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The following account was transcribed from The Australian Town and Country Journal, March 12th 1870 :
“A Trip to the Fish River Caves.
SNIPE SHOOTING AT OBERON.
BY SCOLLOPAX.
“WE long talked about making up a party to the caves, but somehow the greater number of the proposers always failed to come to the scratch, to use a vulgar but expressive colonial phrase. Sometimes the cause of hindrance was want of horses. Sometimes the distance, sometimes the weather, business, want, laziness. There is no doubt it is a serious undertaking, but I feel sure that few who have visited the caves have ever regretted the trouble and fatigue they underwent in reaching them. I had a friend staying with me and I thought I could not better amuse him than by taking him to the Fish River, exploring the caves. Doing a little wallaby shooting and finishing up by a crack at the snipe to be found generally in the fine swamp (through which the Fish River runs) situate about one mile from the township of Oberon (better known by the ugly name of Bullock Flat). We made up a party of six, but alas! When the starting time came only four made their appearance; however, we, the four, were determined to go, and we went. Two in a buggy and the others on horseback; we took spare saddles and bridles, meaning to leave the buggy at Oberon and ride the rest of the way. We might have spared ourselves the sort of road there was between Oberon and the caves. Two of our party had made the trip before, and had a vivid remembrance of the rough track they had to ride along, and the many creeks impassable by buggies that were to be crossed before they came to their journey’s end. Well, we started after providing ourselves with abundance of eatables and drinkables, and with a blanket for each man; we had also last, but not least, two dogs, of good breed, a retriever and a pointer. We had a pleasant drive to Oberon, put up at Mr. McBride’s, and having obtained a guide and some lunch we left Oberon about 12 a.m. for the much talked about caves. We found the road very good, abd had no difficulty in making it out, for although there cannot be much traffic on it yet it is well marked, the only obstructions being small stumps which can easily be avoided. They call the distance 15 miles, but I am sure twenty would be nearer the mark. Well, we got on capitally, had no stoppages save wgeb we gad to pass a small creek, on which occasion the whole party generally had spasms, and in order to appease the pain took some dark fluid from a dark bottle. By six we reached the top of the hill, nearly opposite to where the old track used to come down to the caves. We had every thing transferred in a very few minutes from the buggy to the horses’ backs, and were soon wending our way from the “camp.” We got on splendidly, but at length our evil genius prompts us to make a short cut-- and in a few minutes we got into trouble. We had intended to wind round the ridge, and so avoid the very steep parts of the hill. I believe we should have done this, but some bark strippers had been at work chopping down the young wattles, and these had fallen in all directions across the path-- and to add to our troubles, one of the horses, led by my friend J.P., endeavoured to fall down as often as possible. I saw him in trying to work round a fallen tree, take long step towards the bottom of the gully; finally, the rider tried to wrench the brute’s head round and then the bridle came off, and horse and master “lay gasping on the stones.” We had, all of us, some little adventure to vary the montony, but we did get to the Valley of the Caves- and soon saw the wild mouth gaping to receive us. We got camped and had everything snug by about half past eight- had supper, and was soon asleep- there wasn’t much talking done, I can assure you, this night. Our exertions in making the short cut made us all rather sleepy. The next morning I and Nicholas, our guide (and a thorough sportsman- I could sing the old man’s praises for an hour, but he is well known and needs not my commendation,) started up to the rocks, wallaby hunting, and after scrambling about till breakfast time, we succeeded in shooting a couple of wallabies and came down in triumph, knowing that our dogs would be happy and comfortable after they had concealed a hind quarter or two. We had breakfast and then all started, after the matudinal smoke which, by-the-bye, is to my mind, the pleasantest of the many smokes of the day, for the coach house, generally called the “devil’s”; why his satanic majesty should need such an enormous repository I can’t make out. This vast cavern goes right through the mountain, and overhead there is a large opening formed by the falling portion of the roof- stalactites hang down wherever you look over head, and pillars of limestone rise up grandly from the floor. A creek runs through the middle of the coach house, and looking up from this the odd shapes the stalagmites and stalactites have assumed the different colours on the walls of this vast cavern; the dim light streaming in from either end o the tunnel, and the bright golden beauties pouring in through the top of the roof, altogether have a grand effect. We soon did the coach-house, and I then climbed to the ridge to see the bridge, an natural stone arch joining two of the mountains together. There is a magnificent view looking down through the arch into the valley beneath; you can see the water glittering in the creek below, and range after range of blue mountains stretching away as far as the eye can reach. To my idea, this is the sight best worth seeing at the caves. I believe, many years ago, a party of explorers, caught a wild bull standing on the bridge; the poor brute could not see a way of escape. and jumped over the side and was dashed to pieces; his hide and horns remained for many months in the valley beneath, and strangers were told, when they came past,., how the monarch ofd the forest died. We next visited the “Elder Cave,” so called because you descend into it by an elder tree- a mode of descent which would not be appreciated by nervous people. We soon had to light our candles, for there is no darkness like the darkness of caves. We commenced to grope our way into the bowels of the earth, slipping and sliding by the way, I may mention that it is not advisable to have steel nails in your boots if you want to avoid knocking in the back of your head. We wound our way into galleries which branch off in all directions to the right and left as you go down. At the end of one gallery we found what is called the ottoman, a large block of limestone, of a table shape, and almost as perfect as if fashioned by a stone-mason. Here and there you find the stalagmites, resembling groups of statuary, trees,, curtains, drapery, and sometimes like unto a fringe almost transparent; and if a candle be place behind the screen the various hues are very beautiful. We had some difficulty in getting out of the Elder Cave; the passage into it was very small and admirably concealed by its likeness to some dozen others leading further down into the bowels of the earth. We wandered about, not paying much heed to the different galleries which we entered, explored, and came out of into the main cave. We saw all we wanted and then determined to seek the light of the day once more. The idea of being lost never entered our heads. We came into a cave near the surface, through the roof of which the light streamed in, but we could not get out, and we were fairly puzzled. However, after wandering about for a time we hit on the right passage, and soon reached the open air. I should recommend explorers of these caves to be very particular in observing the passage by which they enter the caves, especially those of any extent, lost they should pay dear for their carelessness. We next explored the “Nettle Cave.” To this you ascend from the creek. There is a fine view from this cave, looking down into some of the larger excavations; but my paper is getting somewhat lengthy, and I have not time to give an account of the very pretty grotto. We had intended going to the new cave, but had no guide, and we were somewhat pushed for time. The second night we spent a the caves brought a little excitement. Nicholas, our guide, had gone, after supper, wandering down the creek in search of water; he took a candle with him, and we expected to hear him returning among the rocks every minute. An hours passed and no signs of Nicholas. We got alarmed, and someone suggested that he might have mistaken his way, lost his candle, fallen over the rocks, and been stunned. We cooed, and got no answer. At last we lit our candles, and started to seek him. We tracked him down to the water and then we were fairly puzzled. At last we saw a light coming down through the coach-house, a man carrying a torch; it was our missing friend. It appeared he got to the water, and found there a native dog quenching his thirst; he had a half-bred kangaroo dog with him, and they (master and dog) went in pursuit of the dingo. He fled up the coach-house and there escaped. Nicholas lit a fire, and proceeded among the rocks to search for the fugitive, but without success. We went back to camp, had some grog and were soon rolled in our blanket and fast asleep. Next morning we were up at daylight, and while some of us went in search of the horses, the others enjoyed a bathe in the icy waters of the creek; which, by the way, is the best restorative a tired explorer can have. The water running under ground for a considerable distance breaks out about fifty yards below the caves; it has a delicious taste, and there is always plenty of it all through the summer. We lost one horse, but having the buggy so near it did not matter, as we managed to pack three in the buggy. We left our camp about 6 a.m., and reached the top of the hill by 8 o’clock. We were rather knocked up, but some dinner and sleep till 5 p.m., soon put us all right, and we felt up to doing a little shooting on the swamp before mentioned, situated about a mile from McBride’s public-house. Here we lost one of our party, whose business carried him away home. We watched him as he rode rapidly towards Bathurst, till his leggings gilded by the setting sun, were lost to our view. There were still three of us left; quite enough to give the long-bills a dressing. We soon reached the swamp. and it did look inviting, covered with long green grass waving in the wind. You could catch a glimpse of the water shining among the rushes. Surely, we said, the snipe must live in this beautiful swamp, and we got our guns ready for the raid. We came down a gully, and where it ended in a belt of trees to the left was a snug little corner, where Nicholas informed us that the snipe were in any quantity. I kept my dogs back, and we three, guns and all, marched in. We had not taken three steps before an outsider jumped up with the peculiar cry of the snipe- tck, tck. My friend Mr. P. brought his long barrel to bear, but failed to grass the bird. This woke up our friends in the rushes. and we had them up in all directions in a moment. Mr. S. and myself let them have our four barrels, for which we got at the time no return; but on our putting the dogs in, we gound a brace. We walked in a little further, and I saw my brother roll a straggler over, and then P. grassed another which rose thinking he was out of reach. We separated, and after half-an-hour’s puddling, met at the spot where we first entered the swamp. The shooting was not much. I suspect we were only recovering from roughing the caves. We found we had five and a-half brace of snipe between us, and one duck which injudiciously rose within reach of Mr. P.’s long gun. Altogether we were pretty well satisfied, and trotted back to McBride’s, had a good sleep, and next morning, having given a small swamp a ranking, we got one and a-half brace more of snipe. Our shooting was not improved much- we ought to have babgged fifteen brace at the least. We left Overon about 1 o’clock, and reached home by half-past 9, with one slight accident- viz., breaking the irons fastening the pole on to the carriage. The horses went one way and the buggy another round a bush in a most eccentric manner. We were fortunately near a friend’s house, who kindly lent us a fresh pole, and we reached town at the time before named rather tired but satisfied with our trip to the caves and snipe shooting at Oberon. I believe a guide has been appointed by the government to go with parties to show them the way to and act as guide when at the caves: we wanted his services, but were told that he had gone to One Tree Hill. He has a nice billet.
“At one time there was great difficulty in getting to the Fish River Caves. All were obliged to ride from Oberon, carrying their provisions of pack-horses. Now it is possible to take any vehicle within a mile of the caves. The new track is really a very good bush road. I am sure any party taking the trouble of visiting these caves will find themselves well repaid, and should they care for shooting and have dogs, retrievers or pointers, a good dog, shooting can always be obtained in the swamp I have before mention, as situated about a mile from McBride’s hotel. I have finished.”
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