Bats at Spitchwick
Early evening on a misty, drizzly autumnal day. No glorious sunset; just a patch of glowing white between pewter clouds that look heavy enough to sink with the sun. We creep in to water that manages to be both clear and the colour of an oil slick. The bottom is softly carpeted with fallen vegetation. Midges nip at our faces.
The river is very chilly indeed; ice-cream neck hits and I swim as hard as I can upstream to heat up. Finally I’m suffused with a warm glow which starts in my bones and seeps through to my skin. Bats flitter past, flashes of dark above black water. The last notes of birdsong fade into the night.