Bundy Starfish

Coming across the turnoff to Uluru, formerly known as Ayres Rock, I was excited to go and have a look. I asked the truck driver who picked me up south of Alice Springs to drop me off. I watched his huge vehicle on the long, empty road grow smaller until it travelled beyond sight.

Standing in the middle of Australia, I had the sense of being completely alone, and except for the grey ribbon of road running through, there was no proof of man’s existence. I considered how easy it would have been for those early explorers to go missing in that country and felt pity for anyone who had been lost out there. Although the country was soft in its beauty, its arid harshness would show no mercy to someone dying of thirst.

Owing to the scarcity of cars, I thought I’d be sleeping there. I began to scan the edge of the mid-afternoon bush for a suitable spot to pitch my tent. On the other side of the road, a large lizard casually crawled over a rock. It froze in surprise upon seeing me, and with one of its front legs in the air, we looked at one another. I regarded it closely and considered I was possibly the only human it had ever seen, as it scrambled among the rocks.

The spindly, dusty-looking deep-green trees swayed heavily in the wind while the sky hid behind thick, greyish, pink clouds, and it was beautiful. I snapped a photo and enjoyed the scenery.

A green panel van heading north slowed, turned the corner, and pulled up near me. I walked over and looked through the passenger side window. The driver was a neatly dressed Japanese fella who, with his Eyes wide open stared at me with a serious look, like a fox caught in the headlights. He gestured with his left thumb to put my gear in the back of his van. I threw it in and joined him in the front. He handed me a cold beer from a large esky which sat between us on the bench seat, and we introduced ourselves. I found he could hardly speak English and smiled. I understood his name was Egar.

As we sped along through the centre of Australia, with “The Boxer” by Simon and Garfunkel cranked up on the stereo, and Egar drumming his hands on the steering wheel, I realised my new friend was drunk. I was tired and requested, by pointing in the back and putting my face in my hand, if I could have a nap. He looked disappointed but pulled over for me, and I climbed in the back. He didn’t allow me to rest long, though, and woke me by pulling my foot and saying, “Rock!” I hopped back in the front and saw, way off in the distance, Uluru poking out of the desert sand.

We passed a large sign on the right of the road which shouted a warning. "No Camping, No Fires, $10,000 fine.” I recognized by the way he didn’t even glance at it, Egar didn’t understand the words, and I chose to ignore it. Two hundred forty-four kilometres from the turnoff, we arrived at Uluru.

I considered the cultural enormity of the place, where millions of people had trod this spot before me and of how famous it was. We pulled up and stepped out. I walked over to touch it and read the plaques, telling of people who had died there and the various reasons for their demise. When we’d seen enough, we drove around to the back of Uluru, pitched my tent, gathered some wood, lit a fire in the fading light, and cooked something to eat. Egar had rice, I had baked beans, and we shared. There wasn’t another single soul to be seen.

When in Darwin, I’d searched for a second-hand guitar, but not being able to find one, I bought a harmonica instead. Following the instructions on the paper which came with it, I learned to play “Skippy, the Bush Kangaroo.” Much to the disgust of some of the other people staying at the hostel, who were banging on the wall.

“Shut up!”

What would they know? Egar, who was smiling and clapping along, reckoned it was brilliant. I wondered what he’d tell his family about our night together when he returned to Japan. My imagination ran wild.

“I was sitting on the ground around a campfire at Uluru, drinking with a long-haired Aussie bloke, who was wearing jeans, a shearer’s singlet, thongs, a hat, and playing Skippy the Bush Kangaroo on his harmonica."

I chuckled at the thought.

At about eight o'clock, we ran out of beer. I was delighted when Egar went into the back of the van and pulled out another half a carton. When we finished that off, we were still keen to party and drove back to the resort we’d passed on the way in. There was a pub there. Egar urged me to pick the drink, and we went halves in a bottle of Bundaberg Rum. We once more passed the sign loudly threatening us not to camp, and once again, I thought to ignore it.

I stoked up the fire with the wood we'd collected earlier, took out the harmonica at Egar's constant urging, and, while he clapped along, I continued playing, “Skippy, the Bush Kangaroo.” We drank half the Bundy, which proved a bit strong for my mate. I looked over to see he’d fallen backwards into my tent and had passed out. He was in the starfish position with his legs poking out of the tent’s opening.

My attention was drawn by the silhouette of the famous monolith standing soundlessly in the moonlit desert. I wondered if anyone had ever tried climbing the back of it. The longer I looked at it, the more tempting it became, and I decided I’d give it a go. After jogging about a quarter of a kilometre through the spindly scrub, I started the eight hundred-sixty-three- metre climb. At first, it was easy, but at about fifteen or twenty-metres, I hit a steep spot and was stuck. When I tried to clamber down, I couldn’t. The steep slope I'd climbed was too sharp to descend.

“Oh no, bugger it!”

My only hope was to try to turn around and slide down on my backside. Precariously, I turned around, started inching my way down, and was going okay. With about three-metres to go, thanks to the Bundy, I slipped, bounced off the rock, and thumped heavily on the ground. Standing up to dust myself off, I was disappointed to see I'd broken the strap on my left thong. The ground was prickly, which made it tough to walk, but with no choice, I clenched the broken strap between my toes, and with the thong flapping around, I hobbled in the direction our camp might be. Our fire was out, so I could no longer see where we were. Finally, I was close enough to make it out in the moon’s glow. Relieved to have made it back, I crawled onto the front seat and crashed.

It seemed no sooner had I gone to sleep than I was woken by someone aggressively yanking me out of the van by my ankle and dumping me firmly on the ground.

"What the hell do you think you're doing camping here? I’m going to hit you with the full force of the law!”

I felt so ill, I couldn’t care less.

“Yeah, yeah, settle down, mate!”

Sitting on the dirt in the sunny mid-morning, I tried to focus. After finding my smokes on the floor of the van, I lit one and turned to the big Ranger.

“What’s the matter?”

He told me about the no fires or camping rule. I explained about Egar and how I’d been asleep in the back of the van on the way in.

“I didn’t see any sign, and my friend wouldn’t have been able to read it.”

“There’s nobody else here, just you.”

I told him flatly, “He’s in the tent.”

He repeated there wasn't anyone in the tent and the only one there was me.

I paused, "Oh shit, a dingo’s eaten me Japanese mate!"