All creatures great and even bigger
The Lord God made them all; but in Oz, he super-sized them
On many nights I used to hear a noise outside my bedroom window. As the single resident in my apartment, I preferred to remain in denial (you get up to find an intruder in your apartment, what are you going to do? Seriously, what are you going to do?) As a dedicated follower of sleep, I preferred to remain… asleep.
It was a kind of rustling, creaking noise. It was weird. It was creepy. But very soon, it would be gone because I’d be back in the land of nod and the mystery would never have to be revealed.
Then one night, I was sitting on my balcony, when I heard that creepy rustling and glanced over at the monster-sized palm, a mere meter away from me, to see a bat happily tucking into its supper.
A bat. A BAT. And of course, being in Oz, it’s not any old bat — it’s a Megabat. Even in my posh, hygenic (too posh and hygenic for me, really) Pyrmont apartment block, bats still feel like they can just swoop on in and help themselves to the bread basket.
Now, living in Sydney, I’ve seen my fair share of bats. In my early days, I used to love standing in Sydney’s Taylor Square at dusk watching the sky blacken as a whole cloud of them headed off to Centennial Park for their tea. My favourite place to see bats today is in Circular Quay. One moment you’re basking in the glory of the world’s most wonderful feats of modern architecture — the Harbour Bridge and the Sydney Opera House — and the next you look up and you’re in Gotham City. It’s brilliant.
The first time I became aware of them in close quarters was while living in my shared house in Paddo. From my back bedroom of our beautiful, colonial-style house I marvelled at hearing them whoooosh past as they flew up to join their mates in the fig tree that hung over our house. Discarding thoughts of vermin I thought of it as “kind of cool.” Here I was, hanging out with the Aussie wildlife. I could do this. I had this nature thing down pat. Or maybe not just yet. There were still… spiders.
Photo by Nate Kay
Residing in the back room meant residing in the room that overlooked the yard and our out house; and in the room that had the grates in the wall.
My first three nights in that room were spent staring at those grates; more precisely the holes in the grates. Every night I would tuck myself under the doona and try and pluck up the courage to have a good night’s sleep. But just as I settled down, my eyes would be drawn to those holes and I would begin to imagine the huge, hairy pipecleaner legs of the legendary Australian Huntsman suddenly protruding through one hole, then another. Before I could stop it, my imagination had painted the picture of the huntsman crashing through the grate, tearing down the back wall and devouring me, like Frodo in the tunnel on the way to Mordor. No good — it would be another night sleeping with the lights on.
Soon enough I learnt how to “take a teaspoon of cement and harden up” and turn out the lights, but I knew my first encounter with a spider would come sooner or later.
Huntsman encounter #1 came during a visit from my one of fabulous school friends from London. I gave her the grand tour of my Aussie home. First stop — the dining room floor and blow-up mattress that would be her sleeping arrangements for the coming 10 days (space was at a premium and it was preferable to kipping in with me with the whooooshing bat soundtrack). “What about spiders?” she asked nervously. “Do you get a lot?” (Earlier, she had reconsidered her holiday to Sydney after finding a news article about a spider in Atherton, Far North Queensland who had caught in its web and subsequently feasted upon A BIRD. I allayed her fears by reassuring her that Sydney to Atherton was a further distance than London to Moscow — she was safe from harms way). I hadn’t seen any spiders at that stage so I was able to eradicate her concerns. “Nooooo. You don’t have to worry about spiders at all,” I responded confidently.
Next stop on the tour was the out house. Of course, with hindsight it was a very silly idea, but I couldn’t resist showing off my novelty outdoor loo. “Check this out,” I said proudly and flung open the door in a “ta daaaa” fashion. She took one step forward, screamed and bolted back towards the house. I peered in and on the back wall, of course, was a huntsman the size of one of Ian Thorpe’s feet.
To her credit, she didn’t get on the first plane back to the UK but we devised a little ritual of protection each night thereafter. With her specially purchased can of Mortein we created “the ring of fire”; one wall to wall spray across the kitchen to dining room entrance and then one complete Mortein loop around the mattress. The can of Mortein was then placed approximately 20 cm from her head. She also slept with one eye open. She made it through unscathed by spider attacks, but her lungs are probably shot to bits.
Huntsman encounter #2 came while I was in the shower. Bang bang bang on the bathroom door. “Jaiiiirnee” called my American flatmate, her Southern drawl wafting through the steam. “Thaaair’s a huh-ntsman downstaaairs in the kitchen.” “A what?” I yelled back. “A huuuuh-nstman,” she squeaked loudly. I have to admit I was a little excited. Finally my mettle would be tested. Bring it on. “Ok,” I called. “Just give me a minute and we’ll sort it out.” “Aaah don’t know whatcha mean by weeeee,” she yelled.
PJs on, I headed downstairs to confront this legend of bush and brick housing. It was the size of a large male hand and it was enjoying the view from just above the kitchen sink. My flatmate was standing her ground — a good 7 metres from the intruder. I joined her. Hmmmm, maybe I wasn’t quite so up for this as I thought. OK, thinking cap on. Like two contestants on the Crystal Maze, we strategised how we could entice this fella to leave. We quickly ruled out being closer than 2 metres, and we ruled out death (because we were too scared to get that close). Scouring the kitchen cupboards we gathered tools for phase one of our attack; a broom, some tape and a plastic cake cover. We built the perfect hunstman trap. No matter that we had absolutely no idea what was going to happen once we’d imprisoned our target — I honestly think we would’ve been willing to take it in turns to cover shifts if it meant that he was not loose about the house — we would think of that later.
As in all Hollywood action blockbusters, our hero arrived in the nick of time to save the day. Here was our Australian housemate. She would save us. She strolled over boldly “Stand aside, Northern Hemisphere weaklings — I am Australian and I have the power to save you from these 8 legged monsters” is what I think she said. Not “you bunch of wusses — what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Spider snare retracted, she approached with confidence as we retreated in awe and before you knew it, old spidey was scooped up and deposited back from whence he came. Balloons popped, streamers streamed and we went down the pub to celebrate.
Now I live on my Pat Malone, I’ve learnt how to do my own battle with these visitors. Reluctant to use the extermination method (what’s the point — there will always just be another one lurking behind the tv cabinet?), I deploy a variety of techniques ranging from a kind of bullfighting methodology with a scarf to swoosh them towards the exit, to reasoning and, as a last resort, befriending because sometimes you can get along just fine — even in a 57sq metre apartment — as long as you agree your living areas; behind the chest of drawers-ok; on the wall by the phone — not ok.
I did manage to swoosh one visitor into the lounge from my room and then cunningly sealed the bedroom by wedging towels and blankets around the door frame. The following evening, relieved at the thought of finally being able to have a night’s sleep where I didn’t have to worry about a foot escaping from under the doona, I triumphantly broke the seal, switched on the light and found my visitor waiting for me on my pillow; he’d obviously misread the signs of the “befriending” and jumped to the wrong conclusions.
Just as I end this tale of my “at oneness” with the local of Australian fauna, my Megabat has coming crashing into the palm tree and scared the living daylights out of me. So on that note, I’m off to bury myself under the doona and pretend I’m being burgled instead.
