Missing The Mexican Free-Tailed Bats

Translating the crude hand painted sign from Spanish into English, I announced to my husband that the road sign read: "abandoned mine" approximately nine kilometers, down what looked to be a rugged trail -- knowing he wouldn't know the difference since we didn't have time to hike that trail. It was late afternoon and we needed to be in the nearest town before darkness set in.

Traveling with Mr. Always Take The Road Less Traveled, I should have realized my mistake sooner, as he gleefully started skipping down the trail, like a beagle chasing a bunny.

Wifely concern in over-drive, I tersely questioned him at the top of my lungs:

"Where are you going? They said it isn't safe to stop here!"

I got the given, husbandly line drawn in the sand retort:

"Well, I didn't come to Mexico to see the tourist attractions, I'm gonna check out that mine."

Looking at the boulder strewn trail, that clearly sharply dropped off down into a canyon, I was quick to further protest:

"Look, I explained to you that the locals said there are bandit's and worse out here. Five people told us to not stop on this road until we got to the next town for anyone, or any reason. They even said the chicken hauler had been murdered out here for his tires. They strongly suggested to not be on this road after dark. We're in Mexico, not the United States."

All I heard was a fading:

"I'm going anyway, we won't be long."

"I'd like to see the @#$% who would try to rob me! Since you've got a broken leg, you stay with the van. Me and Queenie have got some exploring to do . . . . . we won't be long."

That was the fool-hearty answer of a giant sized man who still thinks he's invincible. Those were the last words I heard as he and our Great Dane, Queenie, stepped off the quasi-civilization highway, and off down that dusty trail.

As a last resort, I offered my best voice of gastric reasoning, that usually hits him below the belt and turns him around -- croaking out, "Wait a minute! Remember, we don't have time if you want to get a Agua de Sandia before the hotel cafe closes at dark."

My logic fell on deaf and determined ears as I stood watching the back of his bald head disappearing. I'm not ashamed to admit I was scared. We were near Cueva de la Boca (near Monterey, Mexico). It was an area, where after dark, it is not a good thing to be lone touristas traveling with a large amounts of cash on a rural highway.

Gingerly picking my way back to the van on my crutches, I was certain at the very least, he'd manage to lose our dog, since he considers leashes and collars a sissy girl thing. His proof that this is the way to go, is that the dog always happily agreed with him and their roam free antics. We were off on an adventure, but this would prove to be more than any of us had in mind.

Panicked at the thought of being alone on the side of the road, I hunkered down in the back of our van with the doors locked. I hid my purse, his wallet, jewelry, and secured our cash in a number of odd places in case highway robbers (my worst fears) showed up. After all, we'd been warned. Armed with a knife under my pillow, I laid down hoping to take at best, an uneasy nap.

A few hours later, I awoke in darkness to the sound of a pickup screeching to a halt behind our van. It was apparently loaded with drunken men. The knife and I quickly dove behind the antique water fountain and other "finds" we'd bought on this buying trip/vacation, covering myself with the blanket we'd thrown over it.

I trembled as I felt the van shake, one of them tried to peer inside the front window and unsuccessfully tried to force the passenger door open. I listened to an animated discussion that I could only catch bits of pieces of, in my understanding of Spanish. My worst fears were about to come true, as the group of inebriated young men, proceeded to strip our van. One was working on the door with a screw driver.

Soon, I heard sounds of the rear of the vehicle being jacked up. The fact that the tires were being removed had me shaking. I knew that it was only a matter of time before they broke into the interior and discovered me. I was certain this was my last day on earth.

While it seemed like forever in slow motion, it was most likely only a couple of minutes -- before a commotion and commencement of shouting broke out among them. Next, the lights of another vehicle approaching turned the inside of the van into an eerie glow. Before I knew it, my would be murders and robbers jumped back in their truck, and sped off behind the other vehicle, who flew by like a race car driver trying to catch up with the pack. To this day I have no idea why they left in mid-crime.

I was so certain they'd be back, I was paralyzed with fear beyond words. My mind was in a whirl. Oddly, it was only then, that I realized Bill and the dog were still gone. Where were they?

In the heavy envelope of darkness, time ticked away at the annoying pace of a slow dripping faucet. One hour went by, then another. By then, I was certain they were dead or hopelessly lost in the wilderness. I couldn't stop sobbing.

I remained frozen behind the mountain of purchases, and could not bring myself to let go of the knife for even a second. I must have dozed off near daylight. I awoke to the violent shaking of the van and peeked out -- to see the grinning face of my crazy beloved who had apparently returned from the dead, along with a disgustingly filthy Great Dane.

After I threw up, got hysterical, and told him what I thought of him for putting us in that dangerous situation -- it was back to normal. So there we were beside the van, while he labored to put the tires back on, left behind by the would-be robbers. In his usual his slow West Virginia jester mode, he commenced telling me of his own adventure "while I was having fun."

Seems he and the dog did not get very far along in their journey to the "mining camp" when the dog excitedly jumped, what Bill thought must be deer. Bill scrambled up a nearby boulder, and then climbed up a tree to get a better look -- because "he'd never seen Mexican deer."

Turns out that the "deer" Queenie excitedly was chasing, were actually a herd of wild javelina, -- the old male weighing at least one hundred pounds, was hell bent on getting that dog away from his women and babies.

They chased our giant dog, who previously had never been chased before by anything. When they all got tired of the game, they'd lie at a distance recovering their breath and energy -- then the dog would chase the herd. Each time Bill tried to get down from his perch, the male would come after him.

By the time it got dark, the javelina were winning the dog war. Out-numbered, Queenie was exhausted and could do little more than guard them. They stood their ground against her, camping out -- of course, beneath Bill's tree. Somewhere near dawn, they simply got up and meandered away and the exhausted dog just stared and growled at them.

Apparently, the worst part of the tree ordeal wasn't being up a tree -- it was to quote Bill --

"Those Mexican night birds kept swooping down at me. I had to keep batting them away. I've never seen such ugly birds and so many of them. Never seen anything like it in West Virginia. What do you think they were?"

Having grown up in the American west, I knew that his "night birds" were really bats -- more specifically Mexican Free Tailed bats. The man whose primary night time recreation as a boy back on the farm was throwing rocks at bats -- had mistaken the Mexican variety of this mammal for birds.

Since that trip, they have held a deep fascination for him. I would be remiss if I did not also mention that since that trip, Bill now announces any of his surprise vacation hikes, by giving me a goofy look and telling me:

"The dog and I are taking this trail. You be sure to guard the tires."

Looking back on that adventure, I'm reminded of how the next night, by all accounts the three of us should have fallen fast asleep. It had been a time of terror, triumph, and tears.

Yet, instead of falling asleep, my mind flashed back to Shakespeare's song, sweet and melodious on the lips of his happy Ariel, is like an allegory. Insect, flower, bird, and mammal are all named in turn, with the poor bat, as the dainty sprite's own courser,

"Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry, On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily."

Four great orders of created wonder march to the music of that verse. It is wonderful to think of the ages nature must have taken to fashion the picture that Shakespeare gives us in a flash. Repeatedly nature has given a long slow turn to her kaleidoscope, and many an age elapsed before the outline of bee and cowslip, bat and owl, were perfected.

The entirely novel and marvelous creatures called bats, are a considerable natural wonder, whether they are insect eating, fruit eating, or even blood drawing. If you could take away their webbing, you would see a little animal with two arms and hands and two hind legs. It's the thumbs that surprise you.

The thumb is very short, and instead of a nail, it has a claw, or hook, which is used when the bat is not flying, to enable it to walk or to hang itself from anything -- upon which it means to rest when it folds its wings to go to sleep.

The bones of the palms of the bat hand are not short and like ours, but very long. Joined to them are the finger-bones which again are very long. This great length of bone is to support the web of the wings.

The web stretches from the shoulders down the two bones of the arm and over the bones of the hand, then down to the tips of the four fingers.

Then, from the under-side of the arms, it reaches down to the legs, as far as what would be our ankles, and between the legs to join on to the tail. Thus the spread of the wings is very big for the size of the bat.

Bats are an important citizen of earth as they keep the population of nuisance insects under control.

Stories of bats which suck the blood of animals, even of men, have long been told -- but they were seldom caught in the act. Harmless fruit-eating bats were by mistake given the dreadful name of vampire.

The real bloodsuckers were small bats, three inches or less in length. On, the desmondus, lives in Central and South America. The other is found only in Brazil. They get blood from horses and cattle, and do great harm to poultry. They will even catch and eat fish.

It used to be believed that a great vampire could kill a human being, but the so-called vampires do not suck blood, and the late desmodus cannot take enough at one time to do much harm, but sometimes the bites cause infections and sores.