Flying foxes

So here we are in Cairns (pronounced "cans" in Aussie). We are sitting on the deck watching the sunset, though we can't actually see the sun because the climate here is rain forest, and it has been raining on and off most of the day. This is also the season for cyclones (AKA hurricanes) and box jellyfish that can sting you to death, and it's always the season for salt water crocodiles around here, but that's just life down under, mate.

And a seemingly endless stream of dark flying things is moving over the ship out of town to the wild hills across the harbor. "Crows or ravens," I guessed, though they made no sound I could hear.

"Nope," said my tablemate Paul, "flying foxes. Fruit bats. They're not little twittering bats, they're huge, easily as big as crows . I saw a bunch of them hanging from trees in the center of town. The guide on my tour said they'd take off around 7 pm and fly right over where our ship is docked. " He checked his watch. "Which is right about now."

They kept coming for half an hour, hundreds of them, silent (at least to my ears, though maybe, if they eat fruit, they don't need to echo-locate it). Another guest with some birder credentials sat down with us and confirmed the ID. "Definitely bats," he said, "their tail configuration is wrong for birds." Six guys paddled an outrigger canoe past us heading out of the harbor, switching sides with practiced ease as they glided across the darkening water. The bats kept coming, as did the rain. Eventually, the light was gone, and all we could see was the deck lights reflecting off the raindrops as they slithered into the bay with a whispered hiss.