30 OCT 2019: I climbed Uluru – back in the days when my body would countenance such things. I recall that my overwhelming feeling at the time was, why do they let people do this? After all, at the ascent, there was a sign listing the names of the several dozen people – one as recently as last year – who had died climbing, or falling down, the Rock since the 1950s, with the subtle implication that you could be next.

I managed to survive the three-hour excursion up and across the top of the smooth sandstone monolith, even sprinting the final hundred metres or so with my travelling companion in a youthful charade meant to suggest that we had maintained such outlandish energy all the way.

Now, no one can climb Uluru to its 350-metre high summit, with the former Ayer’s Rock officially off limits to visitors, and those who ignore the directive subject to a substantial fine.

It’s a move that has naturally stirred controversy and thousands of people turned up in the weeks preceding the Oct. 26 closure to make one final attempt, drawing comparisons to the long line of trekkers that make their way up Mt. Everest.

The notion to close Uluru has smouldered for decades, mainly by its traditional guardians, the local Anangu Indigenous people, many of whom felt their sacred site was being ruined. And because of the safety issues (it’s slippery and only partially offers rope rails). However, after ownership of the site was handed back to the Anangu in 1985 by the government of Australia, the impetus to curb trekking gained steam (and possibility), resulting finally in a 2017 vote by the board of Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park to officially halt the practice.

“It is an extremely important place, not a playground or theme park like Disneyland… We welcome tourists here. We are not stopping tourism, just this activity,” board chair Sammy Wilson said then.

At that time, only 16.5% of visitors to Uluru were climbing, which represented a steady decline since the trek’s heyday in the ‘90s when close to three out of four visitors did so.

It should be noted that just getting to Uluru isn’t easy. Located in Australia’s Red Centre, the Rock is a five-hour drive from Alice Springs, which itself qualifies as the middle of nowhere. Visitors typically arrive as part of a coach tour package from the Alice that includes King’s Canyon.

Prospective trekkers must also contend with variable conditions that include high winds and searing heat (up to 47C in the summer), often resulting in the trail being closed.

In recent years, an awareness campaign by the Anangu asked visitors not to climb. Citing the site’s sacred value, an onsite sign also stated, “As custodians, we are responsible for your safety and behaviour. Too many people do not listen to our message. Too many people have been hurt or died… We worry about you and your family. Please don’t climb.”

In 2016, a survey suggested that visitors were heeding the plea, with over 90 percent saying they would not climb.

Post 2019, visitors will have to content themselves with walking around the base of the Rock and more than 150 other activity options, not the least being partaking of ubiquitous sundowners in the desert while watching the sun set on Uluru and the famous rock turning from red to purple.

Fortunately, should I ever return, that certainly now sounds more like my style.