A late start today, only having to be up at 6:30. However, the tents were all transparent fly-netting so the sun woke us all at 5:30 instead. We’re definitely in the tropics now – the weather is very hot and humid. I’m remembering what Asia was like now! It’s surprising how quickly the change takes place as you travel up the Stuart Highway.

Today’s big destination was the Katherine Gorge within the Nitmiluk National Park, a huge system of canyons and crevices forged by the Katherine River over millions of years. Freshwater crocodiles inhabit the area and many of the sandy beaches within the Gorge are labelled as crocodile breeding grounds. I partnered with Janni, one of the Danish girls, to canoe for a couple of hours – an optional extra not part of the tour, but quite reasonable at $23. This is the all-day hire price, but we only had two hours. We made it to near the top of the first gorge (Katherine Gorge is one huge single gorge, but seems divided into 13 different ones during drier weather) where we got out along with most of the rest of the canoists and had a swim for half an hour or so. The water was lovely and the scenery idyllic. Palm trees, golden sand, lurking reptiles…

 Upon returning to the coach, Pia (the other Dane) and I forked out $70 each and took a ten-minute helicopter ride. Neither of us have been in a chopper before, and this was a superb place to experience it. Carl joined us for free, the lucky person, at the invitation of the pilot and he loved it as well.

Katherine Gorge is stunning both from close up and from 2000 feet in the air. They do offer longer tours, but $70 was about as much as I could justify and we also had a schedule to keep to. The pilot removed the rear doors which made it easier to take photos but hugely increased the wind and noise. If you’ve never been in a helicopter while it banks, either… wow. The bizarre thing is it’s almost a purely visual experience. You can’t actually feel it banking. It was a little too windy for too many aerobatics (I’m partly glad of that), and gusts did buffet our little copter as we made our way up the first three mini-gorges and back again. Definitely worth the money. As an aside, at the weigh-in before flying I found that I’m currently 73kg. That’s the lightest I’ve been in years, though it’s possibly down to dehydration!

 Our final lunch stop was at Edith Falls where we polished off the rest of the food before having a plunge and throwing a ball around in the water. The falls themselves aren’t that large or impressive, but the water’s lovely and clear. Just what we needed before being crammed into the bus again for the final northward stint.

Green Day and AC/DC blared on the stereo (thanks, Kiwi) as we sped up the Stuart Highway. We had a quick stop at Adelaide River (a town, not a waterway) at beer o’clock and met Charlie. He’s the buffalo from the Croc Dundee films. He died a few years ago and they had him stuffed. You can now have your photo taken with him or buy a little beer cooler with his name on.

And then on. To the final stop. Three days, 1500km and back to Darwin. My first stop in Oz, and most likely my last until I return – which I will do. I’ve still got the West to visit!

We met up for dinner later on at the Vic and we came third in the pub quiz. Two free jugs of beer! Whoop! Darwin’s definitely quieter than it was when I visited about 2 1/2 months ago. The Vic’s upper floor is shut and there are far fewer people around.

 Our group disappeared in little dribs and drabs as the majority were setting off for a 3-day Kakadu trip with a 6:20 pickup. Credit to the Bulgarian lad who lasted till almost 2am. I left Erin, the Canadian girl, at around 2:30 once the live music had finished and staggered back to the Cav. I found her on the stairs about 2 hours later munching crisps when I woke up to get some fresh air.

One final message – happy birthday to Sharna who I met in the Vic. Another nice Aussie I met who was great to chat to. Maybe I’ll see you again when I head back here! 

 Our lie-in until the late hour of 6:00 didn’t happen. The birds in the area, including the turkeys, decided that 5:20 was a much nicer time of day to wake us all up. The noise was deafening, but at lest I know the turkeys will get what’s coming to them next month. That’ll teach them.

In the bus, northward bound and first stop a place called Elliott. Formed during WWII as a staging point for troops heading to Darwin, all the buildings are on the left hand side of the road. The troops had been camped on the right, and nobody seems to have thought of using that land since, even though the troops are long gone. It was recently given a grant by the government to spruce itself up a bit, add some pizazz or whatever. After weeks of debate, they decided to spend the cash on a 9-hole gold course. Good grief.

 The Mobil service station has a list on the wall of people who are banned for life from entering. The list contains more people than actually live in Elliott. At least we were allowed to stop and nobody complained that we used too much toilet paper.

Further north (surprise) we stopped at Dunmarra to refuel – the last available fuel stop for 500km. Don’t fill up here and your journey could be over a bit sooner than you expected. The place name is thought to be a shortening of the name of the founder: Dan O’Marra.

Heading to Daly Waters we passed Stuart Tree. After his problems at Attack Creek, he set off again from Adelaide. The Aboriginals had left Attack Creek and he got past there with no troubles the second time. Further north, however, they encountered trees which were brittle yet strong. As they passed through them, the branches broke and formed knife-like splinters which cut both the men and the horses as they brushed past. They were so sharp that many of the horses were actually killed by the injuries suffered and they were forced to turn back… to Adelaide again.

 Daly Waters is home to Australia’s first international airport, though we couldn’t look at it as the road had been closed. This upset Carl as he usually speed-tests the bus on the disused runway. Daley Waters Aviation Complex was opened in 1928 and came into regular use in the 1930s. Planes then weren’t able to hold as much fuel so travellers to and from Sydney needed a stopoff. This was it.

The town has a permanent population of eight, most of whom man the bar next to the remotest traffic lights in Australia, which sit permanently on red. The bar is amazing with souvenirs, photos, patched and so on from thousands of visitors. Bras, underpants, shirts, flags and so forth hang from the walls and ceiling, most with messages scrawled on them. There are even collections of official patches from various fire, ambulance and police departments (including Durham Constabulary). Out back, they have a pool where we had lunch then frolicked for an hour or so. Before getting in the bus and heading… you guessed it… north.

 At Mataranka, we disembarked for another plunge. During the war, troops were employed by their officers to pave the pools here, put in steps down to them and so on. The officers them took these pools – heated thermal ones – and relegated the troops to using the river. I had a dip in both, tough there are supposedly crocs in the river. I didn’t see any, which is probably for the best. The thermal pool was lovely, surrounded by trees where I could see flying foxes hanging upside down.

As we left, Carl spotted a young kangaroo on the road twitching wildly. It had obviously been winged by a car but whoever had done it hadn’t bothered to stop. He carried it into the bush and a passing car stopped. The driver got out with a huge lug wrench and, thankfully out of our sight, put the poor creature out of its misery.

The road north beckoned and we stopped off at the third-largest settlement in the Northern Territory for more supplied. Katherine is another town formed around an old telegraph station and was named after the second eldest daughter of James Chambers, who financed Stuart’s expedition. The current Katherine town is actually very new. The old one was flooded in 1998 when the river reached 22m in depth and washed it away.

I opted to sleep in a tent at the campsite and I’m glad I did. In the morning quite a few people complained about ant bites overnight! 

 Our 5:45 pickup arrived at 6:20 so I could have had another 30 minutes in bed. Never mind. Again, some of the people I knew from the Cairns trip, and some from Uluru were on this one as we set off on 1500kms of northbound driving to Darwin.

We had two guides this time: Carl and Kiwi. No prizes for guessing where Kiwi’s from. They kindly allowed us to sleep for a while before Carl woke us up to let us know we were about to pass over the Tropic of Capricorn, marked by a big monumenty thing and a line on the road (which is actually in the wrong place now, due to continental drift). We were now officially in the Tropics, though it didn’t feel any different. Yet.

Onwards we went. North. Going north was to become a theme…

Our first rest stop of the day was at Ti Tree, a small (very small) township consisting of an art gallery. And that’s about it. Many townships on the way up the Stuart Highway were formed around telegraph stations and Ti Tree is one of these. Troops stopped here on their treck up to Darwin during WWII as well. Its name has two explanations: it’s either a type of Eucalyptus tree or a specific actual tree, the leaves of which the troops used to flavour their boiled water.

The “Stuart” in Stuart Highway, the road which runs from Adelaide to Darwin, was an explorer who became the first man to travel that entire route around 1860. His name pops up a lot in the history of the Centre. He was also responsible for setting up the telegraph line which ran from Adelaide to Darwin, where it connected with an undersea line to Europe via Java.

North of Ti Tree is Central Mount Stuart. When it was found, it was reckoned as being the central point in Australia, hence the name. It was originally called Central Mount Sturt after an earlier explorer, but for some reason renamed later on. Regardless, it’s 400km or so away from the actual centre anyway.

 Shortly after passing this point, we were invited down to the front to take the microphone and introduce ourselves. The makeup of the bus turned out to be:

1 x Aussie, 1 x Kiwi (guess who), 3 x English, 2 x Danes, 1 x Spanish, 1 x Korean, 1 x Czech, 2 x Japanese, 1 x Bulgarian, 2 x Italians, 1 x Canadian, 2 x Dutch and 1 x German.

The next township was Barrow Creek, another one formed around one of the telegraph repeating stations. We couldn’t stop there, though. A driver had been “abused” because the tourists he kept bringing there were using the toilets! Still, that’s slightly better than the treatment meted out to the original telegraph operators who were speared to death by Aboriginals who didn’t take kindly to people just waltzing onto their land and setting up shop. A Colonel Wiltshire was sent up from South Australia to “protect” the replacement staff. His idea of protection was to kill somewhere between 300 and 1000 of the local population, an act for which he was taken to court but acquitted. Many of the backpacker murders we hear about (including the recent Lees/Falconio one) happened in areas surrounding Barrow Creek. So maybe it’s best that we didn’t stop after all.

North, we travelled. To Wycliffe Well which claims to have 350 types of beer. Along with 40 degree heat and lot of spare time, it may explain why Wycliffe Well also claims to be the UFO capital of Australia. The caravan park displays a sign proclaiming “humans also welcome”, though this doesn’t seem to be the case. Another case of driver-abuse, this time for the overuse of toilet paper, means that the tour no longer stops there. Maybe they need all the loo roll to clear up after the little green men have been at the locals with their anal probes.

Our first touristy stop was at the Devil’s Marbles. These are huge round rocks, many stacked on top of each other. These were formed as the surrounding Devenport Range was “filled” with magma. As this cooled, it cracked vertically and the inland sea found its way into these cracks. This caused further cooling and horizontal cracks, effectively at that point making thousands of individual rocks. They were flat then, but as the sea disappeared over time and the rocks became exposed, they were weathered and rounded leaving the “marbles” we see today.

 The “Devil” part of the name comes from one of two sources. The Aboriginal version tells of the Devil Devil man who lives in the area – a scare tactic used by parents to stop their children wandering off and eating the many poisonous plants found locally. The “white man” version is also related to the vegetation and the fact that when sheep were released here, they all died from the poisons – hence “Devil’s Land”.

We had lunch here in the baking heat and then boarded the bus to head up to Tennant Creek. This townshop was named after John Tennant, a friend of Stuart’s who provided him with horses for his trek. We saw our first traffic lights for 500km, and amazingly they stayed green. A quick stopoff to get some provisions (OK, sweets) and we drove up to the Mary Ann dam to swim in the murky green water and mess about on a platform anchored a short way out.

As we journeyed (north, for a change), Carl told us of some of the places we passed. Attack Creek was named for an attack (wow) on Stuart’s party by Aboriginals as the explorers were using the local water supply. They suffered so many losses, they had to head back to the nearest town… Adelaide, 2000km south and where they had started from. On the “old” Stuart Highway (a single-laned road now replaced by a 2-lane highway) we saw Churchill’s Head. Well, a rock called Churchill’s Head which looks almost, but not quite, entirely unlike any representation of Churchill you could imagine.

Our stop for the night was to be Banka Banka Station, a working cattle farm with a couple of ‘roos, some calves we could pet (one of them took a real shine to me), and emu and three turkeys who really needed to look at a calendar and consider taking a long holiday.

Will and Helen run the station and after dinner, Will does a slide show telling visitors all about what they do and so forth. This runs for about an hour and I’m pretty certain everyone in the group found it interesting.

Banka Banka is 80,000 acres of land. Including the other two stations which are part of the same business, that’s 11,600 square kilometres for them to rear cattle on. An area larger than Jamaica. The original owner could have walked from Darwin to Adelaide and not left his property. The largest of the stations is 6.8 million hectares in size, which is roughly the size of Holland.

 New “recruits” at the station are called jackaroos or jillaroos, depending on their sex. They get $250 a week, plus food and board. In return, they work seven days a week and very long hours. After three years they may be promoted to ringer or stockman, the equivalent of the American cowboy, which nets than a pay rise of $100 a week.

In the wet season it’s possible for 18 inches of rain to fall in one night and vegetation just shoots up. This grass only contains 2% protein due to its quick growth, so supplemental “lick blocks” have to be distributed to the cattle.

The cattle are herded using horses, planes, helicopters and motorcycles in various combinations. The plane “divebombs” the cattle and has a police siren strapped to it to further convince them to move. Cattle are kept near a watering hole and the motorbike kept on hand in case they bolt.

They are then moved to a holding yard where they are tagged – a different coloured ear tag for different years of birth – and branded if necessary. Males are neutered to prevent inbreeding. Will described this process in detail and a goodly portion of the audience winced at his tales of “prairy oysters” being removed.

Females are pregnancy tested and separated based on the rough due date of their offspring, and calves over 6 months old are weaned. Steers (castrated bulls) over 350kg are separated fromt he herd and loaded onto road trains for the journey to Darwin. These are the ones that will end up on plates with BBQ sauce. 3000 steer are usually transported at one go on roughly 17 road trains, which transfer them to a ship in Darwin. From here, they’re sailed to Indonesia where feeding yards plump them up before they’re slaughtered, butchered and shipped to various destinations.

Will assured everyone that the travelling conditions are as good as can be. After all, uncomfortable and unhealthy transport can mean dead cattle and they’re worth around $2000 a head. If the journey on the road train exceeds 12 hours, the the cattle – by law – have to be let off for a drink and a feed. A nightmare situation as there’s no guarantee of being anywhere near a station where they can be easily reloaded.

The final part of Will’s talk discussed water divining and how it magically works. He demonstrated with two pieces of wire, each about 50cm long with a “handle” bent at one end and a slight downward point at the other. Holding these loosely in the hands, they will cross over (or swing wide – it varies from person to person) when you walk over a water source.

Several people in the group tested this and it worked every time, accurately locating a buried water pipe that ran from the water tank to an outdoor tap. Quite amazing!

With a 6am rise coming up, everyone passed on Will’s offer of further chats and beers and headed for bed; some indoors, some out but all conked out completely within thirty minutes. 

 Another early start, with 5am being wake-up time. We were camped very close to Kings Canyon so it was only a short journey after breakfast to this enormous natural feature, where we engaged in a 3 1/2 hour long walk. A lot of it was little stops here and there as our guide pointed things out and explained the Aboriginal take on a lot of it.

There are over 600 species of plant in the area around Kings Canyon. It is also the meeting place of three regions: the Western Desert, Simpson Desert and a Range of mountains that I didn’t catch the name of.

Anyone who’s seen the film Priscilla Queen of the Desert will recognise one of the spots in Kings Canyon from the “cock in a frock on a rock” scene, or so I’m told. I’ve not seen the film, but I had my photo taken at that spot. Apparently, they were going to film it at Uluru, but the Aboriginals didn’t take too kindly to it.

 We saw lichen on the rocks which is pretty much one of the oldest forms of life, around 3.5 billion years old (or a couple of thousand if you’re one of those nutty creationists), and “ghost gums”: pale trees covered in a white dust which almost glow in the dark. Aboriginals make the dust into a paste which works as a mild sunscreen.

At the bottom of the Canyon, down some stairs, is an area known as the Garden of Eden. It’s home to a lot of vegitation and wildlife, and a nice big pool where you can swim. I opted to just collapse in the shade, out of the fierce sun.

 Lunch after our trek was at a servo down the road, which had an outdoor pool. I took a dip in there to freshen up and cool off before our 5 1/2 hour drive back.

Exhausted, I arranged dinner with a couple of people from the tour (all German!) and headed for my room at Melanka’s. A shower was the first requirement, so off I toddled and came back to my room feeling awake for the first time in days.

Only to find I couldn’t get into my room.

The key just span uselessly round in the lock, barely even catching the lock mechanism. So there I stood, dripping water on the floor with nothing on but a towel and a rather pissed-off expression. I plodded over to reception which meant going outside and back in, and caught them just as they were closing up for the night. Another five minutes and I don’t know what I’d have done.

 They swapped my key for another one. I walked back. It span in the lock. I kicked the door. My towel fell down and I flashed a rather scared-looking Asian girl. I regained my composure (and towel) and walked back to reception. There, they offered me another room and swapped my key. “Erm… problem,” says I. The chap hadn’t seen that I was wearing a towel. He assumed I was just walking around without my shirt on! I needed to get my things out of the room, so he came over with the key to my new room (a double – whoop) and the master key.

Which span round and round in the broken lock.

Until finally it just “clicked” and we got the door open. I retrieved my stuff, ran to the new room, got dressed and just made it in time for dinner with Michaela and her friends. I had a rather nice camel burger (tastes very much like steak) and we stayed out till around 3am. Which was a bit silly as I had to get up at 5:00… 

 Today was our earliest rise of the trek – 4am. We wanted to catch sunrise at Uluru, so obviously this entailed getting up before sunrise so we could be elsewhere when it happened.

We got there and, as with sunset, the view was amazing. The only problem was that, for me, we were too close and I couldn’t get the whole rock into my pictures!

We next had two choices – to walk around the rock or to climb it. The Aboriginals request that you don’t climb Uluru, in fact you can get “I didn’t climb Uluru” stickers and t-shirts from the gift shop. However, they won’t stop you unless it’s unsafe and guide rails have been put in on the steeper sections. Uluru is of huge religious significance to them, being used as part of male coming-of-age rituals, and is the home of some of the beasts in which they believe. Our guide said it was akin to climbing a church or a mosque.

 Well, you know my views on religion. I don’t lack respect for any one in particular so it would be unfair to pick out the Aboriginals’ for special treatment. I climbed it.

Five of us from the group made our way up the steep opening section, our way constantly halted by collapsing Japanese tourists who probably hadn’t realised exactly how steep it was at the beginning. After this first stage, there is a natural “rest” area where we gathered and waited for the Korean chap in our group who seemed to be struggling, but who didn’t give up!

The next section wasn’t as steep, but ended in another flat area where the wind roared past. The rock is shut to climbers in certain circumstances (rain, high winds, high temperatures and so on) and I think the winds had peaked the allowable limit. However, we were already on the rock so we kept going.

 The final section is “up and downy” as you clamber over rounded crevices in the rock to finally reach the monument marking the top of Uluru. Up here I still had 4-bar reception on my phone so sent a few texts to annoy people.

I would say the best views from Uluru are during the climb, not actually right up at the top. Uluru is a huge, flat thing so when you’re at the “peak”, there’s a lot of rock before the horizon which obscures the views. However, it was definitely worth the effort though there was of course the realisation that we had to get back down again. The Aboriginals have yet to conceed to having a lift installed.

My shoes died on the climb down. Both soles were ripped through and I was in no position to buy another pair for almost a week. At least it’s not quite wet season so there was no issues with leakage.

When we arrived at the bottom, we saw that the climb had indeed been closed due to high winds. It was lucky we’d made an early start. Our guide took us on a short walk around the base, pointing out some of the cultural areas and giving us some information on the customs and flora. Looking up at the sides of Uluru it brings images of how impressive it would also look in torrential rain with water cascading down it.

Everyone by now was rather hungry having been up for five hours, and therefore convinced it was lunchtime. It was barely after 9am! Instead, we went to the cultural centre for a quick walk around, and a visit to the cafe… which didn’t last long once we’d seen the prices. Ouch.

 Finally, we had lunch and then set off on another long drive. On the way, we gathered wood at the roadside to use to cook dinner. As we were preparing the food, I spotted a fairly HUGE spider scrambling around near the sink and casually pointed it out to one person. Who screamed. Which scared the spider. Which ran like hell towards everyone and under the long kitchen table.

Women screamed and jumped on benches (I kid you not – it couldn’t have been more stereotypical an image if it was scripted) and men ducked under to have a look at this monstrous arachnid. Finally, the guide located a glass and a sheet of paper and threw the hairy critted outside.

After dinner, a didgeredoo (don’t tell me I’ve mis-spelled this as I’ve seen about 5 different versions) was passed around so we could all embarass ourselves with how bad we were at playing it. I think my effort was somewhere between “gasp” and “fart”. Not as easy as it looks!