As the sun rose over Uluru this morning, on the first day since Anangu closed the climb, traditional owner Sammy Wilson said the rock would finally have a “well-earned rest”.

Small groups of people were walking quietly around the base, in and out of the spinifex. Police and park rangers stationed in the climb carpark said it was an eerily quiet morning after the hubbub of the past several months.

For Sammy Wilson, the day had been a long time coming, a day of reflection.

“I am thinking about all the old people who waited for this day to arrive, and who held tjukurrpa (Anangu law) strong,” he said.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Uluru traditional owner Sammy Wilson on his country at Patji on the evening that the Uluru climb closed. Photograph: Mike Bowers/The Guardian

“The rock will be resting, so we will feel rested. We often ask, what is it [tourists] are looking for, in doing that [climbing]? We’d like to show them what the place is really about, and for them to learn and understand from Anangu.”

It was one of many important days at the rock that form part of a history marked by Anangu’s patience and persistence in the face of disrespect.

It is 34 years since the traditional owners were handed the title deeds to Uluru, in a ceremony that marked the end of a protracted land rights battle with the Commonwealth and Northern Territory governments, as well as pastoralists, tourism operators and mining companies.

In 1985, the Hawke government agreed to return the land if it was run as a national park under a system of joint management, with a board made up by a majority of Anangu traditional owners. So on October 26, Wilson’s grandfathers and others briefly held the title deeds, before leasing the park back to the commonwealth for 99 years.

The Northern Territory’s chief minister at the time, Ian Tuxworth, made no secret of the fact that he was deeply opposed to the handover.

“We in the Territory believe we have been sold out and compromised by the federal government,” Tuxworth said. He complained that “the rock was being taken away from all Australians” and given to a “tiny vested interest group of very unsophisticated people who are totally manipulated by a couple of smart white advisers”.

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Tuxworth claimed that visitors would be locked out of the park.

“This action is wrong and does not have the support of the majority of the Australian people,” he said.

Yankunytjatjara man Yami Lester was involved in the negotiations for the handover, and he was MC at the handback ceremony. So much had been made of fears that Anangu would lock people out that he joked: “Thanks to all the people who have come to see this ceremony at Ayers Rock. Thank you for coming out to this place to see the rock. By tomorrow that rock will be missing, the Aboriginal people are going to take it away.”

Then Lester translated into Pitjantjatjara for the governor general, Sir Ninian Stephen, who told the crowd: “Uluru has seen countless generations come and go and, as a national park – long after all of us here today are long gone and quite forgotten – will remain for Australians a place of wonder and a place of strange beauty.”

It was a happy day. But, according to spectators a light aircraft flew over the events, towing a banner which said, “Ayers Rock for all Australians”, a popular phrase used by the Northern Territory government at the time.

The NT government boycotted the handback ceremony.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A ranger stands guard at the base of the climb at Uluru. Photograph: Mike Bowers/The Guardian

In the late afternoon on Friday, a long way from the crowds and chaos of the closing climb at Uluru, Sammy Wilson was sitting on a sandhill overlooking his country at Patji.

It is a priceless and powerful view: Uluru to the east, Kata-Tjuta to the west, and the Musgrave ranges to the south.

“In 1985 the traditional owners were so happy to get the land back and look after tjukurrpa here,” he said. “It was a time of great celebration, and they went about looking after it according to the law.”

Anangu tolerated the climb, but because it traversed several important and sacred sites they patiently explained their preferences with the simple message “please don’t climb”. A detailed explanation has been part of park information materials and on a large sign at the base of the rock since the early 1990s.

We’d like to show tourists what the place is really about, and for them to learn and understand from Anangu. Sammy Wilson

The climb was damaging to the rock itself and there were perennial safety concerns. Thirty-seven people died climbing, most from heart attack. It was a challenging ascent made harder by wind conditions and heat. Tourists were injured, others needed rescuing. Climbers left rubbish at the summit and some used it as a toilet. In 2010, an exotic dancer called Alizee Sery was filmed stripping on the summit in a video posted to YouTube. That same year images surfaced of Sam Newman supposedly hitting a golfball from the top of Uluru.

In the rains, the human waste left up there washed down, polluting waterholes. The regular stream of minga (the Pitjantjatjara word for “ants” is also used to describe tourists who climb) has worked a scar into the rock that Vince Forrester, an Anangu man from Mutitjulu, said he did not think would go away in his lifetime.

In 2010, the park board agreed it would close the climb, when it was satisfied that there were enough alternative experiences on offer, or when the proportion of visitors who climbed fell below 20%, or when the cultural and natural experiences on offer were the main reasons to visit.

In 2017, the board agreed those criteria had been met, announced it would close the climb, and gave the world two years’ notice.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Tourists on segways pass the base of the climb at Uluru on the first full day of the climbing ban. Photograph: Mike Bowers/The Guardian

At the time, Wilson was chair of the board and said: “We welcome tourists here. Closing the climb is not something to feel upset about but a cause for celebration. Let’s come together; let’s close it together.”

Sitting at Patji at sunset, Wilson said he was thinking of the old people.

“They were really patient, but they always thought about tjukurrpa, and today with the climb being closed I think about them.

“We’ve continued our story and continued to work towards that over all that time and that actually makes me feel sad, the memory of those old people and the great love they had for land and law and what they taught us. So I’m feeling a bit sad but knowing we’ve actually done what they wanted.

“I’m sure they’re really happy they’re here in the country and in spirit.”

Wilson’s family offers tourism a different side to the country.

The Uluru family tours venture is partly funded by their share of the income received from the operation of the park. Traditional owners receive 25% of gate takings and each year they allocate some of their rent income to community development projects. In 2018, the project created employment for 79 locals across the region. There has been investment in education, aged care, dialysis and sports. At Mutitjulu the rent income has built a much-loved public pool.

“Tjukurrpa is really important to us,” Wilson said. “We are driving around in motorcars and there’s all these changes to our life, but that’s our belief system. We still follow that law and that belief.”

He gestured to the magnificent sand dune country in front of us. “Today, you’ve seen waterholes and plants and animals and country – that’s tjukurrpa.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Sammy Wilson beside a water hole on his country at Patji on the evening that the Uluru climb closed. Photograph: Mike Bowers/The Guardian

On Sunday at sunset, Anangu will perform inma (dance) at the official ceremony to celebrate the end of the climb. Once again there will be speeches near the rock, dance and music, to mark the end of another chapter of disrespect.

“Palya [good!],” Wilson said, thinking of what he’d like visitors to feel when visiting his country.

“We want people to have an enjoyable experience, tell other people what they’ve learned and in turn we want to make sure they’re happy when they go back.

“And if we can do that, our country’s going to be happy as well.”