The bat story reminded me of one of the tales from my home village on the banks of the River Tay in Scotland. My old neighbor, Mr MacDonald, loved to go fly-fishing, depite the fact that he had lost his left hand in an industrial accident. He had a prosthesis with a brown leather glove on it in the shape of a hand about to give you a handshake. He was able to use it to pull the line from the reel and cast with his right hand. I should also mention that fly fishers use a "trace" or series of five or six artificial flies on the end of the line. There he was at twilight, puffing on his pipe to keep the midges at bay and casting his line. On the backswing, he hooked a bat on the wing and as he cast forward, all the line was dragged down around him by the weight of the bat. One hook snagged his hat, another the back of his jacket, the next in his pants and then a very angry bat. Other anglers along the riverbank answered his yells but on going to his aid proceded to fall down laughing at the spectacle of a one-handed man dancing around on the riverbank yelling "Help! Help!", tied up in his own line and trying not to get bitten by a bat hanging off the back of his pants. It was some time before they recovered enough to help him. They finally had to kill the bat to retrieve the expensive lure from its wing. I wrote a song about it some years ago. My mother liked it and gave him a copy of it.