The Field of light

My friend points at a spot down the dune and asks, “Is it that?” I think I can see white stakes on either edge of a trail, but there are only two. Surely that can’t be it. In the past couple of years, I’ve seen dozens of photos of the country’s largest art installation, but from this position, I can’t imagine how artist Bruce Munro’s Field of Light works.

Then it gets a little darker, the stars begin to glimmer in the sky, and vivid colours start appearing before our eyes.

At that moment, a huge gust of wind blows a cloud of red dust over the small crowd, causing everyone to cover their eyes and the top of their glasses.

When I turn back a moment later, the lights are becoming more vibrant. It’s time. We’re told the rules – keep on the trail, don’t touch the installation – and are sent out into the artwork.

A couple of minutes later, we’re all alone. The other visitors decide to take the short track. From here, the full extent of Munro’s vision is clear. There are about 50,000 solar-powered bulbs and 380km of fibre-optic cables taking on the appearance of an alien poppy field.

We stop and look over the glowing hues, all chosen to be sympathetic to the colours of the desert and to create the outline of a dead tree. The wind is still blowing, which makes the desert oaks growing on the natural canvas ‘sing’.

Munro the artist

Munro said a visit to Uluru in 1992 changed his life. At the time, he wasn’t a practising artist, but he sketched an idea while he was on site. In 2004, more than a decade later, he installed his first light work, the earliest iteration of Field of Light.

During his visit, Munro met with Pitjantjatjara artists to study dot paintings, and the connection between this style of art and the Field of Light is evident.

Munro consulted extensively with the local Anangu people before installing the work at Uluru in 2016, and it was given their approval. They’ve called it Tili Wiru Tjuta Nyakutjaku in the Pitjantjatjara language, which translates to ‘looking at lots of beautiful lights’.

“It had to be totally kosher with the Indigenous people,” Munro told a journalist when Field of Light launched. “It’s not on for me to plant something on their home without their permission. The work is an expression of my excitement and joy and nothing more than that.”

A Red Centre tour

Witnessing this illuminated oasis in the foreground of Uluru is one of the final highlights of the six-day Red Centre and Field of Light Spectacular tour with Outback Spirit. We left Alice Springs/ Mparntwe days earlier, with tour guides Jack Sneddon and Ally Woodley in a Mercedes four-wheel-drive coach decked out for remote conditions.

There are only 21 people on this tour, when temperatures in Central Australia are still topping 40 degrees Celsius each day, but even at full capacity – a total of 26 guests – the vehicle would be comfortable during long days of driving.

As we leave Alice, we notice smoke on the horizon. Forging ahead, we visit Standley Chasm (Angkerle Atwatye) before a decision is made to take a detour.

It’s not clear if the road is closed, but even out here, where bushfires burn cooler and move slower, they still aren’t something to trifle with. Instead of heading along Namatjira Drive, we’re going to follow Larapinta Drive.

Gosse Bluff/Tnorala

It means we won’t be stopping at Ormiston Gorge in the West MacDonnell Ranges, but Jack has an alternative plan. He tells us that about 142 million years ago something hit the ground, leaving an enormous crater.

“It could’ve been a comet or meteor, or maybe a combination of ice and gas, since they’ve never found any extraterrestrial rock or debris,” explains Jack. The crater is now known as Tnorala or Gosse Bluff. “It was travelling at 40km a second when it hit,” he continues.

After a stop at Tylers Pass lookout, where the crater looks like a very short mountain range, we drive through a gap into its heart.

Here, stunted, fire-blackened trees grow right across the base of the desolate crater. At one point, I see what looks like a nest on the ground. “It was termites,” says Jack, pointing out the hole that was created when the insects ate the roots of a shrub.

They’ve long disappeared but leaves have grown around the tiny mound of clay they left behind to create what looks suspiciously like a creature’s home.

Power blackouts and paper making

Back on the road, we’re on the way to Watarrka National Park and Kings Canyon. After 400km of virtual isolation, we arrive at the resort. There are numerous visitors, of course, but there are also plenty of local tradies who use the Thirsty Dog pub for meals and a social base camp.

When the power goes out in the afternoon, they band together and bring in battery-powered lights so the chef can cook everyone’s dinner on a barbecue.

The lives of people who settle out here are different from anything most of us can imagine; this is clearly illustrated the following day, when on the way to Uluru, we stop for lunch at, Curtin Springs.

The fourth generation of the Severin family now live on 400,000 hectares of land that act as a cattle station and tourism attraction.

“The first year Dawn and Pete were here, six people drove down the road,” says Lindy, their daughter-in-law. That was in 1956. In 2014, Lindy added another business, and started hand making paper in the old abattoir. She collects native grasses like spinifex, mulga, kangaroo and kerosene and processes them.

Now, visitors can see how it’s done on a paper tour. “For every hour we spend in the old abattoir making paper, we spend another hour processing it in the kitchen,” says Lindy. She and the family, including granddaughter Emma, make cards, bookmarks, jewellery and pieces of art that are sold in the adjacent gallery.

In a single hour, we’re given an incredible insight into life on this faraway land.