The track we walked along was a bit deceptive at times. Strong waves and currents had eroded the sea-ward side of the hills. As we neared the hill tops, instead of seeing the other half of the hill there was a steep drop into black volcanic rocks and frothing sea water with a few pohutukawa trees eking out an existence.

The exhilarating climb made the lonely Cape Reinga lighthouse, which stands watch over both the Tasman Sea and Pacific Ocean, all the more spectacular. Visitors who had driven directly to the cape filtered through quickly, as if they weren’t very impressed by the surroundings. Arriving at Cape Reinga by foot allowed us to really appreciate the stunning coastal views. As the wind picked up and misty clouds descended over the hills we made our way back to camp. We pitched our tent on the leeward side of a pohutukawa tree and were glad that we didn’t get blown away.

The next morning, we lingered at our campsite and walked along the tidal bay until early afternoon. Just before leaving Cape Reinga we stopped off to see the sand dunes we had noticed the day before. Neither of us had ever seen such huge sand dunes (80 meters high) – deposited by coastal currents over tens of thousands of years. A crystal clear stream separates the Sahara-like dunes from lush deep-green forest.

The last leg of our journey took us to the Waipoua Forest – home of the largest kauri trees in New Zealand. Kauri trees are a type of conifer and they used to dominate New Zealand’s northern forests. Their wood was prized for making sailing ships and furniture and now only a fraction of these forest type remains. Waipoua is the only sizable kauri forest in all of New Zealand.

As we rounded the path the afternoon sunlight lit up the trunk of Tane Mahuta – the oldest of all kauri trees (2000 years+) and our jaws dropped in amazement. We had to strain our necks just to see the crown which was loaded with epiphytes. The cathedral grove, deep in the hushed forest, contained twelve massive kauri. We sat in silence soaking up the sacred atmosphere of these ancient and voluminous (5 meter diameter) trees.

Rafting the Russell River

The Russell River rafting trip started with a cup of tea (as most things do in Australia) at the edge of a designated wilderness rainforest. The only way you can raft this particular river is to have absolutely zero environmental impact. So we had to pack in everything – paddles, life vests, rafts on metal poles, an inflatable kayak, ropes, air pumps – along a rough track in the rainforest. Imagine a forest where every tree and animal is unfamiliar, including giant fruit bats, the largest in the world. These bats had wing spans comparable to large birds of prey. We really had to watch our step because wait-a-whiles and stinging nettles were ready to impale us and inject their toxins. We noticed the huge light gaps created in the forest due to blown-down trees during Cyclone Larry. This was particularly noticeable on the higher ground of each rise. Entire tops of trees had been snapped off.

One of the best parts of the trip was at the end of the hike when we arrived at a stream joining the river and were able to sip cool, refreshing, pristine, and highly oxygenated water right from the source with no purification necessary. Wow! Meanwhile, our guides were busy inflating the boats.

Soon we were ready to take off and paddle the river at high water, due to all the recent rain. Our guide showed us all the basic strokes as well as how to hold on so we didn’t fall out of the raft. We navigated 12 rapids in 3 hours – stopping along the way to hike by a waterfall, paint ourselves with ochre, and scout out each rapid to determine the safest route. One of the best rapids was ‘the rollercoaster’ because it consisted of several drops, one right after the other. Everyone must have been holding on really tight, I sure was, because no one fell out of the rafts. At the end of our trip, our guides cooked us a big BBQ meal, which was great because all of us were tired and hungry after paddling such a strong river.

The Russell was pretty amazing. Besides the two rafts and rescue kayak, no one else was on the river. We saw huge mountains rising out of the mist. Rainforest trees were covered in huge epiphytic ferns – a wild and beautiful environment!

Katherine Gorge

Upon our arrival in Katherine, we knew we were no longer in the desert – it stayed warm at night at we could wear shorts during the day. We immediately took off to find the famous hot springs. Having only been in Jacuzzis and hot tubs before, the natural thermal pools along the Katherine River were a huge delight. The water was sparkling clear and a comfortable 75^oF. We dug our feet into the sandy bottom and marvelled at the riparian vegetation, which included lush pandanus palms sending their roots into the water. A rocky ledge made a small (0.5 m high) waterfall that we stood beneath. The warm water pummelled our necks and shoulders giving us a natural massage while the bubbles, which fizzed like a carbonated beverage, cleansed and rejuvenated our skin. As we lay and floated on our backs and let the current take us along the length of the pool, there wasn’t any other place we would rather be. At the end of the pool was a mud slide which many kids enjoyed since it allowed them to enter the pool with a spectacular splash. As we towelled off and headed home, we knew we would soon be back.

The Katherine River is spectacular as it is the first permanently flowing water as one heads north from Alice Springs. Though it narrows to just 10’s of meters during the dry season it often swells to 100’s of meters and overtops its banks during the wet. As we walked along the river path we saw evidence of last year’s huge flood which required to city to evacuate. A foam mattress was lodged in a tree and sticks, grass and branches hung from the bridge. The riparian vegetation provides perfect fruit bat habitat. As the sun set hundreds of fruit bats took to the sky. Most followed the river above the tree canopy, but every now and then a bat broke off from the group and headed into town hoping to find some delicious treats.

An inland sea previously laid down sandstone in the Katherine region and over time water has eroded it, forming deep chasms. A portion of the Katherine River now flows through these chasms which form a series of 13 sandstone gorges. Each gorge is separated from the next by large boulders and rocks over which one must portage, or lift up the canoes and kayaks, in order to enter the next gorge.

As we paddled along we were surrounded by the rugged and sheer rock walls of Nitmiluk (Katherine Gorge) National Park. Occasionally the rock formed small overhangs above the river which appeared to be small caves. We paddled inside and were treated to a symphony of water droplets. Sandy beaches were located along slight bends in the river; however, most of these beaches were unable to be accessed since they were prime nesting habitat for freshwater crocodiles, which are not aggressive compared to their saltwater cousins. On a warm sunny day like today we expected to see lots of crocodiles basking on the beaches. But we only saw one freshie near the water line on our way back.

The dry season is an ideal time to swim, canoe, and kayak along the Katherine River because the water is relatively calm. However, in the wet season the river becomes a raging torrent of water. Trees that have managed to establish themselves on rocky islands in the middle of the river are bent at 45^o angles by the amazing power of the flowing river. On a day like today when there hasn’t been any rain for weeks or months we hardly detected any water current, making it difficult to determine if we were headed upstream or downstream. However, when we got to shallow portions of the river where it was necessary to portage the kayak the foaming, turbulent water cascading over rocks clearly let us know which way it was flowing. The slippery rocks covered in green algae along with the water sucking at our feet and legs made the portage a challenging task.

Around lunchtime we managed to find a beach that we didn’t have to share with crocodiles. We munched on our sandwiched while watching a waterfall on the opposite bank of the river. As a large motorboat disgorged a group of tourists near the waterfall, we were happy to have taken a less popular form of transport even though it meant a few minor frustrations. We could admire the gorges up close and at our own pace. We were impressed by the monsoon rainforests which grew in large chasms jutting off to the sides of the river. The side chasms fill with large amounts of water during the wet both from rover flow and runoff from the above sandstone plateaus. The vegetation on top of the plateau is adapted to a more arid environment and offered a vivid contrast to the lush rainforest vegetation. We were eager to hike the plateau and escarpment the following day.

Though the possibility of seeing several freshwater crocodiles was exciting, the most interesting wildlife we came across were tiny red insects about the size of a pin head. 100’s of these bugs coated various rocks near the water giving the rocks a bumpy, red appearance. But when we got close to the rocks and waved our hands a few inches above the bugs they would fly off the rock in a ripple of motion, apparently reacting to our motion or shadow.

We started up the sandstone escarpment occasionally stopping to look down at the river we had kayaked the day before. Back in the Dreamtime, before any humans were present on Earth, Bulong, the Rainbow Serpent, walked along a songline from the west coast of Australia to the interior. This Dreamtime ancestor carried with him two important possessions – a dilly bag full of water and two fire sticks. The Earth at this time was parched and dry, so if Bulong had not travelled with water collected from the sea he would have had nothing to drink. The firesticks provided him with heat and light and allowed him to cook his food. As he walked towards the interior the other ancestors became jealous at his source of water. But he was used to other’s jealousy and was able to outwit them. However, the mosquito ancestors were quite clever. As Bulong bent down to place his firesticks on the ground, the mosquitoes began to bite him and his dilly bag. Bulong tried his best to resist, but soon he lay dead and his dilly bag spilled open. The gushing water formed the Katherine River and the firesticks grew into the characteristic fire-adapted vegetation which grows on the sandstone plateau. Bulong’s spirit came to rest in the second gorge along the Katherine River. It is important not to swim in the deep water holes or make loud noises, or else you will disturb him.

Signs along the hiking trails repeatedly reminded us that temperatures on the escarpment are often 10 – 15 degrees higher than on the river below, which is why we started out in the cool morning, carried lots of water, and stopped to refill our bottles along the way. We immediately saw why the vegetation on top the escarpment differed so much from that alongside the river. The escarpment’s sandy soil does not hold many nutrients and any nutrients that are returned to the system are either quickly taken up by plants or leached out during the rainy season. Even though the escarpment gets quite a bit of rain, water quickly infiltrates and exits the soil. Frequent fire sweeps through the dry and hot escarpment, leaving only fire tolerant species to recover in its wake.

We followed the sandy and rocky trails to various look out points. As the air began to heat up we were happy for the bit of shade that was present. For lunch we descended into the gorge, not anticipating how difficult of a descent it would be. We soon found ourselves scrambling over huge boulders which shifted under our feet. We held onto the sides of the gorge and secure looking saplings. But the challenge was worth it as we were soon sitting near a relaxing pool and waterfall, resting in the shade.

As we reversed directions and headed back to the visitors center, I couldn’t help but admire the huge sandstone boulders flanking either side of the path. The angles at which they were pitched made me wonder what type of geologic activity they had been involved in. Part of me knew the terminology and scientific explanation, but another part wanted to see it unfold in time lapse photography before my very eyes.

Kakadu is Calling

Steve* welcomed us to country by inviting us to roll up our pants and walk into the ocean. For those of us interested in a brisk sponge bath we could also splash water under our arms in order to mix our bodily fluid with the land. In this way we could become part of the land, be protected, and be able to call upon the land should we run into any problems later on. In locations where crocodiles were present the ceremony was modified accordingly. You could rub a stone under your arm and throw it in the water instead.

I had dreamed about visiting Kakadu National Park ever since my first trip to Australia. I was enthralled by stories of floodplains, billabongs, tidal flats, and coastlines – amazing wetlands home to a variety of bird species. But as I entered Kakadu it was clear that much of the park was composed of savannah woodlands, hills and ridges, and stone country. These terrestrial habitats are amazing in their own right. The savannah is composed of eucalypt trees and tall grasses and supports a greater variety of plants and animals than any other habitat in the park. The hills and ridges have formed as a result of millions of years of erosion and have an unusual geology, including silver, lead, zinc, gold, and uranium deposits. Several species of plants have adapted to this unusual soil and as a result are highly endemic – occurring nowhere else in the world. Stone country consists of a sandstone escarpment. Rock shelters have formed in places where the escarpment is quickly eroding at rates of one meter every 1000 years.

The name Kakadu comes from an Aboriginal floodplain language called Gagudju, which was spoken in the northern part of the park until the beginning of the 20^th century. Kakadu National Park is quite unique – it’s listed as a world heritage site for both its cultural and natural heritage. It contains extensive collections of Aboriginal rock art and the traditional lands of a number of Aboriginal clan groups, including the Jawoyn. It is also the only national park in the world which protects the entire catchment of a large tropical river, the South Alligator. Captain Phillip Parker Smith, an early European explorer, miss-named this river – he mistook crocodiles for alligators.

Our first stop within the park was Gunlom waterfall creek, located on the upper South Alligator River. Bula, the most important Jawoyn creation ancestor, created the landscape we were now hiking through. He came from the northern saltwater country with his wives, the Ngalenjelenje. As he hunted across the country, he created various features of the landscape and left his image as paintings in rock shelters. He also brought along with him other creation ancestors – garrkayn (brown goshawk) who created parts of the landscape and brought the law with him, barrk (black wallaroo), belerrk (gecko lizard), ngarratj (white cockatoo), gupta (plains kangaroo), and bolung (rainbow serpant). Eventually Bula went underground in the plunge pool below Gunlom waterfall where his ngan-mol (sprit) lives today. Though he is an important live-giving spirit, he can also cause lightening storms and big winds if he is disturbed. We noticed several people swimming in the plunge pool and hoped they were not disturbing Bula.

The climb to the top of Gunlom was nearly vertical in places. At the top we could see the Kakadu lowlands stretch before us and we tried to imagine the same landscape covered with several meters of water during the wet season. Gunlom is also part of buladjang, or sickness country. Aboriginal people have left cave paintings depicting humans with enlarged body parts, ulcers, and tumors. Pregnant Aboriginal women are forbidden to travel through this country and will walk hundreds of kilometers out of their way to avoid this place. Others who pass through this land do so quickly and do not linger. Interestingly, Aboriginal people have good reason to fear this region. There is a strong correlation between the location of potentially harmful mineral deposits, such as uranium, and the locations of sites Aboriginal people are taught to avoid.

Gunlom’s high waterfall acts as a natural barrier to crocodiles, so we swam in the rock pools at the top of the falls and took in the superb views in complete safety. The waterfall was quite warm – heated by the powerful sun and dark colored rocks during the day. Spray from the waterfall created a moist micro-habitat for several tiny black frogs clinging to the rock.

Bill Neidjie, an Aboriginal traditional owner from the Bunitj clan, worked tirelessly to get Aboriginal land rights within Kakadu recognized. However, he broke with tradition in several key ways. Several years before his death he wrote a book, Gagudju Man, which details his life, knowledge of Kakadu, and details about Aboriginal law, activities, and practices. His book represents quite a feat because Aboriginal stories and knowledge are not usually written down since they result from an oral tradition. Bill realized that there weren’t many Aboriginal traditional owners left and many young Aboriginal people did not show an interest in what he had to teach them. He broke with tradition and wrote down his knowledge in hopes that people from other cultures would be interested in learning and preserving his stories so they would not be lost forever. Often in Aboriginal culture it is not appropriate to use names or display images of deceased people. Again Bill broke with tradition. His name and picture are still used – he did not want people to forget his stories just because he had died.

One of his stories that struck me the most was that of Aboriginal people living along Kakadu’s coast who rely on resources from the sea. Fishermen from different clans fish within clearly demarcated boundaries despite the fact that these boundaries are not marked with buoys or ropes. Instead they rely on a series of turn-around points based on knowledge that has been handed down through the generations. Upon approaching these points, fishermen turn their boat in the opposite direction because a boundary has been reached. The turn-around points correspond to underwater features – seamounts, ridges, canyons – which the fishermen can’t see but have been taught are there. It amazes me that Aboriginal people consistently identify turn-around points based on boundaries established when sea level was hundreds of meters lower during the last ice age and these clans inhabited a terrestrial landscape. As the oldest continuous culture on this planet, Aboriginal people have witnessed, experienced, and recorded major environmental changes that have taken place over the course of many human generations.

It is quite thrilling for me, as an environmental scientist, to tap into a bit of this living environmental history and learn how people describe and explain these changes and how they have managed to adapt. I try to imagine oral histories that stretch back 60,000 to 80,000 years, about the length of time Aboriginal Australians have inhabited the land down under. It is like a living glacial ice core or deep sea sediment core that allows us to understand past environmental changes in a human perspective.

As night fell at our Jarrangbarnmi camp site we looked up at the night sky and learned how the stars came to be and how echidnas got their spikes. The creation ancestor belerrk (gecko lizard) was known for his great hunting skills. One evening he was sitting around the fire enjoying the tasty morsels from his hunt. Echidna was a very lazy hunter and did not have anything to eat on this particular night. But he could smell gecko’s campfire and his stomach began to rumble. He snuck over and stole some of gecko’s food. Gecko caught echidna and decided to teach him a lesson about being a lazy hunter and stealing food. He threw echidna into the fire and echidna’s lush fur went up in flames. The sparks from the flames drifted skywards and became the night-time stars. Echidna’s fur became hardened spikes in order to always remind him of his miss-deeds.

In the morning we hiked from our camp up Koolpin Gorge, scrambling over loose rocks and boulders and navigating narrow rock ledges.

When we got to the top of the ridge the waterfall and plunge pools below were still bathed in early morning shadows and we soon realized that we had the entire gorge to ourselves. The water was crystal clear and supported several fish species – saratoga, barramundi, eel-tailed catfish, and black banded grunters. When I held my legs still underwater the fingerlings came up close and investigated my shadow and the sediment I had stirred up.

During the course of our hike we learned several invaluable Australian bush skills. It is important to walk at a brisk pace and always keep moving. If you stopped or lingered green ants were likely to propel themselves from tree branches and the grass onto you. And if you stopped to brush them off, more would take their place and continue to bite you. Bush tucker (i.e. bush food that can be safely eaten) is all around but you have to know what to look for. We learned how to pick up the green ants and touch their abdomen to our tongues for a quick burst of lemon-lime flavoring. Aboriginal people would grind up a green ant nest to flavor their tea and cure congested sinuses. A yellow, edible flower was also in season and we ate this for a treat as well.

We started off the next day at Maguk, a swimming hole along Barramundi Creek. Accessing Maguk was fairly easy – a leisurely hike through wetlands, sandy stream bottoms, and rocky out crops. We swum through the canyon and hiked in the creek’s headwaters. This was the perfect habitat for carnivorous sundews which lined the nutrient poor, but moist rocks of the headwaters. Sunlight glistened off the sugary dew and the small, spoon-shaped leaves were outstretched, eagerly waiting to lure in a passing insect.

In the afternoon we headed to the Yellow River Wetlands, part of South Alligator River floodplains. We spotted a huge crocodile cruising the water. Eventually he stopped at the edge of the water lilies and patiently laid in wait for the water birds foraging in the area. Every now and then he gave away his presence by releasing a few air bubbles. As one of the birds got closer and closer everyone in our group was secretly hoping we’d see the croc grab and eat the bird. There was a flurry of water and feathers which happened so fast that the group was divided over whether the bird had been a goner or not.

Aboriginal parents remind their children not to get too close to the water’s edge by telling them the story of the Namakkarri sisters. These two girls were particularly cheeky towards other people and one day decided to turn themselves into crocodiles and scare anyone who got too close to the edge of the billabong. At the end of the day they turned themselves back into human girls. But they soon realized that they missed being huge, scary crocodiles. So they turned themselves back into crocodiles for good. The bumps behind each of the crocodiles’ eyes are a sign that the spirit of the Namakkarri sisters live within crocodiles to this day. You must always be careful near the water’s edge or the sisters may get cheeky and decide to eat you!

While Yellow Water had patches of open water, huge swaths of the wetland were covered in a mat of floating aquatic vegetation. This gave me a false sense of being surrounded by stable, solid land. There was also evidence of several pest (i.e. invasive, non-native) species which had found their way into the wetland and were reeking havoc. Australian soils and wetlands are not adapted to hooved animals such as pigs and horses. All mammals native to Australia have soft, padded feet. Hooves of wild pigs and horses trample and rip up Australian vegetation, leading to soil erosion. A portion of the wetland had been turned into a mud bath by wild pigs and we spotted a group of wild horses grazing in the distance. These animals are usually shot and removed during off-tourist season so as not to offend visitors. Pigs and horses aren’t ‘bad’ per say, but they are responsible for environmental damage when they are introduced outside their normal range and into ecosystems which are not adapted to them.

Australians of European descent who live in the Kakadu area recognize six months of wet season followed by six months of dry season. But Aboriginal calendars are immensely more complex. When your way of life – what’s available to hunt, what’s growing in order to forage, and where it’s safe to live - is intimately linked to the world around you then it is by no coincidence that you become a keen observer of nature and the cycle of seasons and of life itself. I wondered how much change people like Bill Neidjie had witnessed over their lifetime. Various industries – buffalo hunting, prospecting, mining, and pastoralism – have been introduced onto their lands. They have been exposed to diseases which they cannot understand and are not explained in their creation stories. During World War II many Aboriginal people living in Kakadu were moved away from their lands and onto army control camps in the Katherine-Pine Creek area. How much change can a highly adaptable, in-tune people successfully cope with if it is change outside of their normal experience and happens at a rate much faster than they can develop coping mechanisms?

The following day we hiked on the burnt-umber sandstone plateau above Twin Falls enjoying the sandy and rock lined creek, colourful bird life, and tasty nectar-producing wattle. We spent the morning and early afternoon at an idyllic swimming hole. As I walked along the creek bed, I disturbed algae growing on the rocks. Fish in the vicinity darted towards these patches of disturbed algae. When they were done getting their fill, I scraped off algae covering a different rock and the fish migrated to this new patch. The large rock in the center of the creek provided an especially good view of several rainbow colored bee-eaters. These birds swooped in the air, caught dragonflies, and then beat them against a branch in order to get a tasty snack. A shady rock ledge complete with ancient rock art served as our lunch-time shelter from the sun. After seeing Twin Falls from the top it was interesting to see it from the opposite direction.

We packed up the remains of our lunch and hiked down the escarpment in order to take a shuttle boat to Twin Falls Gorge. We soon realized where the falls got its name – there wasn’t one but two huge jets of water eroding the escarpment. A few low-growing trees on the sandy beach provided shade as we tried our best to avoid the hot afternoon sun.

I enjoyed our drive to the Sandy Billabong campground, our camp for the evening, because we ran over several infamous cane toads. Cane toads originate from South America and were introduced to Queensland, Australia to control beetles which fed on sugarcane and reduced farmers’ crops. The only problem was that the Australian beetle fed a bit higher on the sugarcane than its South American counterpart. Since cane toads are big and fat and cannot really hop, they were not able to control the cane beetle. And on top of this they secreted a poison toxic to anything that kills anything that tried to eat it – domestic cats and dogs, birds, etc. Slowly the cane toad has spread to other parts of Australia, including the Northern Territory and Kakadu National Park. Unfortunately ecologists and conservationists expect the toad to wreak havoc on Kakadu’s birdlife. Birds who call the Kakadu wetlands home have attempted to eat the toad, with disastrous results. Only one species of bird as learned how to avoid the toxin by flipping the toad over and eating just the belly portion. Since the toads reproduce at an enormously high rate and have virtually no predators in Australia, it’s difficult to control their numbers once they’ve become established.

Environmental groups are joining forces to try and prevent the toads from entering Western Australia. Scientists have engineered elaborate traps to catch the toads and have deployed them along the Western Australia and Northern Territory border, but its 900 km long. For each kilometre, for each trap, there are hundreds and thousands of cane toads. Each night they might not hop very far, but I fear that eventually they will reach Western Australia.

On our final day in Kakadu we had the privilege of seeing Ubirr, one of the park’s famous rock painting sites. It consists of several rocky overhangs where Aboriginal people retired during the wet season and used rock paintings to depict their physical, social, and cultural environment. Our first stop was at Mabuyu overhang which contained simple red ochre paintings unadorned by other colors. These stick-like mimi figures, as Aboriginal people refer to them, represent an older painting style. Mimi’s first taught Aboriginal people how to paint and they demonstrated this process by painting their images on cave walls. The reason why mimi are so thin is because they live in the cracks between rocks. They have other special powers as well that allow them to leave their images at places out of reach to normal humans. While mimi’s have bestowed the gift of painting you must watch out because they are known to steal Aboriginal children.

Aboriginal paintings record climatic changes as well. Dreaming stories explain how lightening was created and how the area became wetter and filled with wetlands and fish. The monsoon season with its lightening and rain became an integral part of Kakadu’s landscape several thousands of years ago. Fish, turtles, lizards and other aquatic animals important in the Aboriginal diet line the rock walls of the main art gallery. These paintings record how good the catch was from one year to the next. The x-ray style emphasizes the animals’ internal organs and teaches up-and-coming hunters which parts are particularly good to eat and which parts should be avoided. The animals are often covered in cross-hatching and Aboriginal people explain that this makes them appear to shimmer, thus emphasizing each animal’s spiritual and life-giving power.

Snippets of contact art are also present. Non-Aboriginal people are painted with white ochre and either have their hands in their pockets or are carrying axes and firearms. Other, more subtle changes are depicted as well. In the upper left-hand corner of the main gallery a Tasman tiger has been painted in plain red ochre indicating that the painting is 5,000- 8,000 years old. This creature went extinct on mainland Australia around this time because Aboriginal people introduced the dingo which out-competed the tiger. The Tasmanian tiger is rumoured to have survived from dingos and other human pressures in remote parts of the Tasmanian wilderness, but no human has seen a live tiger for several decades.

The main gallery was spectacular because I had never viewed art in this type of setting before, the outdoors, the very place which inspired its creation and provided an ideal canvas. It was easy to imagine various families gathered under the overhang, returning from hunting and gathering waterfowl, mussels, wallabies, goannas, echidnas, and yams from the East Alligator River and floodplain. We were standing on the very pallet used to grind the ochre into paint. It consists of three holes the size of grapefruit, tangible reminders of a rich tradition. Looking at the paintings was like going back in time. In my mind I peeled away the layers upon layers of paint to see what lay beneath. What stories were the elders telling about the country and proper ways to behave while waiting out Gudjaweg (monsoon season) in a safe, comfortable rock shelter surrounded by their loved ones?

According to Aboriginal Law one can paint over previous paintings, but never touch-up or improve upon a past painting. Since many Aboriginal people no longer paint on rock walls, it is important to preserve those paintings which are left. Silicone drip lines help to divert water away from the art. Fences and paths have been established to keep eager tourists at a safe distance. Wasp nests and insect tunnels are removed.

We took a branch in the track in order to view a painting which explained why young, unmarried women could not eat fish. In the Dreamtime, two young girls went out collecting food and accidentally wandered into the next tribe’s territory. They came to a waterhole, were hungry, and decided to each catch a fish to eat. They then returned home, but somehow the neighboring tribe learned that the girls ate fish from the waterhole. Several tribesmen formed a search party to find and kill the offending girls – the penalty for young, unmarried women who ate fish. But the girls protested to members of their own tribe, “We were just hungry and a bit lost. We knew we shouldn’t have eaten the fish but we needed to fill our stomachs with energy in order to return home.” Their tribe proposed a less harsh punishment – a severe warning to the girls to not eat fish again.

At first we wondered why young women were banned from eating fish when it seemed to form a staple part of the Aboriginal diet. But we learned that fish which live in small waterholes are believed to be the spirit of the dead which are eaten by married women of childbearing age and reborn into children. Therefore young, unmarried girls eating fish was tantamount to consuming a spirit or soul and condemning it to a situation in which it could not be properly reborn.

Our visit to Kakadu wasn’t quite over yet. We hopped aboard a flatbed boat at Coroborree Billabong, eager to see fantastic birdlife and huge crocs up close and personal. Since it takes only seconds for crocodiles to kill their prey we safely kept our arms and bodies inside the boat. We were surrounded by tens of crocodiles on shore and many below the water’s surface which we couldn’t see. It struck me as kind of odd that this boat was required to carry life jackets.

Crocodiles need to keep their core body temperature within a several degree range. Many of the crocodiles were warming up by sunning themselves on shore. Several of them had their mouths wide open in order to cool down. Crocodiles also have detailed hunting rules. For each species of potential pray, the croc calculates an invisible circle whose radius depends on how easy the prey is to catch and how much energy the croc has to invest. If the prey crosses into the strike zone it’s likely to be a goner. But we saw many wading birds apparently outside the strike zone – the nearby crocs were happy to let them walk right past. Crocodiles’ social system is complex as well – males stake out their territory and challenge other males from time to time. They can sustain massive injuries from these fights, which often leave internal organs hanging outside their bodies. The wounded males sit on the shore and wait for their skin to grow and close up the gash while the organ regenerates.

The birdlife at Coroborree Billabong was as equally as impressive as the crocs. A family of eagles was perched in a tree. We watched the parents teaching the fledglings how to fly and catch their own food. It was striking to see jabirus, the largest stork species, with long black necks, dark blue bodies, and bright red legs. Wading alongside the jabirus were the world’s smallest stork species with white and grey plumage. We also crossed paths with a wayward male duck, whose mate we suspected had been eaten by a croc. Since this species of duck mates for life and does everything with its partner as a team, he would soon die of stress, malnutrition, and a broken heart.

There was no final ceremony to mark the end of our trip, unlike the beginning. But as we drove towards the city of Darwin, each of us quietly knew that something special had come to a close. After five days of traversing Kakadu’s rivers, waterfalls, and escarpments we had mixed more than just our sweat with the land. We had heard Kakadu’s birdlife calling, seen the roaring waterfalls, and felt the presence of generations of Aboriginal people who are stewards of this land. Now that I had glimpsed Kakadu’s soul first-hand, I was even more enthralled by its power, beauty, and the teachings it holds. Listen closely, Kakadu is calling.

Note: Name changed for anonimity.

Kangaroo Rescue

Each year in Australia countless native wildlife – kangaroos, wallabies, and wombats – end up as roadkill. If a female is killed, it is quite likely that the young in her pouch is still alive. Jabiru*, a very passionate Australian, has devoted himself to raising orphaned baby kangaroos and with the help of donations has opened the Kanagroo Rescue Center in Alice Springs. He relies on tour guide drivers and other passing motorists to check females’ pouches and rescue baby kangaroos. Then he and his girlfriend spend the next year as the kangaroo’s surrogate mom – feeding them warm lactose free milk every four hours and constantly holding them as close as possible as the babies nuzzle in a pseudo pouch. At around four to six months the joeys hop out of the pouch for a few minutes at a time, but basically they spend a lot of time sleeping. By eight to ten months the joeys are permanently out of the pouch and spend their days playing with each other in Jabiru’s backyard. At night though, Jabiru, his girlfriend, and all the kangaroos sleep as one happy family in a tiny bedroom in an apartment they share with other very understanding roommates.

When the kangaroos are a year old they are released into a large outdoor enclosure where they learn to be wild kangaroos and fend for themselves. Every week their caretakers check up on them, but after six weeks they are released into the wild at locations very far from the nearest road. We were impressed by Jabiru and his rescue center as raising kangaroos is a very intense job. Human kids eventually grow up, but working with baby kangaroos means that you are constantly feeding them, holding them, and cleaning up after them. Once they are old enough to move into the enclosure, you’ve got another batch to raise and the process starts all over.

J and I enjoyed both holding the kangaroos as they napped and watching them propel themselves with their four paws and tail when they wondered around outside the pouch. It was also quite amusing to watch them enter the pouch – which was a pillowcase chopped in half. Usually they indicated they were ready to go back inside by standing on their hind legs and tail and pawing our legs with their front feet. They looked up innocently at us with their dark brown eyes. So we held the pouches down to their level and they somersaulted inside, squirming for a few seconds so that their head stuck out at one end and their feet and tail at the other. Our main task was to hold them as much as possible since they thrive on a feeling of closeness and warmth. We also burped them after they were fed by gently bouncing them up and down.

As much as we would have loved to stay for days on end, the joeys were so cute and adorable, we had to go back to our hostel and collect our stuff in order to board the night bus to Katherine.

Note: name changed for anonymity.

The Story of Alice Springs

Alice Springs is nestled within the MacDonnell Range, which is composed of orange rocks and protruding desert vegetation. It was interesting to contrast the acacias and spinifex grass of Alice Springs’ Olive Pink Botanical Gardens to the lush rainforest plants of the Cairns gardens. This desert garden is home to wildlife as well – we quietly watched a kangaroo and saw a beautiful desert bird which had a green belly, yellow ring around its neck, and purple/blue plumage around its head.

As we walked along the wide and dry Todd River to the Alice Springs telegraph station it amazed us how quickly it became quiet and how few people we passed as we headed away from the town center. The Todd River was not much of a river at all – it had receded into a few scattered waterholes. Apparently early European explorers, who came to survey the telegraph line, first came across the river after it had recently flowed and numerous waterholes had been replenished. They mistook these waterholes for natural springs and named one of them Alice Spring after Charles Todd’s wife. Charles Todd was the superintendent of telegraphs in Adelaide, South Australia. His wife never did see the place named after her.

Our knowledgeable and true-blue tour guide soon introduced us to the rest of the telegraph station. After just crossing the desert by bus it was amazing to think of numerous Australian exploration parties who crossed the unknown interior of the continent in order to plan the best route for the telegraph line. They carried all of their supplies on horseback - relying on compasses and hand-drawn maps they produced themselves. Planning a telegraph line required that they scout out and find openings or passes through the Mac Donnell ranges and avoid crocodiles and tidal creeks in the tropical top end. The future telegraph stations needed to be self-sufficient and in order to achieve this permanent sources of water were required at each of the eleven repeater stations, which exist to amplify the signal along the way from Adelaide to Darwin. It’s no surprise that the stations have names such as Alice Springs, Barrow Creek, and Daly Waters. The telegraph line is not completely straight, but instead gently meanders in order to intersect permanent sources of water. South Australia won the commission for building the line as their group of explorers was the first to reach the top end. The ill-fated group from Victoria, composed of Burke, Wills, and several other men ended in death and despair.

The telegraph line was constructed in just two years without the use of heavy machinery or fancy technology. The work groups had to preserver through intense heat and cold desert nights, monsoonal rains in the top end, and all the deadly Australian flora and fauna. The wire was made of un-insulated iron string across wooden poles which soon had to be replaced by metal poles due to termite action and frequent fires. At the top of each pole the wire was capped with a ceramic insulator, which local Aboriginal people soon learned made excellent spear tips when the ceramic was cracked and broken.

The upkeep of telegraph stations was enormous. Lines were constantly snapped and insulators had to be replaced. Eventually, old broken insulators were placed at the bottom of poles to dissuade Aboriginal people from climbing to the top of the pole to retrieve insulators and fashion them into spear tips. The telegraph stations were powered by a huge set of batteries that was large enough to fill a house. A mixture of lead-acid batteries and glass batteries were used to amplify the incoming signal and then send the outgoing signal. The lead plates and acid had to be routinely changed and a spare set of batteries was always on stand-by in case the first set malfunctioned.

The staff who lived at the station had to adapt to a life of extreme isolation. The nearest big city was 100’s of kilometers away and they were the only people of European descent for 100’s of kilometers. As bushmen, they had to do many tasks for themselves. The blacksmith was responsible for not only shoeing the horses but also taking care of the cattle and sheep. Since he was good at treating animals – lancing sores, pulling teeth, and monitoring infections – he was also the unofficial dentist. And since the nearest doctor was over 1000 km away in Adelaide, several days journey by horse in which you had a high probability of dying from heat stroke and lack of water, the blacksmith served as the doctor as well. The stationmaster was the man of highest respect and education for 100’s of km, so in addition to sending Morse code messages he also served as the police chief, judge, bailiff, and mediator. One of the more common crimes involved Aboriginal people hunting and killing cattle. Aboriginal people had a system of land rights which Europeans refused to acknowledge or failed to recognize. Basically they owned any animal which happened to pass through their land. Unfortunately, for these actions they were rounded up, put in leg shackles, and driven to prison in Adelaide by horse. Often they did not understand why they were being taken away from their family and country and did not know when or if they would return. Once their prison sentence was up they were released from jail and were completely on their own in terms of making their way back home.

Running a station also required food and other supplies. However, the Afghan cameliers who transported the various goods only passed through once a year. So the stationmaster and his wife would often spend months preparing their list and trying to anticipate everything they might need. A governess was required for the stationmaster’s children – she was coveted not only for her teaching abilities but also for her good looks since she was the only single white female for many kilometers. However, the stationmaster had much incentive to prevent romances from flourishing – if the governess got married and moved off the station it would be difficult to find another governess to fill the remaining contract.

I imagine that work in the telegraph room was very tedious for the stationmasters and his assistants. They were constantly transcribing messages about engagements, weddings, births, deaths, business transactions, and government activity. Maybe they secretly looked forward to times when the line was broken and they were relieved from their duties. Or maybe they got special satisfaction from knowing that Australia was directly connected to the rest of the world. Messages could now be sent in hours instead of the months it previously took by sea. People were encouraged to settle in central Australia now that it was less isolated.

We took our time looking at the buildings which composed the telegraph station – the stationmaster’s residence, barracks, buggy shed, store room, battery room, and shoeing yards. We were impressed that the government even moved a piano to the middle of the desert. Eventually the telegraph station became such a major thoroughfare that a small village developed. The number of women and children grew so much that the new town of Alice Springs was established a few kilometers away.

Desert Venturer

Most tourists in Australia take a plane to get to the center of the continent. J and I wanted to see the wide open space first hand and witness the change in landscape and vegetation from the coast to the desert. So we opted for a Desert Venture bus trip that allowed us to travel across the land over the course of three days. Due to all the rain in Cairns, we had to take an alternative route the first day in order to avoid the flooded river crossings. We headed south along the Bruce Highway to Cardwell and Townsville and then west on the Flinders Highway for a late picnic lunch at Riedy. Once we got to Charters Towers in the late afternoon, we could really see the change in vegetation. In this semi-arid region eucalypts dominated with an understory of grasses. In contrast to the rainforest near the coast where trees were densely packed, the forest here was more open.

Before stopping at our accommodation for the night we popped into Prairie Hotel , an outback pub with a lot of character. The seats around the bar are a collection of old tractor seats, a dentist chair, and a barber shop chair. Above the bar the owner has displayed every cowboy hat he has ever owned and worn. A potbelly stove provides the heat during cool outback nights and you can relax with a drink in a formal parlor with furniture and décor which take you back to the 1900’s.

Finally, into Hueghdon for the night. After dinner at the motel/pub, J and I enjoyed a stroll around town. Even though none of the shops were open, the store fronts still provided us with a glimpse into the life of this small town. Hueghdon’s big claim to fame is dinosaur fossils – hence the trashcans in town are decorated as big dinosaur feet. The main street hosts a short walk past a fountain, the public library decorated with a silver dinosaur fossil sculpture, the newly built town entertainment center, and public benches flanked with huge former windmills.

Early the next morning we passed a female kangaroo who had been hit and killed during the night. Our driver stopped to pick up the joey because he was still alive in his mother’s pouch. The joey instantly became the center of attention despite the fact he was in pain (both legs were broken), cold, shivering from shock, and hungry. Our driver wrapped him in a towel and we dropped him off at our next stop, Winton, so he could be taken to a vet.

Winton is famous because on a nearby cattle station Banjo Patterson, a well-known Australian poet, was inspired to pen the poem Waltzing Matilda and later set it to music. Australians often joke that they would rather this song be their national anthem rather than Advance Australian Fair. While Waltzing Matilda does invoke images of the Australian landscape and life out in the bush, it is a very sad story of a sheep thief who gets caught and commits suicide in order to avoid police capture – perhaps not something you want your country to be remembered for in an anthem. We spend about an hour walking around Winton and got to the end of the main street … where we just stared at the prairie like landscape. If we had the time it would have been great to strike out in any direction from town, set up a tent, and soak up the landscape. The second impressive feature was Arno’s Wall which is a concrete wall/sculpture with household objects imbedded in it – motorcycles, microwaves, TVs, ovens, stoves, hubcaps, radiators, bottles and other miscellaneous junk!

It was getting near lunchtime so we hopped back on the bus and took the Lark Quarry road to Carisbrooke Station, a sheep station larger than some European countries. The road led to the top of the bluff which provided great views of the geology and rocks as well as all the natural water channels running through the country. I have never seen so many dry rivers and channels than during our Desert Venture tour. It is so weird to be nearing a bridge or creek crossing and look out to either side and see absolutely no water. The only way you can tell a river exists is because trees line the banks. On the bluff overlooking Carisbrooke Station I could distinguish an intricate network of channels. Runoff from the bluff provided water for the entire station. Seeing the clumps of spinifex grass and crowns of the trees from above made us realize for the first time why Abroiginal people use dots to characterize the desert landscape.

This station holds another treat as well. One of the rock overhangs contains several rock paintings. We hiked down to get a closer look. Out of all the paintings we would later see, these were the only ones we could really get close to. The images included what looked like plus signs and cross hatching which looked like woven nets. However, these particular paintings are poorly understood because they are not part of a continuous Aboriginal Australian tradition. Aboriginal people who come from these lands do not recognize them and do not claim themselves or their ancestors as the artists.

After a delicious BBQ lunch on the bluff we exited the station via Corkmail Road and saw three huge brolgas, which look like huge cranes with dark necks, standing in the distance. It seemed strange to see birds normally associated with water in the desert, but perhaps the irrigation pond constructed by the station owner had attracted them. We took Lind Road to the Kennedy Highway and eventually stopped at Middleton Hotel, another quirky outback pub literally in the middle of nowhere. Middleton is the home of Lester, an outback Aussie who loves riding and racing wild camels!

Yes, camels were first brought to Australia by Afgans to establish trade routes and haul material across the desert. Over time, a few escaped and the rest is history. Australia is the only country in the world where large populations of camels run wild, and there is a thriving wild camel trade between Australia and Middle Eastern countries. Every year Boulia, another sleepy outback town, hosts camels races. Several years back, Lester, other camel devotes, and their friends and family decided to ride by horse and camel from Winton (home of Waltzing Matilda) to Boulia, a distance of several hundred kilometres. During the two week journey they were really able to lose themselves in the outback landscape and appreciate the huge distances, openness of the sky, texture of the spinifex grass, and reminisce on how people used to travel through this space.

After lingering a bit at Middleton, it was onto the Donahue Highway, a quick stop for a sunset photo, and we pushed onto Boulia and then Wirrilyerna Station for dinner and accommodation.

Dan and Yoli, a husband and wife team who manage a cattle and sheep station, were our hosts for the evening. By now we had seen several kangaroos jumping away from the bus and had even watched a very informative kangaroo documentary. Dan and Yoli had a menagerie of pets enclosed in their front yard and this was J’s first chance to pet a baby kangaroo! It was also at this point where we began to appreciate how cold it gets in the desert when the sun goes down. For the next week we wore every layer of clothing that we had brought and often wished we had remembered to bring mittens and scarves. The flatness and openness of the outback allows you to really see in three hundred sixty degrees. We would appreciate the awesome southern hemisphere sky and the absence of light pollution from large cities for many nights to come.

The next day we got a particularly early start (5 AM) because the turbo-charger has broken the day before and we had to meet the company mechanic, who had left Alice Springs at 3AM and was driving 600 km east to meet us. It’s at a time like this, arranging to meet up with the nearest mechanic who is hours away, that you begin to realize the immensity of the outback. Part of our morning route crossed the Barkley Plains, which consist of red dirt and black organic material left over from dead spinifex grass. This black soil makes excellent road material when it is dry, but becomes quick-sand when it is wet. There were a few clouds in the sky, but none of them told of approaching rain, so we could safely get out of the bus for a ‘nothing walk’, so called because there is absolutely nothing on the horizon for kilometers in any direction. Of course, if you take a look it is obvious that there is ‘something’ present. I could clearly see cattle hoof prints and tufts of spinifex grass that had been nibbled almost to the roots.

Onto the Northern Territory and a stop at Tobbermorey cattle station in order to meet the mechanic and repair the bus. While walking around a bit of the cattle station, this time in the daylight, we could finally appreciate the immensity of these places. Most stations are the size of entire US states or European countries and are very far from towns or settlements of any sort - we wondered how the owners’ social lives adapted to this type of isolation.

The repair was made quickly and soon we were on our way through termite mound country, the largest of which was 9 m high. It’s incredible that tiny insects use their saliva, mud, and excrement to build such huge structures. We snapped a memorable photo in front of the largest mound and then head onto Jervois station for lunch.

Shortly after lunch the bus broke again, this time three fan belts needed to be replaced. But our driver/mechanic said ‘no worries’ as he had spare parts and we enjoyed the desert scenery amongst the red dirt, spinifex grass, and bush tomatoes as repairs were made. Finally, as night fell we were back onto sealed roads (bitumen) – the Plenty Highway and then the Stuart Highway into Alice Springs.

Desert Monoliths

I expected Uluru - the famous stone monolith which rises up out of the Australian desert - to be surrounded by desert sand and spinifex grass but actually quite a few trees grow in the area. I was eager to learn more, however, people not initiated into the Anangu culture (the traditional Aboriginal owners of this land) can only learn a limited amount of information, equivalent to what is known by an eight-year-old of the tribe. Uluru was created during the Dreamtime and several events involving dreaming Ancestors are recorded in the rock to this day. Liru, the venomous snake, was travelling across the area during the Dreamtime and killed a woma python which came across his path. The python’s aunt was very upset and sought to avenge the death of her nephew. So she travelled across the landscape with her newly laid eggs in tow and tracked down Liru. A huge fight took place in which a fire was lit – the soot from this huge fire turned part of Uluru black and we saw this blacked portion of Uluru the next day. Other Dreaming Ancestors became involved in the fight including Kurpany, the dog-like creature; Mala, the rufus haired wallaby; and Warmala, the human revenge party.

Even though Uluru is surrounded by desert, a seemingly inhospitable place for life, the area is known for providing a wealth of bush tucker (i.e. food). Honey ants contain a sugary, honey-like secretion in their abdomen. A certain flower is licked for its sugary nectar. The roots of a particular tree host witchety grub, white grubs with a yellow head which can be roasted in the fire or eaten raw. All the rules about what can be eaten, who is appropriate to marry, how to interact among members of the tribe are contained within the law, or Tjukurpa. This information is taught to children via rock paintings, songs, stories, and dance. We were honoured to be entrusted with a bit of this knowledge during our visit to the cultural center.

Uluru has a reputation for changing colors depending on the light and weather conditions. Sunrise at Uluru is truly a show of cosmic and geological proportions. As the sun first rises its rays bend around the curvature of the Earth and the Earth’s atmosphere acts as a prism, separating the white light into its respective colors. The red wavelength is the first to appear and disappear, which is why sunrises and sunsets make clouds glow pink and red. On this particular morning we saw the clouds above Uluru turn pink and gradually the sun illuminated the rock from top to bottom. Since Uluru is composed of red sandstone, the red wavelength from the sun’s rays amplifies the color of the rock, giving it a glowing orange color. This scene is made even more spectacular by the fact that only the rock is illuminated, the surrounding trees and desert landscape are bathed in a veil of darkness.

In the past, and to a certain extent in today’s time, one had only seen Uluru if one had climbed up it to the summit. I decided not to climb for two reasons – first, it’s a very steep climb and looks intimidating; second, the traditional owners prefer that only initiated men climb Uluru. The Anangu are very sad whenever anyone is injured or dies on the climb, and there have been over 30 deaths. As an alternative we decide to hike 9.4 km around the base of Uluru. It was quite amazing to see Uluru from every angle and very difficult to capture the experience in words or even pictures.

We were privileged to see both men’s and women’s sacred sites. Quite a few of the sites are caves which look like cresting waves about to crash on shore, except they are waves frozen in stone. One of these caves is used by Aboriginal women to give birth and a large rock shaped like the head of the dingo protects the entrance to this cave. Another cave is known as the rock wallaby pouch and is bell shaped – this is where all life begins. As we became more and more absorbed by the rock it was easy to see and feel what a sacred and special place this is. We could imagine the stories parents told their children in order to educate them about Tjukurpa. Perhaps all life begins in the rock wallaby cave because this is where mothers take their pre-pubescent daughters and tell them about the changes they will soon experience. Or maybe women visit the rock wallaby cave once they know they are pregnant and will soon give birth to a new life. Those not initiated into the culture will never know the full story behind these special features of Uluru, but that is okay because it is still very rewarding to let our eyes and imagination wander over the landscape.

In areas the rock forms impervious bottomed pools where water collects and provides permanent sources of water in the desert, making these pools very sacred places. These pools attract wildlife as well as Aboriginal hunters and their families who lie quietly in wait and then ambush the wallabies and kangaroos as they leave the water hole. It is truly spectacular to see Uluru in the rain with many waterfalls running down its face. Back lines, due to aquatic bacterial growth, indicate the paths which these waterfalls take. Even more spectacular are the trees growing in various rock crevices. We wondered how a seed could have landed in these crevices and had enough soil for growth, enough room for the roots to spread and take hold of the rock.

In the afternoon we continued our exploration of Uluru at the visitor’s center. Mostly we were curious about the geological formation of Uluru and its neighbour, Kata Tjuta, 30 km away. Millions of years ago a mountain range existed where Uluru and Kata Tjuta stand today. Over time erosion wore down the mountains and sandstone was deposited at the foot of the mountains that later formed Uluru while a mixture of sandstone and gravel was deposited that later formed Kata Tjuta. These deposits were compacted over a long period of time by water and sediments laid down by the water when this part of Australia was covered by an inland sea. The inland sea eventually disappeared and the top cap of sediments eroded away. The original sandstone deposits were folded by plate tectonics – Uluru’s sedimentary layers are at 80 degrees while Kata Tjuta is less tilted at 45 degrees. These two famous rock monoliths represent the more resistant sandstone which has withstood the test of time. However, the aboveground portions represent only a small amount of the original sandstone deposits. Four to six kilometers remain underground, yet to be exposed.

Our exploration of Kata Tjuta began shortly before sunrise as we waited in anticipation for the many rock domes of Kata Tjuta to turn a brilliant red. However, it wasn’t to be as clouds blocked the sun’s rays and once the sun rose above the bank of clouds, all the colors of the spectrum hit the rock at once and muted the effect.

Visitors to Kata Tjuta are able to learn far less about this place compared to Uluru since Kata Tjuta is entirely a sacred men’s site - only initiated men are privileged to the stories. Kata Tjuta means many heads and the area is composed of 36 rock domes that look like large red molars erupting out of the earth’s surface. It was great to hike in the morning as some domes were covered in shadow while others basked in the early morning light.

Due to its geological origins, Kata Tjuta really does have a character all its own. Instead of eroded ‘wave caves’ being present, huge chunks of conglomerate have fallen out of the domes. These conglomerate boulders are composed of various size rocks, from gravel to those the size of a human head, and are held together by a red cement.

The Valley of the Wind walk truly lived up to its name. Not only did we marvel at the shear rock faces and magnificent views from the look-out points, but we also withstood large gusts of wind which funnelled around these massive domes, some of which reached 300 m in height. Despite being in the desert, what appeared to be lush planes of trees stretched out beyond Kata Tjuta. Perhaps the impervious rock underground results in a shallow water table which the trees take advantage of. It is amazing to see evidence of water in a place seemingly so dry. We intercepted numerous streams and waterholes during our hike and marvelled at their beauty and life sustaining abilities. Perhaps this is a place where fathers and uncles of numerous tribes trekked across the desert in order to instruct their suns and nephews on how to be men, where elder men gathered in the shade of Kata Tjuta to pass on hunting stories from the ancestors, and where warriors and hunters honed their spear throwing and boomerang skills. The Valley of the Winds walk reveals only a small portion of Kata Tjuta, but enough to appreciate its scale and uniqueness.