The Long Overdue Walkabout: Day 7 – Ogling the Olgas

It has definitely come to that point long after this vacation that my memory of Australia is starting to fade from time. It’s now June 2011, I went on this trip in November 2009. Nonetheless, I trudge on due to the commitment to myself, and hope that some fading memories help to improve brevity in my posts…

I had one of those perfect wakeups where your vision slowly comes to focus and you realize you just had an incredible night’s sleep. “Oh…I’m still out in the Outback. Good to know…” as I oriented myself to the sight of Andrew poking at smoldering embers. Time to roll up the swags. We were off to a viewpoint to see the sunrise. It was 4AM.

The sunrise viewpoint put us directly in between Uluru and Kata-Tjuta. When we arrived, it was as sparse with bodies as the sunset viewpoint. By the time the sun started peaking out its head, that quiet and reflective mood was totally ruined by a giant tour bus full of the worst kind of tourists. Half-awake adolescents, dads rushing to set up their expensive SLR rigs, and the tour guide cooking breakfast right in the viewing stands. Our tiny group was a little bemused by it all, but chuckled with the satisfaction at having gotten our photo shots early and watching these unfortunates scramble against the barrier position for a photo op or rushing the line for the next bowl of cereal.

Taken from a Kodak Zi6 Flip Camcorder

There were outlets in the bathrooms at the campsite (the one that caused me much panic trying to find in the dead of night). I managed to eek out some battery life out of my camera. But it didn’t take long before the red battery started flashing halfway through sunrise. I had to settle for taking photos on the flip camcorder I brought along and it acquitted itself quite well. Nonetheless, a devastating result considering the day was just beginning.

So with sunrise out of the way, it was barely 9 in the morning, but we were starting our Valley of the Winds walk. This was a 4.5 mile trek through the random but impressive collection of giant domes protruding from the earth. It took the entire day, with the hundred degree sun beating down on us. This would normally be categorized as a death march, but there was quite a spirit to the place.

Falling behind…

We climbed to the top of a particular cluster of domes that had this valley view across the flat desert terrain. You looked down and you could see other marchers huffing their way up the dome. The silence was plentiful, and the view across the desert expanse was breathtaking. Here, there were no stories to be told, too sacred to tell to a passing interloper. But you could tell the domes had plenty of them stored inside.

The wind tunnels the domes created reminded me of the BU Law tunnel on a particularly breezy day. You hesitate about even taking one step because you couldn’t afford to lose the support that two legs planted firmly on the ground provided.

It’s also funny what details you remember two years out. The Frenchies were still in jeans in sweltering heat…Our group photo at the top of an overlook…eating oranges in the shade after marching for hours…I remember lagging behind with Axel and Frank The Tank early in the hike. Axel worked in IT and we bonded over SAP. I remember a trio of overweight teenagers refusing to climb any further up The Olgas, overwrought with angst and bitchiness that only teenage girls are capable of. If only they realized what was at the top.

Group photo at the top of the Olgas

After the hike, Andrew decided he needed a new shotgun partner. Being the only other solo traveler in the group, I was now designated co-pilot, which was a terrible decision. After a full day of hiking, it is usually a co-pilot’s job to help keep the driver awake. Andrew came prepared with gummy worms and a lot of soda.

To be fair, I tried. We talked about how he got into guiding. How much weight he loses after each one of these trips, how he gains them back. His life before guiding. He told me how he set out in the middle of the Kimberly with some aboriginal guides for a survival class, of how the entire Kimberly just had immense amount of unexplained magic to it. This was a deeply spiritual guy who truly respected and admired the aborigines. There was such deep quiet conviction to his anecdotes, however unbelievable, I wish I knew how to dig deeper, to share more with him in hopes of getting him to open more. Alas, I was tired, and terribly uninteresting.

Two hours later, I awoke from the passenger side to see Andrew slumped over behind the wheel and an endless stretch of straight road ahead. Do I even bother waking him? Everyone else is asleep, he somehow is driving in a straight line. There’s no tanker trucks in sight. Common sense would’ve told me to give him a nudge or something, but I just fell back into slumber like the sloth that I am.

We reached a roadhouse in the middle of nowhere. All the roadhouses we stopped in reminded me of a 50′s truckstop. Most of the Outback reminded of how the 50′s would look like for that matter, before pesky things like internet, telephones, or anything electronic took over. Just lots of dirt, camels, and sun. This roadhouse also owned some private land “out back” where we would be spending the night. So after some bathroom breaks and Andrew checking in, it was down a small dirt path for a few miles until we hit a long metal No-trespassing gate. Per shotgun role and responsbility, Andrew asked me to go out and open the gate. Out I tumbled out of the side of the van-tank and made my way to the lock. After about a minute of blank staring and head scratching, Andrew honked and made the “lift the lever and push” motion. Ah, right…I pushed the heavy gate door over the road to the other side and Andrew drove off in jest as the group laughed heartily. I had a quick 4th-grade-loser moment, shook it off, and chased down the van. The joy of traveling with strangers, they don’t need to see or know about your crushingly low self-esteem.

Past an airstrip for the Royal Flying Doctors, our campsite was totally indiscernible from the rest of its surrounding other than there was a fire pit in a clearing of bush.

Andrew led us to an outdoor shower and toilet. We circled, we stared, we knocked on the sheet metal for a few minutes at these three-sided stalls in the middle of nowhere, so out of place in its desert surroundings that it took a few minutes for our brains to accept what our eyes were seeing. They were fascinatingly clean and hey, better one in the middle of nowhere than none at all.

Seriously?…

The campsite was at the base of a rocky hill, probably hiding packs of poisonous snakes (Andrew had trouble convincing us otherwise). A few of the guys and I climbed it for the view of the sunset and to take in the silence and expanse of the location.

As darkness settled in, we gathered for dinner, taking turns with our headlights to find the random shower and toilet stalls. Can a shower be a highlight of a trip? Because it was one of the best shower experiences of my life. The cool desert night, a burning wood stove to keep the water temperature perfect, shockingly incredible water pressure, and total darkness except for a hanging headlight and said burning wood stove made for an interesting series of thoughts as I showered…

“Where’s the soap…”
“What if a passing camel comes to watch me shower?…”
“Why does it bother me if a camel comes to watch me shower?”
“Wait, what was that…is someone there?”
“Relax…camels don’t care about you…”
“I probably shouldn’t use up all this water…”
“When was the last time I showered? I can’t remember…”
“Are camels dangerous? Or just creepers?”

View from shower stall…

Luckily(?), I never ran into a camel or snake while I showered, so all was good. Refreshed and safely back and camp, I nestled into my swag for another peaceful night of sleep.

You have no idea how great it feels to finally finish this blog post.