As I drove closer, the shifting view changed the light. The sight was so powerful emotion seemed to radiate from the surface. All thought washed cleanly away; my brain wasn't big enough to accommodate anything other than wonder.
From the parking lot, the climb to the top looked neither high nor difficult. But about a third of the way up the visible path was an area called Chicken Rock. At this point the route suddenly became steep. Many hikers turned back.
Past the easy section, strong, short posts threaded with a heavy chain garnished the path. Already the erosion caused by hikers had worn a thin pink ribbon onto the surface.
I started up the path. The surrounding surface was scaly and pocked like a red moon. Large flakes of rock clinging to the slopes hid deep shadows. Hundreds of wooly brown caterpillars humped frantically up the gritty sides with the hikers.
Soon I was puffing and aching from the steep climb. I crawled away from the traffic to rest near a father and his son. The young teen's face was flushed with exertion and he seemed distraught.
"Don't worry," his father murmured, "we'll go slow. You'll be fine."
"See those little buggers?" I pointed to the miniature hikers. "If they can climb Uluru, I bloody well can!"