Friday night we attended the Bracken Cave Bat Experience, which benefitted Stop 3009 Vulcan Quarry. The group has since widened its reach by forming a new nonprofit: Preserve Our Hill Country Environment. I figured our tickets would benefit a very worthy cause and also give us the opportunity to see the world's largest bat colony – 15 million Mexican free-tailed bats – emerge for the night to forage. Back in the 1990s, my former husband, our two kids and I visited the cave, but that was a LONG time ago. That night, I was on a writing assignment (see my article below).
For grins, I dug way back in my archives and found the article I wrote in the 1990s for the Hill Country Sun. I'd forgotten that the late J. David and Margaret Bamberger used to host visits. Here's my old story:
A chorus of cicadas rattle in the distance. And high in the live oaks, a cardinal chirps. The evening air is warm and still until a gentle breeze shakes the tree limbs and triggers a faint, acrid odor.
It is 8:15 p.m., and the crowd of onlookers standing above the huge crater wait in restless anticipation for the show.
Suddenly, the pungent smell grows stronger. And then someone spots them—the first group of Mexican free-tailed bats fluttering from the hole.
The colony’s amazing emergence from Bracken Cave in northwestern Comal County—near Natural Bridge Caverns—will run non-stop for two hours, maybe more.
Researchers “estimate that 20 million bats live in the cave, truly a phenomenal number of anything to have in one place,” remarks Margaret Bamberger. She and her husband, Blanco County rancher J. David Bamberger, escort people to the secluded site on a privately-owned ranch by appointment only.
To get there, visitors drive 2 miles down a caliche road and then hike a short walking trail to a brushy plateau above the crater. Though rough, the trail is wheelchair accessible. The Bambergers recommend that visitors wear comfortable shoes to discourage attacks by vicious fire ants. Since the excursion lasts from two to three hours, visitors should also bring water and snacks, too.
Wooden benches provide a place to sit and wait for the bats’ unpredictable emergence, which usually begins around sunset. While people rest, the Bambergers talk about one of their favorite topics—Mexican free-tailed bats.
“A female bears one pup,” Margaret says. “She weighs 12 grams, and, at birth, her pup weighs 4 grams. She has to eat her body weight’s worth of bugs every night, mostly moths, to nurse her baby. This colony eats 250 tons of insects every night.”
Another phenomenal number. That’s a mess of six-legged critters.
Seven o’clock comes and goes. So does eight.
“Should be any time now,” David says, peering at someone’s watch. A trustee with Bat Conversation International in Austin, J. David Bamberger serves as steward of Bracken Cave and the five acres of Hill Country terrain that surround it. BCI bought the property in 1992 to protect the bats’ habitat from encroaching development. On a volunteer basis, the Bambergers escort groups of up to 50 people to the site to watch the impressive sight.
The cave is not visible from where the group waits. Later, after the emergence is well underway, people will walk to the crater's other side, where they can clearly see Bracken Cave and the spiral of bats that stream from deep within it.
At 8:20, the acrid odor of bat guano intensifies. Then suddenly, a small group of bats ascend from the crater. Within seconds, a swarm follows. Their thick numbers spiral clockwise, upward, then turn and head east. More follow in their wake. More and then more. The long line of bats snakes into the sky, weaving to one side, then another.
Their ritual emergence has begun.
The group stand mesmerized, awed, almost hypnotized by the stunning sight.
“It’s like a tornado of bats,” one woman says.
As if on cue, a great hawk appears in the west. With wings outstretched, he glides into the cloud of bats and, extending his claws, grabs for a hapless victim. He misses. Later, the bird of prey will return. The second time he does not miss his winged mark.
Tonight, the visitors stay three hours. As they prepare to leave around 9:30, David turns, and, looking up at the darkening sky dotted with bats, says, “Not even half of them have left yet.”
As the cars pull away and, with headlights stretching into the night, turn toward home, the bats stream endlessly through the air. Seeking food as much as 100 miles away, they'll return to their underground home near daybreak, sleep, then start their ritual over tomorrow night.
Mother Nature promises.
