The Red Centre Way

After 600km of red dust vacuuming into the back of the car the black tar stuff was a certain sight to see. On our way to Uluru there was a 300 stretch of nothing. Knowing that a massive rock should be within sight was nowhere to be seen until the very last few kilometres. Dad and I have already been to Ayres Rock and Kings Canyon before so this trip was more for Dave (possibly a reminder for me). He was pretty excited to finally see the rock for the first time but it all seemed a bit rushed as Dave was so focused on getting to the base of the rock and attempting to climb it. It was a beautiful sunny day but we could feel the breeze pick up so it was full on pedal to the medal. There is a list that gives particular conditions that allow the national park to close the climb and in many cases it is closed due to high winds ranging above 25 knots at the summit. Dad and I remember years ago when we climbed it with mum, it was a cool breeze at the base but once we got to the top dad literally had to hang onto me or I would fall over. So, having told Dave that, he was absolutely determined to climb.

 When we arrived at the base the climb was open, we ran quickly to get within the gates and to at least touch the rock. It was a tough 100m incline to reach the chain which did give a lot of assistance. Do you remember the photo of the nut incline? It was pretty much that. I don’t even remember looking up because my head was so focused on the path in front, holding onto the chain, and not looking down (me and heights aren’t the best of friends).

Dave was behind me walking up like it was a Sunday stroll and dad was full steam ahead – he’s a bloody fit 63 year old. The further and further we climbed the more and more the winds picked up. I can really see why 35 people have died and many more have been injured. Walkers coming down weren’t even near the chain and one slip literally could mean the end. People put a lot of trust in the soles of their shoes.  Once reaching ¾ up the chain disappeared and it was replaced with a simple white line. Stopping to have a rest became difficult as the winds easily put us off balanced so only one option, keep moving. Some of the routes the white line directed were idiotic; directing people over a downhill ridge and both sides having a massive drop off didn’t quite seem right. Plus, it’s not like people are well equipped. I saw countless tourists walking up in fashion boots, thongs, and without water. No wonder the National Park and the local Aboriginal community don’t want people to climb. Getting to the top was an amazing accomplishment. The view of the Olgas and Mt Conner in the background and an endless horizon of greenery was a definite reward. The walk down from the summit was more leisurely and made for good photography. There was a drop off in walkers as we were coming down which did suggest that the climb had been closed. Dave was super happy that we got that window of opportunity.

Us at the top!

After a little rest the culture centre was the next port of call where we found out that the climb had been closed for the last 4 days and only today was it opened for 4 hours. It was closed from that afternoon and into the next morning. We were lucky.

Next morning we challenged our self to the 7km Valley of the Winds walk into the Olgas. Seeing the vibrant green colours, waterholes that were full, and the contrasting red boulders that were big as skyscrapers is something we’ll never forget. The area has had 8 times their annual rainfall which was easily seen in the environment. Bird life, wild flowers, and creeks following show how alive this country is.

That night we free camped with some other happy campers. Big fire was all in place...we certainly needed it as temperatures fell below 2 degrees. Field mice were plentiful, fat and slow enough for me to catch easily. I didn’t play my game that night...I like field/bush mice. We were lucky enough to watch an owl swop down and catch a mouse within 2 metres of us. The owl came like a slight breeze and with one grab, caught the mouse and flew off into the dark. We looked around at each other as to question if that actually happened. Where’s the camera when you need it.

Pink Roadhouse in sight

Oodnadatta was the next stop along the famous track. The Pink Roadhouse was on the horizon and was something I was definitely looking forward to. The 200km stretch didn’t present many significant icons but there was always something new to look at. There was one siding that had a large portion of the Ghan railway which dad was pretty impressed with.

Another point was passing through Anne Creek, which is the world’s largest cattle property having 1million square acres. I tried to put that into perspective as Kokatha’s farm has 330 square acres which I mustered only 40% of. Starting from one side of the fence to the other was about 20km. Every time we went over a grid, I asked Dave how we would muster that paddock and how would we not get lost? We had to keep our wits about us though; constantly watching for wandering stock. Hitting a 1 tonne bull, even with our troppy and massive bull bar would still do some enormous damage. Somehow these big, slow animals are still able to magically appear out of the middle of nowhere.  Other random animals have been seen including 2 dingoes, a family of ducks with their chicks, only 2 kangaroos, no emus, 5 wedge-tail eagles, countless hawks and bloody crows. Every afternoon dad stairs up into the gum trees and says: “fark birds, I’ll shoot you, you black bastards”. 

The Roadhouse was like the light at the end of the tunnel. I was waiting for the Pink glow and the sixties style ambiences. Once we arrived I took as many photos as I could, ran inside and admired the layout. We filled up on fuel only $1.95 costing us about $230 for a tank and a half K. Anyway, we wanted to get the low down some tracks around the area so the local tyre man with 30 years experience in the area would sure to know right? We ventured into his work shop and kindly asked him for some information. Walking out he seemed happy to help. He gave us a very brief low down when he started up on tyre pressure pointing at our car describing how bad our tyres were and what a bad set up it was...unknowing it was ours. (Note: we received advice from Bridgestone on what pressure to run our tyres at on gravel...which they were at). I told him straight up that was our car, the tyre pressure was right even according to his advice, the tyres have done 55,000kms without any damage what so ever, and we have been places with that set up with no issues what so ever. He followed that by firmly stating that ALL Troopcarriers are death traps and further pushed the argument that our tyres were all wrong. So things got bad. It got to a point where I had to get out my tyre gauge and show him the front and back tyre pressures were all right. Once proven wrong he was still persistent that we shouldn’t be on the road. Unfortunately, my image of the Pink Roadhouse will now always be that cranky, old, know it all man, in the dirty garage.

No matter what anyone says about our car; I love it to pieces! It was built from the inside out to how we like it. No one has the right to tell me otherwise.               THAT’S MY RANT.

After a free night bush camping, there was one last thing we had to do. Almost every ‘DIP’ sign had a saying attached to it. For example: “Lucky DIP”, “DIP shit” etc, can’t remember anymore. So over the 600km of road we thought of our own saying. The very last DIP sign on the Oodnadatta Track magically appeared the very exact saying we wanted to say.

On road humour is better when made by yourself.