- Wildlife carer Liz Miller and her husband Bruce were out in bushland near their Victorian home when Bruce suddenly disappeared into a hidden sinkhole filled with water
- Trapped chest-deep in mud and unable to climb out as the walls crumbled around him, Liz called fellow wildlife rescuers and emergency services for help
- Firefighters, SES crews and paramedics eventually rescued Bruce, who escaped with only minor injuries
Here Liz Miller, 61 from Raymond Island, Vic shares her own story in her own words
As I cuddled up to a koala joey named Louise, my husband Bruce, then 57, passed me a plush toy.
‘She can hug this, too,’ he smiled.
A wildlife rescuer for five years, I’ve been supported by my hubby, a high school teacher, through the highs and lows that come with the job.
Whenever I take in an animal – whether it be a koala, kangaroo or possum – Bruce has been by my side for the night feeds, hand rearing, and releases.
He adored Louise just as much as I did, doting on her as she adjusted to life after we took her in when her mum sadly passed away.
But being a carer meant making some incredibly difficult decisions sometimes too.
In June this year, I got a call about an injured kangaroo from a member of the public. Inspecting the poorly fella, I discovered he had a broken hind leg, presumably caused by a car.
Poor love, I winced, seeing him in agony.
I’d seen this many times before, and the injury was unsurvivable. It broke my heart, but I knew the most humane choice was to euthanise him.
When Bruce came home from work, we lifted the deceased roo into the boot of our SUV using a folding stretcher, and drove to a nearby spot in the bush that was appropriate for animal burials.
By the time we arrived at about 5.30pm, it was getting dark, so we turned the car’s headlights on to help us navigate.
Carrying the roo – Bruce at the front and me at the back – through the sandy terrain, suddenly I heard a thump on the forest floor.
I could no longer see Bruce and the roo weighed heavily in my arms. It seemed as if Bruce had dropped the load and run.
‘Bruce?’ I called out, assuming he was playing tricks on me.
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We don’t have all day. It’s dark and cold! I thought.
Then I heard him quietly call out from below the earth.
‘I’m down here,’ he said.
Following his voice, I stumbled forward in the dark. Then I spotted him.
I gently dropped the roo and, with the help of the glow of our headlights in the distance, my eyes adjusted and I could make out where he was. Bruce had fallen into a sinkhole!
It was around a metre-wide and at least a few metres deep, and my poor hubby had plummeted into a body of dirty water.
After surfacing, he’d tried to climb out, causing the walls to crumble around him.
He was holding on for dear life, wedging his arms on the side of the walls where we could get a grip, to prevent himself from disappearing again into the muddy pit below.
‘Oh my god!’ I cried, desperate to get him out.
But the closer to the hole I got, the more the interior walls began to crumble.
Scared it could cause the whole thing to collapse and bury Bruce alive, I tread very carefully.
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‘I need you to get me a strap from the car so I can tie it around myself,’ he instructed me, hoping I’d be able to pull him out.
‘I’ll go check,’ I said, hurrying to fetch it.
I knew Bruce was strong, but I worried about how long he could hold himself up, and the risk of him developing hypothermia.
Back at the hole, we found the strap wasn’t long enough.
Out of ideas, I called two other wildlife rescuers we knew, Shelley and Allan, to see if they had the right tools to lift him out. I also called emergency services.
Shelley and Allan arrived quickly with a harness and rope. Unfortunately, because of the way Bruce was wedged in the hole, he wasn’t able to get the harness around himself.
‘Help is on the way, love,’ I reassured him.
Fireys, police, ambos, and SES arrived after 15 minutes. Headlights lit up the bush and I could finally see the horrifying reality of the situation.
The murky water was up to Bruce’s chest…
While crew tended to my husband, carefully passing down ropes and a ladder, he remained calm.
Finally, after an hour of being trapped underground, he was able to climb out safely.
‘Bruce!’ I cried with relief, holding him tight.
The poor man was shaking with cold.
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Paramedics checked him over and, incredibly, there weren’t any significant injuries – just a few scrapes and bruises. The crew believed the hole to be an old well that’d been covered with long grass.
While other wildlife rescuers disposed of the roo appropriately, I took Bruce home where he had a hot shower and went to bed.
The next morning he was sore, but grateful to be alive.
‘My biggest fear was never seeing you again,’ he said, breaking down in tears.
My heart ached with love.
Four months on, Bruce has fully recovered.
And we’re back caring for and rescuing animals.
Visiting the site recently, we can see progress has been made with many rocks now filling the hole to ensure others don’t fall down the well.
These days, when we go out bush, we make sure we’re well-prepared, with torches, water, ropes and phones.
I encourage anyone heading out to always let others know how long you’re planning to be gone, and sharing your location.
You never know what situation you might wind up in.
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