The full moon is bigger in the desert. At least that’s what the denizens of open spaces say, those lucky enough to be spared the daily fluctuations of coastal climes. In the desert the full moon is bigger.

Chamber Pillars: Is this your first sunset?

The moon in Alice Springs ascends from behind the MacDonnell Ranges that line and ring the town. And the moon is indeed big – a luminous orange orb that can entrance an eye for those first few minutes of movement in evening sky. The spattered scatterings of the Milky Way draw back at its grasp of nights’ undraped velvet curtain, like the skirts of the hills pulled up to the heavens.

Just beyond the ranges that hem this odd desert oasis, through the Heavitree Gap that opens for the road to the “south” (as in, everywhere else that isn’t north of Australia’s arid centre) and out by the road to the airport, nestles a dirt road that is oft un-driven by the passing hordes. An ideal hard-yakka sojourn far from the madding, backpacking, rubber-necking crowds. Well, most of the crowd without luxury 4WDs, as we discovered.

Chambers Pillar was our vague idea of a destination, a quiet spot to unfurl the swag - we hoped – and to see the stars without pesky town lights and hoons going past in their hotted-up cars to bother our peace. Just 20 kilometres down the Maryvale Road, it’s an ideal first stop for the weary eye that neglected to leave Alice much before sunset. A cresting red dune beckons for a sight of the sun setting over the ranges and a clear vista on the desert moon-rise, should your timing be right. And perhaps a relaxing beer to quell the passing afternoon heat – another trademark desert moment (tick that box).

For a bit more “sleep out under the stars” action (if it rained it would be more cause for celebration than discomfort out here in the desert) we headed a few miles down the road to near the Ewaninga train station, along the line for the old Ghan train. The station house bore witness to refurbished wallpaper-style decoration, showing a real appreciation for “bikes and babes” (later completed with black spray-paint censorship of the scores of bare chests formerly on display) and outside lay a testament to the passing of man’s best friend – a dog called “Arsehole”, who lived a full life at just eleven human years. This spot is also alongside the track for the annual Finke Desert Race — another classic Northern Territory moment of ‘esteemed culture’ along the lines of Bikes ‘n’ Babes.

Desert “art” near Alice Springs

After we took a timely wrong turn at the gates to Maryvale Station (you do need to drive through there to get to Chambers Pillar, we discovered) and a trip down the old Ghan line for an hour or three, we found a playground in a strip of country that looked like it hadn’t seen rain in quite a while. We paused to make an Andy Goldsworthy
of ourselves and do some large scale arrangements of the ready-made natural art materials.

Like something out of a weird sci-fi film, almost everything in the landscape seemed to be dead or dying, yet somehow there was still plenty of life. A fact almost ironically illustrated by the passing of the new Ghan train just after we stopped – and again the next morning as we were leaving to head back up to the right track. Suddenly, some rootless place in the middle of nowhere became a point on a line connecting Adelaide and Alice Springs.

Back on the right road to Chambers Pillar we hurtled along the bumpy desert track. The passenger in the front seat soon opted to swap for the back, as the driving scared him more than the road. Finally, upon arrival at Chambers Pillar, the monumental peak that has withstood millions of years erosion, our moment basking in its glories is cut short by the sudden arrival of a vehicle that could only decimate corrugations on any road.

Caravanosaurus: A testament to excess in wheels

Caravanosaurus: the greatest testament to excess in wheels ever seen, drove into the campground. An International Twin-Cab Truck (yes, a truck) was hugged from behind by the king-of-all-caravans that proudly proclaimed itself to be 4WD. And that’s not all. Behind the juggernaut to end them all: towed by steel, was a back-up 4WD, just some little off-the-shelf number, probably just in case there existed some places that its leading master could not beat into terrified horizontal submission. And the number plate for the Beast? Not “Scruffy” but “Scrufy”. And the scowling furry man that wielded the steering wheel certainly was.

“They don’t make much room for larger vehicles in here, do they?” he grumped at us, scratching his scruffy head, as he got out to work out how he could turn around campersauras rex in the tiny car park. We didn’t think that “they” anticipated extinct prehistoric forces of nature to return to the earth as the mother-of-all recreational trucks.

We left Scrufy to his inevitable discoveries and wandered over to become “one” with the giant rock extrusions that dominated the valley of our destination. Formerly part of a vast inland sea, Chambers Pillar – protected by an hard iron cap – withstood the erosive pull of the departing tide millions of years gone, leaving it and a few other features towering above the old sea floor. After climbing the conveniently located (if not entirely disturbing) set of stairs and handrails that ran suddenly up the base of the prehistoric monster (the Pillar, not the truck) we opted for a walk around it in the last of the afternoon sun, unaware of the peril of Grey Nomads that gathered at that moment in the car-park.

Some equally convenient chairs, a moment of spontaneous furnishings in a landscape frequently remarkable for its lack of conveniences, emerged in a quaint clearing on the western side of the Pillar. We promptly sat. And shortly after the gathering hordes emerged.

“Is this your first sunset?” came the first inquiry.

“No… we saw one yesterday,” I replied, looking to my mate to see how far we might take this. “And one the day before,” he added, not quite giving the go-ahead for an all-out assault of Tourist Confusing.

The strange creature before us, who had obviously not just climbed out of a darkened and lead-lined box, but was wearing a hat with corks on the brim, remarked that they had driven all the way out “there” for the sunset (the rock changes to “red” in the setting sun) – and, it turned out, we were sitting in the Sunset Viewing Area.

After our new best friends sat themselves down and long periods of chatter that would have monkeys leaving the nearest jungle, they watched intently for the rock to “change in the sunset”. After long and disappointed pauses, my mate exclaimed “It changed!” – producing instant excitement and hands to the cameras, but not for the “pink and purple polka dots,” as he claimed. Something between ennui and disgust eventually set in and we headed back to camp for the nightly rituals. We were soon passed by the first of the Nomads.

“How was it?” we asked.

“Best as could be expected,” wifey replied, as if she once again longed for the quiet safety and predictability of their darkened lead-lined box back in the suburbs.

–Jack Brown

If you missed Jack’s first installment of Darwin to Alice by road, you can read it here. Planning a trip? Browse all of Viator’s Darwin tours and things to do in Alice Springs.

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 8th, 2007 at 1:48 pm and is filed under Australia & Pacific, Destinations, Travel Inspiration. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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