SUN UP, SUNDOWN
As the heat lingers throughout the low season, the best times to see Uluṟu are at either end of the day.
AT sunrise, Uluṟu doesn’t so much appear as emerge – a slow reveal of its immense shape and deepening colour against a paling desert sky.
My camel’s name is Jed, and he’s one of the biggest at Uluru Camel Tours, which gives me a commanding view over the riders ahead. From up here, I can see every one of them, and they’re all silent, slightly awestruck as the morning light builds. In the offseason, dawn is that fleeting hour on the outskirts of Uluṟu–Kata Tjuṯa National Park when the air still holds a hint of cool before the heat arrives.
Camels in the desert
Bert, our guide, walks beside us. Originally from Wollongong, he spent years running horse expeditions through the Canadian wilderness before landing in Central Australia. He loves these camels and is just as devoted to his adopted home. He talks about wild camels here being widely misunderstood – they’re gentle animals, but part of a population that’s grown too large. “We just gotta eat more camels,” he says casually, referencing the difficult but necessary culling tied to the days of Afghan cameleers who opened up the inland.
Jed himself is calm and steady, although the camel behind me keeps stretching its tongue forward, investigating my camera bag with comic persistence. We circle Uluṟu slowly, its textures sharpening as the sun lifts: rust-red folds, charcoal streaks, sudden flashes of ochre. From the back of a camel, the experience feels deliberate – slow, elevated, unhurried. Uluṟu rises like a sentinel on the horizon, a presence that would have carried deep meaning for the Aṉangu people long before visitors arrived with cameras.
There's no better way to catch this region at sunrise than on the back of a camel with Uluru Camel Tours
Uluru Camel Tours
Uluru Camel Tours offers tours at different times of day. During the low season, keep it cool(er) on the Sunrise Camel Experience that includes an hour on the camel and finishes with a breakfast of freshly baked beer bread damper with Australian jams, as well as tea and coffee.
Early-morning light
By the time day properly breaks, the heat is already pressing in. Low season doesn’t disguise that reality. Finishing the ride early makes a self-drive loop in air-conditioning feel like a smart move. We head straight to the car park to start the Mala Walk before the temperature climbs higher.
The track reveals ancient campsites, ceremonial spaces and insights into Aṉangu daily life. Entering the caves where the Mala people once camped feels intimate rather than museum-like. The kitchen cave, where meals were prepared, brings the story to a human scale – no longer myth, but lived experience.
The Mala story is one of the most important Aṉangu Tjukurpa narratives connected to Uluru, explained simply but powerfully along the way by interpretive signage. Fine examples of rock art appear in sheltered overhangs, subtle enough that you need to slow down to notice them.
At Kaṉtju Gorge, sheer vertical walls mute sound and movement. It’s profoundly peaceful, with the waterhole at its base reflecting a thin slice of sky. Drinking water along this walk matters more than you expect, even in low season.
Walking to water
Later, as the afternoon light softens the vivid colours, the crowds thin. The Mala Walk is often busy mid-morning and late afternoon, yet surprisingly quiet at sunset. If you’ve already watched Uluṟu blaze from a distant viewing platform, coming to Kaṉtju Gorge puts you right at the foot of the rock instead. A couple of benches near the waterhole make it easy to sit, wait and watch the colours ignite. For photographers, the fiery reds bring the rock to life.
The short Kuniya Walk to get to the Muṯitjulu Waterhole is lush and shady, especially after recent rain. The waterhole is full, birds active, rock faces above still glistening. In low season, it feels like an oasis – cool, green and unexpectedly calm. Time seems to stand still.
The Mala story plays out across the sky, an ancient narrative told through modern light. Sitting there, you feel a powerful connection to Country, not forced but earned through stillness
Cultural stories after dark
That evening, we commit to the full desert spectacle: Wintjiri Wiru, the “burger with the lot” version of sunset. After a short transfer from Ayers Rock Resort, we take a gentle stroll through the desert to an open-air theatre perched on a dune, Uluṟu and Kata Tjuṯa silhouetted in the distance.
We’re handed gourmet dinner hampers that feel improbably refined for the middle of the desert – native ingredients paired with modern technique – and glasses of Penfolds. The crowd is small in low season. French and Danish accents drift through conversation. As darkness falls, the desert goes silent in a way particular to Central Australia.
Drones lift first, moving in precise formations above the dune. Lasers and projections follow, restrained and respectful, supporting rather than dominating the landscape. A traditional inma soundtrack begins, grounded in ceremony and rhythm, while narration in Pitjantjatjara fills the night air. Even without understanding every word, the emotion carries.
The Mala story plays out across the sky, an ancient narrative told through modern light. Sitting there, you feel a powerful connection to Country, not forced but earned through stillness.
When the show ends, there’s a pause before anyone moves. No rush. Just reflection. Dinner becomes a communal event beneath the stars, and the return walk through the desert feels slower, softer.
By the time we’re back at the resort, Uluru feels less like a landmark and more like a presence, one I’ve experienced both visually and emotionally, at either end of the day.
Ayers Rock Resort
Ayers Rock Resort at Yulara, the town serving travellers exploring Uluṟu–Kata Tjuṯa National Park and surrounds, has five hotels and a campground to cater for every budget. It also handles many of the experiences in the area, including Wintjiri Wiru.
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