Sometimes words are so
inadequate.
We went back to Carlsbad Caverns this evening for the bat
program. For those who don’t know, each night from about April until mid- to
late October, hundreds of thousands of bats who reside in the big cave at
Carlsbad make their sunset departure in search of food and water (not
necessarily in that order). The Park Service has constructed an amphitheater at
the mouth of the cave where each night hundreds of people can and do watch the
spectacle. And it is spectacular, no
doubt about it.
But tonight… Wow! It was a play in four acts.
First, we watched the three-quarter moon rise into the
crystal clear sky. This would have been gorgeous on its own, but it was
accompanied by these marvelous free-standing, surf-curled clouds that caught
the pink from the sunset behind us. So pretty!
Next, the cave swallows started coming home to the cave. The
ranger called them the day shift. As the light starts to fade, they arrive in
flocks and circle dozens to hundreds of feet above the cave, and then for
mysterious reasons they all come spiraling down, and then for other mysterious
reasons some of them decide to dive-bomb the entrance and go home for the night,
while others spiral back up to circle some more. The ranger said they reach
better than 60 miles per hour when they dive.
Honestly, at this point we could have gone home content with
the evening’s experience. It was that special.
But then the bats started coming out. And out. And out. So
many bats. They do their own mysterious circling and spiraling but mostly they
flock off to the east—into those cool pink clouds, looking just like the flying
monkeys scene in The Wizard of Oz—to the Pecos River to drink.
And then the hawk arrived, swooping silently into the swarm
of bats. The audience gasped and, I think, startled the hawk because he missed.
It was the only time we saw him miss. During the 40 minutes or so we were
watching—with new squadrons of bats streaming out of the cave the entire time—we
saw the hawk catch and eat five bats in turn, perching on rocks around the entrance
where we could watch him rip into each course of his meal before launching back
into the swarm for the next round. He may have snagged a few additional courses
out of our sight range too. By the time it grew darker and he called it quits,
his demeanor was completely different, like an overindulgent patron at an
upscale restaurant. “Dessert? Oh, I couldn’t possibly, but if you have
something, I’ll have a couple bites.”
It was a singular experience, that kind of magical time when
you not only actively enjoy every minute but are perfectly, poignantly aware
that it is one of those all too fleeting perfect moments. I lost track of the
number of times Frank murmured, “This is so fucking cool.”
It really was.
