Spinifex pigeons in the Garden of Eden

When the sun rose Rachael sat up and made a cup of tea on the primus stove beside her on the ground. We ate bowls of muesli too as around us the other campers packed up to set out for the day.

We drove to nearby King's Canyon, in Wattarka National Park, and went on the rim hike, a seven kilometer loop.

The first stretch was up steps cut into the steep red and rocky slope--a scene from the film Priscilla of the Desert was shot at this spot. A one hundred meter elevation gain took us up to the rim, and then the path lead over hardrock towards the head of the canyon. Dozens of others were out on the morning walk, in part because it's winter holidays for schoolchildren. But many of the people were foreigners like myself.

The canyon was formed from an initial crack, then the percolation of water down into the crack and through two sorts of sandstone. Over time--lots and lots of it, of course--the crack deepened, and big flat slabs fell from the walls, widening the gorge. The reds and oranges are spectacular, and I, like my fellow vistors, took many photgraphs that will not do justice to the shades and patterns and vibe and bigness of the rock and canyon.

Eventually the path descended into the upper canyon, dubbed the Garden of Eden, which I thought hyperbolic but it was nice. In the sandy bottom stood big gum trees and ancient cyclads; a sign said that a modest example of the latter was four hundred years old. Grey shrike-thrushs and willie wagtails flew about; we paused to admire a small covey of spinifex pigeons, quail-like birds with pointy crests three inches tall.

We came to a waterhole, and watched as a group of middle-aged people in baggy bathing suits jumped into the shaded pool and huffed and spluttered and got out again quickly.

After our leisurely four hour walk, we returned to King's Creek Station, where I had a camel burger at the snack bar. A camel burger, meaning a burger made out of camel meat. In the nineteenth century camels were imported to Australia for Outback travel and commerce; some of them got loose. Now there are three million feral camels wandering around the desert, and people go out and shoot them and then eat them. Alternatively, you can ride camels (tame ones) at most resorts.

After lunch we drove three hundred kilometers south to Uluru and got another campsite--as before, simply a patch of dirt and grass. Here we unrolled the swag bag and camp was complete. The swag bag is an Australian invention and institution, and quite common among Outback travelers. Essentially, it's a canvas envelope. You put a thin mattress and the bedding inside, zip up the sides, climb in, and then, if the weather is inclement, pull a long canvas flap over your head. There are singles and doubles, and everywhere you see them rolled up and strapped to the tops of Land Rovers and small buses.

Uluru rises up out of the flat land, visible for some miles before arrival, a vast hump of red rock. I knew what to expect yet was still impressed with its size and gravitas. It draws and holds the eye. In the evening, visitors drive to a spot in the park, a long pullout alongside the road, to watch the sunset. Dozens of vehicles had already arrived when we showed up with a half hour to spare. People sat atop their trucks and SUVs and RVs, many with tripods, all with cameras ready for the light show.

While the orange and yellowy light playing across the rock was worthy of such attention, I ended up being even more interested in a conversation we had with our neighbors, a couple from Sydney. The friendly woman initiated contact, and she and Rachael chatted back and forth as Rachael made tea sitting on the back of the Nissan. The man had a huge camera, but he paused occasionally to join in. They got talking about Tasmania, whereRrachael has done some treeking, and it turned out that the man had written a hiking guide for the island. Eventually it came out (when his wife mentioned it) that he was the Editor of Australian National Geographic. Also, he had written the Lonely Planet guides for biking in both Ireland and England, as well as the LP hiking guide for Australia.

Both of these people were well-spoken, likeable, entertaining. They told of their thirteen-year-old twins back at the hotel, and lovingly deprecated and admired the boy and girl. The woman, freckled, with short, lank dark hair she repeatedly ran her fingers through, talked about her work training working class men in positions of authority to better manage other working class men. They both talked about aboriginal art, the aboriginal problem. The man was a compact person with short hair and narrow glasses and a modest demeanor. Rachael mentioned the Larapinta Trail (where we're going in a few days), and he called it one of the greatest desert trails in the world, then joked that it was one of the only long desert hikes in the world. Still, Rachael and I were both pleased.

We talked until well after dark, until all the other people had packed up and driven back to the resort. Then they said they had to go feed their kids, though I wanted to go on talking.

On our way back, we drove slow on the shoulder looking for firewood. We got out in the dark and tripped around in the brush collecting mostly small sticks, and I was wearing sandals and hurt my toes. At the campsite, no one was using the communal firepit, but we had a fire, a tall and bright and brief one.