A Colony of Bats and Lightning
A trip down a remembered trail
Nature
A Colony of Bats and Lightning
We stopped suddenly in the gravel parking lot, the rocks skidded under my tires. I yank open the car door.
“Hurry up, the sun is setting fast!” I hiss.
Our adrenaline is pumping after driving as fast as we could down a two-lane highway. We would’ve been here sooner if I hadn’t taken the wrong exit and lost 20 valuable minutes.
After 18 years of marriage I know her patterns…
I looked at the clock on the dashboard, we only had 15 minutes till sunset and 10 minutes to get to the viewing spot. I was nervous that I’d fuck this all up. I was scared that my memory was going to betray me. The last time I was here was 26 years ago.
We put on our hiking boots and grab our headlamps. I remember it would get dark rather quickly after the sun went down on the ancient lava fields. We get to the trailhead and I see the three paths, I spy the one titled “Bat Cave, 0.7 miles.”
I vaguely remember it being that close but I don’t remember the trail. My heart pounds as I scan through my memory banks. Are we in the right spot?
“Kids, go ahead of us. We have 10 minutes to get there,” I say and they take off down the trail. Thunder is rumbling to the east. I see a massive storm moving toward us. I yell, “watch out for the open lava tubes!” I hear a faint “Ok!”
I start jogging down the trail as my partner brings up the rear. I notice that she’s lagging behind and looking at the grassy rocky landscape. I call back and tell her to hurry up. After 18 years of marriage I know her patterns, she’s going to be late for the great event.
We break into a run…
We pass a sign on the trail that warns us not to enter any lava tubes, they might be unstable and with sharp drop-offs. The ground beneath is not solid. Millions of years ago this area was a bubbling lava field. Lava would flow in tubes below the field until one day it ran out. All that was left were endless chambers of tubes only a few feet below our feet.
With five minutes to spare, ten minutes before sundown, we get to a large hole in the ground. It’s a massive lava tube that partially collapsed long ago leaving a gaping and dark cave. A small park sign, at the mouth of the cave, says “Danger. Do Not Enter.”
Broken pieces of lava rock litter the area between pale green grass blowing in a strong wind. The thunderstorm rumbled ominously. It was moving fast.
We’re not alone tonight, another couple had set up a camera and pointed it toward the west, hoping to catch the sunset in the background of their photos or video. My partner is the last one to arrive and she sits next to me.
“Has it started?” She asks.
“No, any minute now,” I say.
I watch a small mouse scamper between the block-shaped rocks, no doubt looking for scraps of bread or food other hikers have dropped here. It disappears between the rocks.
We wait.
I realize that we’re in danger with a sudden crack of thunder. The lightning is getting closer and we’re in the open. There is no refuge except for some low-lying bushes. We’re the tallest thing in the area. I’m getting nervous and glance at my watch.
Five minutes till sunset.
I’m wondering if the bats will be a no-show. I’m about to let out a big sigh when I see a wobbly blob of something fly out of the lava tube. Then three more.
Then hundreds.
Then thousands.
A few seconds later we see Mexican Freetail bats emerge into an aerial whirlpool. They collide with each other. I hear the ping and bang of bats hitting the “Do Not Enter” sign in the cave. I can’t help but laugh at this, I mutter, “blind as a bat” under my breath.
The bats swirl higher into the air until they organize and fly as a black undulating wave toward the east, toward the storm.
My partner and children gasp and can’t believe what they’re witnessing.
“You’re right Dad, this is epic!” My son whispers in a hushed tone.
We watch this magnificent performance for 20 minutes. By now the whirlpool of bats has gotten so large that they’re very close to us, tempting us to reach out to them, but we don’t. The sun has gone down and the night descends quickly around us. Another flash of lightning illuminates the darkening sky; the thunder booms around us.
We look at each other, at the other couple, and nod our heads. It was time to go. Time to say good night to bats and get to the safety of our cars. We took a risk being exposed out there, from the storm, but now the risk was getting too great.
We packed up our things, took one more look around us, and briskly walked back to the car.
My partner whispers “thank you” as she grabs my arm tightly to her body. We break into a run as the sky opens up and rain pours down on us.
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