Batty Observations

This year the second half of May has brought warm dry weather and balmy evenings when it is more pleasant to be outdoors. Yesterday, with a half moon high in the southern sky, I walked down the garden path at a time when the birds had stopped singing and retired for the night. Two large bats, black in the fading light, were on the wing. Flying low they followed one another past me and disappeared into one of the tall spruce trees at the back. After I had stood for several minutes waiting in vain for them to reappear, I sat down on the steps outside the front door. There I was joined by Sherpa and watched fast-flying bats approach and veer out of sight.

Once, a few years ago, I opened the back door to find a small dead bat lying on the top step. Had Sherpa caught it? Had Banjo found a dead bat and brought it to show me? I'll never know.

During the winter bats hibernate in our attic. In 1981, when January frosts were severe, we opened the trap door so that warm air from the rest of the house could prevent water in the pipes and tank from freezing. A small bat awoke from hibernation and flew around the house before coming to rest clinging to a curtain.

It must have been early spring, when Catriona and I were returning from a walk along the strand in Portballintrae near the Giant's Causeway, and a colony of hundreds of bats appeared. We watched transfixed as they flew overhead. I didn't know at the time that female bats come together in large maternity colonies to give birth and rear their young. Along the Antrim coast are caves. I can only speculate that is where the nursery was.