NARACOORTE BAT CAVE
The following contributor, June Lynn, is a member of the Sydney U3A which has approximately 5000
members, divided into seven regions across the Sydney basin. (Find their website on
www.@acay.com.au/~sydu3a or by using a search engine and looking for Sydney U3A Australia).
June writes … “I lead a Creative Writing class. In Sydney U3A we have 11 such classes over the regions. As
a group we are fairly active. In 2004 we published a book of Prose, Poetry and Art “Many a good tune ...”
which was launched at the Sydney Writing Festival, which is held annually. The book is all the work of
people from Sydney U3A. We have in-house writing festivals - a day when writers from our groups gather
with friends to read some of their work. The festivals have been held in 1996/7/8/9 and average attendance
has been between 50-60 people. In 2003 we had “Showcase”, a day devoted to writing, poetry, art, drama,
Tai Chi etc - all from members of our classes. Twice Sydney U3A has held creative days at Morpeth, a
heritage town north of Sydney. We stay at a conference center which used to be a college for Anglican
Ministers in training …”
Now read on and experience a really different and unusual hobby of June’s which she finds enthralling and
intriguing; not for most of us, but everyone to their own tastes!!
Naracoorte Bat Cave (South Australia)
By
June Lynn (Sydney U3A)
In my early twenties, caving was a passion. I was an active member of the Cave Exploration
Group of South Australia (CEGSA). At every opportunity, we explored caves in limestone areas all
over the state, and even interstate. The exhilaration of pitting your body against great odds and the
thrill of being the first human to sight new wonders would only be understood by another explorer.
Apart from exercise and adventure, our purpose was to do scientific work for universities and
museums, map caves for the Tourist Bureau and to be part of the State's search and rescue team.
For some five years, I joined teams of cavers exploring scores of caves. Each was interesting, but
one trip stands out vividly in my memory as though it was only yesterday...
We drove down last night to the Naracoorte cave reserve in the south-eastern corner of South
Australia, and are up bright and early to go out to the sinkhole leading to the bat cave. I help belay
Alan, Bob and Athol as they climb the free-swinging wire and durallium ladder into the sinkhole
that accesses the largest bat cave. With my fellow cavers, I listen uneasily to the oaths and thuds
as they reach ground level, to search out and kill the brown snakes that have fallen in and survive
by eating frogs and small rodents that also fall in. Three are killed today. As the brown snake is
one of the deadliest snakes in Australia, I'm rather fussed about climbing down into the hole in
case they've missed one. But I do!
The bottom of the collapsed cave is filled with lush ferns of verdant green and with the sunlight
streaming down is brightly beautiful. I love the earthy smell that caves have. The bat chamber is
reached through a long, low tunnel, which means following the others - wriggling through on my
belly, dragging lights, gear and butterfly net behind me and being scratched and bruised by
limestone protuberances, even though I wear thick overalls, a miner's helmet and sturdy boots. A
steady stream of bats exits the cave over our prone bodies, with their high squeaks acting as sonic
echoes directing them. Not one touches us, although they fly only inches above.
Finally we can stand and I am in no doubt we have reached the bat cave. An indescribable stench
billows over us, while the temperature climbs 10ş due to the body-heat of thousands of bats
hanging from the ceiling and sides of the cavern. I have to crawl out to the open air so as not to
vomit. The boys think this is funny.
After a while, I nerve myself and return, trying to convince my nose the smell is bearable. The
scene, lit by carbide lights and torches, is surreal, as mad cavers dash about waving butterfly nets,
trying to catch bats and at the same time avoid the steaming piles of bat guano that litter the floor -
sometimes five to six feet deep and crawling with insects and vermin. Ghastly if we fall into one!
Finally, we collect our quota of caged bats and return to the surface, very glad of the sunshine and
sweet air.
At dusk we watch the bats stream out of the cave to do their nocturnal hunting in numbers so great
they darken the sky. If we waken before dawn we'll be able to watch great clouds of them return
en mass. We have the evening meal around campfires beneath the fragrant pines scattered
through the reserve, and do we relish the stew, sausages or whatever concoction we cook up!
Hard work gives a good appetite. Dinner over, we chat amiably, enjoying the evening air laced with
smoke from our fires, but eventually retire to the research hut to work on our programs.
My task is to relieve the bats of vermin. With heavily gloved hands, I hold each bat over a funnel
positioned into a glass tube and with a fine paint brush stroke the bat's fur releasing a plethora of
parasites into the bottle - wing-less flies, fleas and other insects. I seal the tubes. They will later be
delivered to scientists in Adelaide. I then band the bat, the band showing the sex, date and
location of capture. Occasionally I take off a glove to stroke a tiny, ugly little creature with large
ears, horseshoe-shaped mouth and the softest fur imaginable. I do this very carefully as they can
give a sharp nip and who knows what diseases they carry. Later we'll carry the cages outside and
release the bats, presumably to return to their cave.
Over the years, our research mapped their life patterns. One fact I found fascinating. Gestating
females vacate the common cave and live in another, leaving only a few females behind. I never
knew if those left behind were spinsters or something a little different.