Dusk on the campsite. It’s a time for sipping wine, tending the fire and wondering at exactly what point the children will crash out.

Bats swoop overhead, silhouetted against the darkening sky. I can make out pipistrelles, a few noctules and a lone long-eared bat, shaped like a Halloween decoration. Their wings are whisper-thin, affording them the seemingly impossible ability to change direction in an instant and to fly at speed with wheeling agility.

Last year, I borrowed a bat detector to take part in a survey of my local area. I erected a microphone on a two-metre pole attached to ...


There are approximately 513 more words in this article.

To read the rest of this article, please buy this issue, or join the Resurgence Trust. As a member you will receive access to the complete archive of magazines from May 1966.

Buy Issue Join Us

If you are already a member, please Sign in