WHAT is it about rock, that people can't resist scrawling their names on it? It's a bad habit that goes back to the 1860s at New South Wales's Jenolan Caves. Subterranean walls are chock-a-block with the names or initials of those who have felt compelled to leave a permanent reminder of their visit.
Even a 10-year-old budding artist called Brett Whiteley added his moniker, along with a neat little drawing, when he and his family dropped in for a clandestine visit in 1949.
So I shouldn't be surprised to find the odd bit of handiwork as I work my way through Nettle Cave, reopened after 74 years. It's just that the name caught in the torchlight reads J.
Lucas: surely the same John Lucas, member of parliament, who helped introduce the first laws in 1866 protecting this fragile environment. Even worse, instead of a wall, his chosen site was a stromatolite, one of the most ancient and rarest life forms on Earth (formed by colonies of cyanobacteria, or blue-green algae, bonded with layers of calcite crystal).
Early visitors were also guilty of snapping off the odd bit of eye-catching limestone to take home as a souvenir, though I don't know if Lucas could be accused of going that far.
Either way, he obviously saw the error of his ways: his conservation efforts were later acknowledged when one of the nine show caves was named after him.
Jenolan, 2 hours west of Sydney, has been attracting visitors for well over a century ndash; 250,000 a year, according to latest figures ndash; but Nettle is the first new cave to open since Ribbon in 1931. It's also the first that can only be viewed on a self-guided basis, using a digital audio tour.
Nettle, once a Jenolan showpiece, is a twilight cave, which made it popular with visitors practising the then new art of photography. As other caves were discovered, it gradually fell out of favour and was closed in 1932. Grant Commins, manager of cave operations, says there was talk of reopening Nettle as far back as 10 years ago; planning took four years and the infrastructure ndash; lighting, steps, suspended walkways, stainless steel handrails ndash; took a year to install at a cost of $1.
2 million.
Alison, our guide, says we're in for a bit of a treasure hunt as we set off from the bustling village, audio handsets at the ready. All we have to do is stroll between designated points (numbered one to 18), key in the appropriate number, press play and listen to commentary by the likes of Michael Caton (The Castle, Strange Bedfellows).
At some stops there's an optional in-depth layer of information by an expert on the topic at hand.
Simple, really, though as techno-challenged guinea pigs we're fortunate to have Alison along to smooth a few minor glitches (one handset mysteriously shuts down and can't be revived). Normally, visitors make the tour on their own.
We pass through the Grand Arch, nearly 140m long, 65m wide and 31m high ndash; one of the few caves in the world with a main road running through it ndash; and on to the Devil's Coach House, a cavernous natural archway, parts of which have been estimated at more than 340 million years old, which is a long time even in geology. Its dramatic name came after a camper reported seeing the devil charge through on a horse-drawn coach. Drink, possibly, was a contributing factor.
Then we're read the riot act via our trusty machines: no food of any sort, not even chewing gum. The only drink we can take is bottled water. No smoking, no touching, stay on the paths and don't be tempted to throw or kick pebbles over ledges.
There's video surveillance: break the rules and prosecution and fines could follow.
Warning over, we step into Nettle's shadowy world, subtle LED lighting guiding the way. It's immediately apparent this is nothing like any cave I've seen before.
It's not as wet as the more usual dark caves with their dripping formations, constant temperature and humidity. In Nettle, we're told, the movement of air and moisture dramatically affects the cave's environment.
There are the usual stalactites (the ones that go down) and stalagmites (up) but below us, on the floor of the cave, are some odd structures that reminded early explorers of tombstones: they named this area Boot Hill, after the graveyards of the American Wild West.
Hundreds of strange shapes, called speleothems, or cave forms, vie for attention on the walls, floors and ceiling. Some look like coral; the strange thin, whiskery crystal-like formations are called helictites. All are the result of water, limestone, gravity and time.
Sunlight streams through openings to the sky, spotlighting certain areas. This, we're told, is one of the cave's delights: visit at other times of the day and the light will pick out somewhere else, with other areas in shadow, giving a different experience.
Alison points out the roost of the sooty owls, a species that has lived here for at least 16,000 years, a fact established by scientific examination of their droppings.
We can see where the dig took place on the floor of the cave and, up high, the owls' preferred perch. Sadly, it's unoccupied. Pity, I'd like to have heard the male's terrifying mating call, a whistling shriek that has been likened to the sound of a falling bomb.
Beneath us an electrician crawls around, busy with last-minute adjustments to the lighting as we move past on the sparkling new suspended walkways and steps, designed to keep human impact to a minimum. Even in the early days the cave was lit and some of the old lighting, along with steps and ladders no longer used, has been left to give visitors an idea of what it was like 75 years ago.
The features we see would have changed little from those days: they take a long time to form, which is why so much emphasis is put on conservation.
Early explorers, though, stepped into the unknown guided only by candlelight, which must have been an unnerving experience. We end our tour with a fine aerial view of Blue Lake, a man-made dam built in 1908, which gets its unusual colour from an abundance of calcium carbonate. On this day, however, it's more green than blue.
As we leave, we pass the banks of stinging nettles that must have infuriated early visitors and earned the cave its name. Unlike those visitors, we're protected by a newly built stairway. The 21st century has its advantages.
Barry Oliver was a guest of Jenolan Caves.
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Lucas, discovered in 1860, has the highest and widest chambers claustrophobics take note and is a good choice for anyone with only time for one cave tour. Includes Jenolan's most photographed formation, the Broken Column.Imperial, the easiest cave tour, mostly on one level, follows an old river passage. Marine fossils can be seen in the limestone roof. Chifley, named after the former PM and local MP, was the first cave in the world to be lit (in 1880).
Coloured lights are a feature. Orient has three highly decorative chambers. It was steam-cleaned in 1968, a world first.
Temple of Baal, one of Jenolan's most decorated caves, has been transformed with an environmentally friendly light and sound show. Two huge chambers filled with formations, including the dramatic 9m-long Angel's Wing shawl. River Cave, a more challenging tour, includes the Pool of Reflections, which had to be crossed by boat (eight people at a time) until 1923.
Jubilee, discovered in 1893, is the longest tour and takes two hours. Ribbon is only 60m long but what it lacks in length it makes up for in formations. Good for close-up views.
Pool of Cerberus, discovered in 1903, is among the most frequently requested cave tours at Jenolan, for its delicate formations and the beauty of the pool. IT'S not often you have to collect your chair on the way to a concert, but musical gatherings at Jenolan Caves are far from conventional. There's a bit of a rush for the collapsible seats, propped up against a cave wall, though our hurried version of musical chairs turns out to be unnecessary: there are plenty to go around.
Teasing them out of their carry bags proves a little trickier, as does selecting the perfect spot to view Georg Mertens, cellist extraordinaire. The venue is spectacular: the well-named Cathedral Chamber in Lucas Cave, where it's a lofty 54m from floor to ceiling. There's a lot of rock between us and daylight about 189 steps according to the exacting guide who leads us in (I make it 187, but what's two steps here or there?
) and the acoustics make it a near-perfect performance space. The constant 15C also means it's one of the chilliest and everyone's suitably rugged up. Mertens, originally from Germany but now a Blue Mountains resident, regularly performs here, either on his own or as half of the Paganini Duo.
Today, perched on a chair on a flattish rock, he's going solo, mostly performing music from Johann Sebastian Bach's era, though his own compositions go down best, particularly Jenolan Ciaconna, a tribute to the caves. Every so often Mertens stops for a spot of tuning. He apologises: the moisture's playing havoc with the strings on his gleaming cello, made circa 1840.
Between pieces he tells us a little about our surroundings: the chamber was used for religious services until 1954 and he points out the rocks above us, which could, with a little imagination, represent an organ loft and pipes. There's also a cross and a perfect spot for the belfry way up in the gods. As Mertens works his magic, I check out the weird and wonderful formations.
Behind Mertens there's a rickety old ladder (rarely used) going all the way to the top of the cave (I'm reminded of the expression "stairway to heaven"). Nellie Melba and Joan Sutherland performed here but never, to my knowledge, Led Zeppelin. Pity, it's a perfect spot for a little rock music.
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