Australia's epic 1,077km road trip

Here, the road devolved into a battered corrugated dirt track and settlements became scarce, making a four-wheel drive vehicle, water jugs and jerry cans of fuel almost mandatory. Such conditions used to send shivers down travellers' spines. While marginally better infrastructure has reduced some risks, the Tanami's remoteness, unpaved surface and folklore still demand respect.

By the time we'd left the bitumen behind, I understood the primitive desire to conquer this terrain. But once we reached the town of Yuendumu, the Tanami became more than a simple act of completion.

Founded in 1946 by the Australian government's Native Affairs Branch to provide welfare for Aboriginal communities displaced by gold mines and cattle ranches, Yuendumu is home to about 1,000 people today. Most are Warlpiri, the Aboriginal Australians who are the traditional owners of the area and manage the land as part of a trust.

The Warlpiri have lived in the region for thousands of years. Researchers are still discovering traces of their history, from sacred rain-making sites to ancient carvings in boab bark. But 20th-Century gold rushes and pastoral expansion left the land's ancient stewards in limbo. It wasn't until 1978, two years after Australia passed the Aboriginal Land Rights Act, that the Warlpiri regained control of the land.

While several Aboriginal communities dot the Tanami, Yuendumu is one of the few that openly welcomes outsiders. Much of the credit for that, I learned, belongs to the Warlukurlangu Arts Centre.

Founded in 1985, Warlukurlangu is one of the longest-running Aboriginal-owned art cooperatives in Australia. Some 800 artists work here, producing 11,000 pieces in 2022 alone.

Today, manager Cecilia Alfonso oversees day-to-day operations, as she has for more than two decades. Early in her tenure, Alfonso and assistant manager Gloria Morales noticed tourists blitzed past Yuendumu, unaware they could enter without a permit. To change that, they hung "visitors welcome" signs on the road.

"It reflected our ethos," she explained. "Many people told us, 'This is the first welcoming sign we've come across [on the Tanami]'."

Since then, Warlukurlangu has become one of the Tanami's top tourist sites.

Inside, we found a warehouse filled with colourful, Pointillist-like paintings representing Dreaming stories, the Aboriginal legends that explain the origins of the world and pass on knowledge, cultural values and traditions to future generations. After an hour perusing shelves teeming with remarkable paintings, I settled on a red-hued piece bisected with curving dotted lines by artist Christine Nangala Brown. On my way out the door, I noticed nods of approval from a group of women dabbing paint onto canvases.

"Art forms a bridge between cultures," Alfonso explained. "Painting is a way for Aboriginal people to show the world that they have this culture that is very deep and meaningful."

Such interactions could become increasingly important. In 2022, Constable Zachary Rolfe was acquitted of murdering Warlpiri teenager Kumanjayi Walker three years earlier in Yuendumu. The incident amplified the friction between the community and contemporary, predominantly white Australia.

But development along the Tanami could provide an off-ramp for the tension, allowing more people interact with Warlpiri art and get to know their culture.

Otto Jungarrayi Sims, a Warlpiri elder and pioneering artist from Yuendumu, told me more tourism would be a boon. Beyond adding new income streams for the community, tourism activities could help share and preserve traditional rites. Sims said the community was already developing desert trips that will teach guests how to hunt, cook and live as the land's first people have for millennia.

"I think there is a hunger out there to engage with Indigenous culture and experience the landscape," Alfonso added.

As we drove another 450k north-west from Yuendumu to our camping spot for the night, I understood that hunger.

Travellers can camp almost anywhere along the Tanami, apart from private land. We settled on a clearing beside the Western Australia border. As the day ended, the earth glowed even more intensely. Once the sun dipped past my sightline, a high-definition night sky appeared.

I had rarely seen stars shine so bright. I imagined the legends they may have inspired in those seated here thousands of years ago. I also felt a deep respect for the seemingly infinite landscape they illuminated – a sensation heightened by the fact that no vehicles drove by all night.

The next morning, we set off on the final stretch. Before midday, we reached Wolfe Creek Crater, a bulge formed by a meteorite 300,000 years ago and focal point of Aboriginal origin stories. According to a legend held by the local Djaru people, it was created when a giant snake poked its head through the ground. (The Djaru call the crater Kandimalal.)

Many Australians today associate it with a more modern mythology: the horror film Wolf Creek. From a bookseller in Alice Springs to a Tilmouth Well attendant, we had been repeatedly, jokingly warned to "watch out for Mick Taylor", the sadist who preys on tourists in the film.

After navigating a winding dirt access road, we found ourselves alone at the crater. I felt a pucker of Mick Taylor-induced anxiety. The site is so remote that it wasn't discovered by geologists until 1947 (Aboriginal Australians, however, had long known about it). But the sense of solitude quickly disappeared once we clambered to the rim of the crater and got a clear view of what it contained.

Acacia and eucalyptus trees filled the basin, a peculiar pocket of vegetation contrasting the tawny earth with splashes of white, olive and green. I hadn't seen such colours in days, and we had it all to ourselves. But I left the crater feeling conflicted.

That's because the Tanami is going to be modernised.