the case of long-eared bats, glean it from foliage, they must
be taught how to cope with this strange alternative diet.
Training them takes dogged resolve, yet Sam is convinced
that they “somehow understand you are trying to help.
They’re very accepting of what you’re doing, unlike rescued
hedgehogs, which I’ve worked with before.”
At peak times Sam might be looking after 25 pups
at differing stages of development. Older bats in the
outdoor shelter don’t need such frequent attention, but
all feeds have to be painstakingly recorded and bats
measured and weighed to check their progress. “When I
began rehabilitating bats in 2013, I thought I might get 30
or so but received 65, and since then everything has just
snowballed. In 2016, I took in 250 bats.”
Most come from members of the public. “Weak, injured
or grounded bats are picked up in all sorts of odd places,
including a very rare female grey long-eared bat found in
a car park last year,” Sam says. Others are passed on by
the police or by Somerset’s RSPCA West Hatch Animal
Centre and Secret World Wildlife Rescue, a few junctions
north up the M5. “They arrive from further afield too.
Once I was sent a poorly bat from Hampshire.”
One reason so many bats end up with Sam is because,
although over 430 trained rehabilitators are listed on the
Bat Conservation Trust’s UK Bat Care Network (most of
whom volunteer through their local bat group), the country
has only 11 large flight cages for bats to recuperate. Most
seem to belong to female volunteers like Sam.
Handing her now-sleeping baby to another daughter,
Sam takes me to see her own shelter and flight cage.
It resembles a heavy-duty garden shed with an aviary
attached, but has been meticulously built to cater for bats’
every need. “Welcome to the bat cave,” says the doormat.
Inside the walls are lined with bat boxes, housing a mix
of short- and long-term residents. Soon I am meeting
Nico the noctule, one of Sam’s favourites, and his current
box-mate Lightning, a Leisler’s bat. Looking at them
in the hand, I’m struck by how incredibly delicate and
human their faces are. Next door is a separate maternity
roost, with cloth-covered walls for nursing mothers to
crawl behind.FLIGHT CLUB
Hatches enable Sam to exercise bats that can fly by
transferring them to the outside flight cage. This in turn
contains more boxes for bats that already fly strongly and
are well on the way to eventual release. When I visit, there
is a long-eared and Daubenton’s bat, several pipistrelles
and an impressive serotine Sam calls Trojan. In addition to
their mealworm diet, the bats catch insects attracted to the
cage by a light Sam leaves on overnight – she has planted
a wildflower garden alongside to ensure plenty of insects.
Sam’s entire operation is self-funded. She is paid for
giving talks to schools, youth groups, old people’s homes
and the WI, and for carrying out the odd bat survey, but
otherwise relies on donations. “It can be a struggle. I
must get through 40kg of mealworms a year, as well as
lots of boxes of gloves, pipettes and kitchen roll.”
Her dream is to set up a British bat centre with National
Lottery funding. “It would have a rehabilitation area with
flight pens, an education space, a lecture theatre...”
There’s no doubt of the need to enlighten people about
these much-misunderstood mammals. Even today, bats
are typecast as blood-sucking fiends, especially around
Halloween, while to some property developers they are
simply winged rats.
“You’d get schoolkids, tourists, even builders,” Sam
continues. “And you could train the next generation of
bat carers.” She grins. “Bats are so rewarding to be with.
Setting them free in the wild is a bittersweet moment, but
when you see them do a few circuits around your head
before flying off, it’s as if they are saying goodbye.” ß“ Bats somehow understand
you are trying to help. They
are very accepting of what
you’re doing.”
Left: Sam
releases young
common
pipistrelles
into her flight
cage at dusk to
exercise
Below: when
Sam is confident
that a bat can
fly strongly and
hunt prey on
the wing, it is
set free into the
darkening skyBen Hoare is a Writer and an Editor, as well as a birder and beekeeper.
He visited the Devon bat hospital in July