Day 4 Tour of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

We were up at 5 to get the bus for 5:30 and a sunrise shot at Uluru, the geographical heart of the Land Down Under. Majella and I were the last ones to the bus and Mr T, our tour guide for the day, was a little agitated. It was 5:31 and we were already 60 seconds behind schedule. Seat belts were mandatory and Mr T inspected each of his new recruits to ensure they were locked tight. Safety is everything and he was not about to let his new team down. Besides we were headed for sacred ground. No telling what could happen.

'Stow your cameras gentlemen!', he said. (Mr T doesn't speak to ladies.) 'There will be no pictures of the pink bits without my say so! Is that clear?'
'What's a pink bit?' said Sam?
'Pink bits are sacred', said Mr T.
And so they are.
Our next adventure to the greatest Australian pink bit was on the road.

We drove the Lassetter highway with grim purpose looking for a national park with one of the best rock collections in the world. On the way we received our briefing. 'You white Australian bastards (Mr T was from Nuke Zealand) had better have your sheet together today. Remember you don't own this sacred rock and you will beHAVE at all times respectfully to the indigenous owners. (We never even got to see one?). And don't you scumbags even dream of climbing that Rock. It is sacred and if you die I will have to press a red button and speak into the grill to get someone else to save you.' It seemed that only rangers were allowed to rescue people. 36 people have already died attempting the summit: 31 from heart attacks and the other 5 were clubbed to death by Mr T as they climbed down. This was an environmental tragedy. Apparently when people die on the Rock their bodies were sometimes washed into a little pool at the bottom and all the frogs living there either died or moved to another pond further down the creek. (That really shook me - I really love frogs). We were then told a moving story -- a veritable tour de force of passionate regret -- about how Mr T was at the little pool one day dreaming of life in a Turkish prison when rain washed all the pollutants from the evil tourists (read white Australian bastards) into the sacred pool and 200,000 frogs and God only knows how many tadpoles died right before his eyes. 'RRIBBBIIITTT , they cried. 'RRREEEEEEbittttt ..... rrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! bit', and they were gone. Slipped away in front of him. I tried to picture him cradling a frog in his arms. Harrie said I thought frogs said 'neeedeep?' I wasn't sure but I thought we were pretty close to being kneedeep in bullshit.

As Mr T told us the story a little tear appeared in the corner of his eye -- (the glass one it was I think; leastways it never blinked once the whole day and so I'm pretty sure it was glass). That really brought us low to see this rock of a man moved in such a way. He was tough. It was -2 degrees and he was only wearing a short sleeve shirt with no jacket. He truly had bonded with the traditional owners who used to get about in -15 degree temperatures wearing nothing but a hair belt. I noticed there was a freddo frog wrapper on the ground near the pond and I wondered if any of the frogs had been eaten by tourists? But I was afraid to ask.

Anyways the soft side of Mr T evaporated as soon as it had appeared. This was a man of many moods (and words). I could see his spider senses tingling and once again he seemed completely on his guard: 'If there are any rock collectors among you and I can smell them a mile away then consider your selves on notice: no theft of rocks or stones or even so much as a bag of F$#%&@*ing gravel will be tolerated. This was really spooky because for the last 3 days Sam had been quietly secreting away as much of the geology of south-west Queensland and South Australia as he could cram into his pockets and under his seat in the Cherokee. 'Are you listening to me Samuel Freer?'. I'm sure he said that. 'I can smell a little rock grabber from a mile away!' And he could too even though he'd never had any formal lessons.

Mr T was a self taught man. But we would not have to follow the same difficult path to knowledge. For we had a guide and he was more than happy telling us what to do,  how to think and when to do it. And then just when you thought you had him figured out in the twinkling of a glass eye he had changed again. One minute he's banning rock collections and the next he was generously offering to take us back to his place and show us all his etchings.

We were done now with the Rock. I must say it is a nice place with lots of interesting and picturesque nooks and crannies and of course a few sacred bits which cannot be photographed and which I can not tell you about. If I did Mr T would have to kill you. We were always blindfolded whenever we went past a sacred sight. It was vital that no one looked at the pink bits. I quite liked the story of how all the markings on the rock had been caused ages ago when some big Monster had kicked the shit out of one of the locals for refusing to have a beer with the guys next door. Harry was pretty sceptical about that one and wanted to know what really happened but I was just glad none of the damage had been caused by tourists. Things were looking up and we were all starting to get the hang of it. Everywhere we went Mr T would have us marching in pairs, line astern and singing:

There she was just a walkin' down the street singin'
Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do
Snappin' her fingers and a shufflin her feet singin'
Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do

She looked good (looked good) She looked fine (looked fine)
She looked good she looked fine, and I nearly lost my mind.

Before I knew it she was walkin' next to me singin'
Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do
Holdin' my hand just as natural as can be singin'
Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do

We walked on (walked on) To my door (my door)
We walked on to my door, then we kissed a little more.

Oh, I knew we was fallin' in love.

We all took heart for we knew deep in ourselves that even though we didn't get to climb the Rock or look at its pink bits, as long as we were true to each other and did not abandon Sam and Zac to torment with Mr T, our Fellowship would not fail.

We stopped a while in a picturesque spot with a tree branch hanging over it and sat on a log. Mr T sat in the dirt and composed himself. Choosing a stick carefully from the ground he explained to us the 8 different skin groups of the Anangu and why Samson and Delilah could never ever really hope to be happy. It was a complex system that was difficult to grasp and I was glad that white Australia still relied on Mills and Boon and romantic comedies like 'Pretty Woman', 'Con Air' and 'Priscilla Queen of the Desert' to arrange its marriages. But this other way was secret business and Mr T was careful to rub it all out before we left. Now we could get in the bus and go over to the sunset parking lot for photos of the Rock from yet another angle; and after that Kata Tjuta.

What can I say? Kata Tjuta too was lovely. So picturesque that we took about 74000 photos of it from all angles. Apparently it had no pink bits. At least none we could see. We took a nice walk up into one of the gorges and Sam and Zac were hung (as indeed we all were) on Mr T's every word. There was some time for a big group shot at the top of the gorge and when we returned to the car park our guide - sensei is a better word for it - gave us a fascinating lecture on the geological formation of both monoliths. Harry was particularly happy because, as I mentioned earlier, he had always wanted to know what really happened. Mr T finished his story, which had pretty much lost me at 'Once upon a time and well before anyone had ever seen a grown man naked...'.  Then Sam carefully chose his own stick and began to redraw the geological formation of Uluru and Kata Tjuta in the red dirt. It was brilliant and we all thought the 6 year old was a savant. But Mr T watched the boy closely - no rock grabber was going to get the better of him - and when the boy was finished he screamed: 'They are not connected; they are not connected!' And then he rubbed the line in the dirt out with his boot.

Duuuhhh Sam DuuuuHHHH!

Then almost as soon as it had started it seemed it was time to leave. We stopped for some lunch which had not been provided and I got to take a rare photo of the camera shy super hero, Green Lantern, in front of the many heads of Kata Tjuta. Alas I looked in vain for a tree branch, but in spite of that, the photo was the highlight of a day of unparalleled education and mysterious affect. :o)