4 hours ago
5
We stepped through the hedge and into the field where we found the others: eight adults and the organiser, a woman named Heather. She handed out detectors which we fed around our necks, and showed us how to use them. You scanned by moving the dial with your thumb, and if you were in the right frequency, and pointing in the right direction, you’d hear the bats. “Echolocation” she called it.
The sun had just gone down and the paths were like dark tunnels, but our torches lit the way. Then we heard the clicking. “There!” said Heather, pointing, “45 kHz.”
Everyone turned their dials and held up their scanners, and a wall of clicks crashed into us. I ran my finger down the card I’d been given. Common pipistrelle. Wow, there it was. A bat, lots of bats – and you could see them too, black spots flitting through the darkening sky. “Each pipistrelle can eat a thousand tiny insects in just one night,” Heather said.
We pushed on, holding our breaths. As we neared the top of the hill, my sister’s detector started clicking – 48 kHz. I moved my dial and we searched the sky. Click-click-click, slightly faster this time. I scanned the card again: brown long-eared, a medium-sized bat, with ears so sensitive they can hear ladybirds walking on leaves.
I’m not sure how many bats we discovered that night; at least three (there are 17 resident in the UK). Quite a few types of bats echolocate at 45 kHz, Heather said, like whiskered and Brandt’s bats, so I can’t be certain. What I am certain of is that I’ll be back in the autumn, but next time I’ll bring my own bat detector.
Oonagh, 11
Read today’s other YCD piece, by Olivier, 14: ‘Peregrine v pigeon is no contest’
Young Country Diary is published every fourth Saturday of the month. The submission form is now closed, but keep the link handy, it will reopen on Monday 2 June for summer articles
