Central Keystone Living Spring 2017 - 18

In the Spirit
of the
Wigwam Bat
By Bryan Butler

f you haven't heard, Pennsylvania is home to a number of
different bats; about 11 species to be precise. However, the
total number of individual bats is a far cry from what it once
was. Due to the recent spread of an insidious cold-loving fungus
that attacks hibernating bats, also known as White-nose Syndrome,
that number has been reduced by an estimated 6 million in the
Eastern United States alone. This is a number that continues to
grow each year. Shockingly, there are still a lot of people that don't
know about this. Most can surmise that the death of so many of
one type of animal is probably a bad thing, but the reasons as
to "why" tend to elude many people. Of course, we are talking
about bats. They are rarely seen up close, they sleep during the
day, and the most common encounters reported are those that
involve suspected bites and potential sickness. Add up enough
of these negative encounters and you can generate a strong stereotype. Stereotypes lead to stigma, and before we know it bats
have become nothing more than a bunch of malcontent "rats with
wings" that tangle in people's hair and are constantly searching
for their next human blood-meal. Sadly, there are a lot of people
who believe some version of this. But what is the result of this
kind of misconstruction?
I remember the sunbeams. They would sometimes poke through
the small fan vent of our used 1970s scotty-style camper, and in
a measured sort of haze, looked a lot like gold dust. I particularly
recall the smell. Akin to any one of the hundreds of antique shops
strewn across the state of Pennsylvania, but damp, and slightly
reminiscent of the camper's former inhabitants - undoubtedly
rodent. We called it the wigwam, and I loved it. It was the early
'90s and the start of summer, which meant that it was time to
open up our campsite on the Lower Delaware. Though I was a
kid who loved the outdoors, I also grew up during the golden age

Central Keystone Living // SPRING 2017

of video games, and was no stranger to the AA-powered digital
nirvana celebrated by many a Gameboy-wielding sprog. But as I sat
in that camper, quietly avoiding my responsibilities of designated
"stick-picker-upper," it was the sudden, disquieting howl of a
family friend that stole my attention. Simply put, I looked up and
there it was - behind the curtains and sandwiched between the
screen and window like some dark forlorn piece of rawhide - a bat!
I wish I could say that one of the nearby "grown-ups" reverently
extracted the creature from the window, sat us kids down and explained with fervent detail the ecology of bats and the great circle
of life. If they did, I do not remember. Though I do recall some
manner of yelling, something about "doubling up" on gloves, a
shovel, and if memory serves, a swift catapulting into the river.
Mind you, the bat was dead, though one can imagine what kind
of reaction a live one would have elicited.
I remember this because it was the first time I had ever seen a bat
in the wild. Admittedly, I've always been fascinated by wildlife;
especially the kind that finds itself at the center of an irrational
fear or phobia. I can recall tormenting several Central NJ pet
stores with phone calls in which I, in my naivety, would proudly
scroll through the index of my copy of "Nature Unfolds - The
Tropical Rainforest" and curiously ask for instruction on how to
care for leaf-cutter ants, vampire bats, and poison dart frogs. As a
personal rule, this was quickly followed by inquiries of where and
when I could come by to "pick up" these aforementioned oddities.
Much to my chagrin, these questions were always deflected with a
rehearsed list of available fish, the going rate for guinea pigs - and
perhaps once, an albino hamster. This inquisitive nature persists
to this day.

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Central Keystone Living Spring 2017