It is that time of year again when Kev @kev07713 and I make our annual pilgrimage in search of nightjars - a highlight in any birder's calendar. We have a favoured site in Berkshire, a rich mosaic of lowland heathland and mixed woodland that provides an ideal habitat for our target species.
The heathland consists of open expanses of heather, gorse and acid-loving grasses growing on nutrient-poor sandy soils. Over recent years, the area has benefited from extensive conservation work aimed at restoring and maintaining this increasingly rare habitat. Management has included the selective removal of woodland to recreate larger areas of open heath, benefiting a range of specialist wildlife that depends on these conditions.
Surrounding the heath are extensive areas of woodland, including both pine plantations and native broadleaved trees such as oak, birch and beech. Together, these habitats support a diverse range of wildlife, from woodland birds and bats to mammals and a rich variety of ground flora, creating a landscape of exceptional ecological value.
This year, our friend Dave South @davidso55441100 asked if he could join us in search of this elusive summer visitor. He had never seen a nightjar before and was eager to experience for himself the encounters we had enjoyed in previous years. Dave is also one of the finest photographers we know, so having him along offered the added bonus that we might pick up a few tips while we were at it.
After blindfolding Dave, we arrived at our usual parking spot and made the short walk onto the heath. Kev was particularly keen to put his thermal monocular through its paces, so we spent some time wandering the trails scanning the surrounding habitat.
Although the thermal picked up several birds, there was nothing especially noteworthy. Great-spotted and green woodpeckers, nuthatch, wren, chiffchaff, chaffinch, blackbird and various tits all appeared on the screen, but none of the species we were really hoping to find - namely roosting nightjars or woodcock.
I also had a turn with the thermal monocular but fared no better. To be fair, it wasn't a case of operator error; the birds simply weren't where we were looking, or they were tucked away deep within the undergrowth and out of sight.
Eventually, we decided it was time to head for our favoured watchpoint. However, when Dave and I arrived, Kev was nowhere to be seen. A quick call revealed that he had continued further along the track, where he had found a vantage point and a particular tree that he felt would make an ideal perch for any nightjars emerging onto the heath.
I suggested to Dave that we stick with our original plan and remain where we were. After all, this spot had served us well in previous years. Dave agreed, and so we settled in to wait as the light slowly began to fade. Our vigil had begun.
The conditions looked good for an evening watch. The day had been mixed with periods of rain adding to the overnight rain, and even as we made our way down there were some patches of rain. However, the forecast was for improved conditions as we went through the evening. The sun slipped towards the horizon the wind dropped away, leaving the heath bathed in relatively still, calm air.
Nightjars are often most active on such evenings, emerging from their daytime roosts at dusk to hawk for moths and other flying insects over the heathland. Warm temperatures and an abundance of insect prey can make for particularly productive nights.
Woodcock, too, favour these tranquil conditions for their crepuscular displays. As darkness gathers, males leave the shelter of the woodland and begin their distinctive "roding" flights, slowly patrolling territories over the treetops while uttering their characteristic grunts and squeaks. The period from sunset into the first half-hour of darkness is often the best time to witness these remarkable behaviours.
With the light fading and the heath falling quiet, all the ingredients seemed to be in place for an exciting evening.
Out in front of us and slightly to our right, a roe deer appeared from the edge of the heath. Initially wary of our presence, it gradually relaxed and began to work its way across the slope, pausing frequently to browse on the fresh new leaves of saplings and low shrubs. Its rich chestnut coat stood out beautifully against the muted greens and browns of the heathland vegetation.
Roe deer are a familiar sight here, where the mosaic of woodland and heath provides ideal habitat. The woodland offers shelter and cover during the day, while the open heath and scrub provide feeding opportunities, particularly during the quieter hours of dawn and dusk.
As we watched, two more roe deer burst from cover and raced up the slope away from us, their brief dash in stark contrast to the calm demeanour of our original deer, which barely seemed concerned and continued feeding peacefully in front of us.
By about 9.15pm we had our first flyover woodcock, appearing above the treeline, flying with stiff, purposeful wingbeats as it followed its route across the heath. As it passed, its distinctive roding call carried through the still evening air - a series of deep, croaking grunts interspersed with high-pitched squeaks that seemed completely out of place yet instantly recognisable to anyone familiar with this remarkable display flight. It was a welcome sign that the evening was unfolding exactly as we had hoped. A quick message to Kev confirmed that he was seeing the same birds from his vantage point further along the track, so neither of us was missing any of the action.
Over the next twenty minutes, further woodcock appeared at regular intervals, passing overhead singly or occasionally in pairs. By the end of the flurry of activity, we had logged a total of fourteen flyovers. Exactly how many individual birds were involved was impossible to say, as some may well have been making repeat passes along their roding routes, but it was an impressive level of activity, nonetheless.
Kev called to say that he had just heard the brief churring of a nightjar. As I was talking to him, another woodcock appeared, flying towards us from the opposite slope. Then, almost immediately, I spotted a nightjar below it.
I hastily dropped the phone and grabbed my camera, but in my excitement completely fluffed the shot. The bird swept directly over our heads before gliding over the trees behind us and disappearing towards another area of heath. Dave was quicker off the mark and managed to fire off a few shots, although he was left cursing his choice of lens, having opted for one with a wider aperture rather than focal length.
After a quick conversation with Kev, our attention was drawn to the opposite side of the trees as the unmistakable churr and calls of nightjars drifted through the air. Peering through gaps in the foliage, we eventually picked out two birds floating effortlessly above the heath, their long wings carrying them back and forth in the fading light.
Nightjars possess a distinctive flight unlike that of any other British bird. Their long, pointed wings and broad tail give them a buoyant, highly manoeuvrable appearance as they quarter the heath in search of insects. Alternating between deep, elastic wingbeats and effortless glides, they drift through the dusk with an almost moth-like quality, twisting and banking suddenly as they pursue their prey. In poor light they can seem to appear and disappear at will, their erratic, silent flight lending them an air of mystery that perfectly suits their crepuscular habits.
A nightjar began churring repeatedly from the same spot, allowing us to home in on its location. After a short search, we found it perched on a branch in a tree set slightly back from the main woodland edge behind us. We immediately started manoeuvring for a clear line of sight, hoping to secure a photograph, but before either of us could get into a good position the bird suddenly dropped from its perch and melted away into the gathering dusk.
Not wanting to miss another opportunity, we began searching for better vantage points. Dave and I gradually spread out, each exploring different angles and gaps in the trees, trying to identify the best position from which to photograph any nightjars that might appear again. I eventually found a position that gave me a clear view of the tree where the nightjar had briefly perched. A little further to my right stood a broken silver birch, its bare branches looking like the ideal place for a nightjar to use as a churring post. I remember thinking it looked a likely candidate.
Within just a few minutes, a nightjar dropped onto the birch exactly as I had hoped. How's your luck! It was now getting quite dark and I'd lost all ability to maintain a fast shutter speed. I snapped off a few shots before the bird took off - I was very lucky to get the photo that I did with f5.6, ISO 12,800, 1.0 ev, and 1/20 s shutter speed.
I made my way over to where Dave was positioned and was greeted with tales of his views. He had watched multiple nightjars, including one hovering above the treetops, while one bird had dropped into the heath no more than fifteen feet away from him. For someone seeing his first nightjar, it seemed to be a memorable introduction.
Together we watched more birds drift effortlessly through the gathering darkness before returning to our original churring tree, where the nightjar was once again advertising its presence. We managed a few more photographs, but by now the light had all but disappeared. Any hopes of decent images were fading fast, though our enjoyment of the spectacle certainly wasn't.
Eventually, we decided to wander over to Kev's watchpoint and experience the action from his perspective. While he had been less fortunate when it came to finding perched birds, he had enjoyed some fantastic encounters with multiple nightjars fluttering and hawking for insects around him. He predicted, with his usual optimism, that all 120 or so photographs he had taken of birds in flight would turn out to be hopelessly out of focus.
With darkness now making it impossible to follow the birds comfortably, we headed back to the car. Just as we arrived, one final nightjar struck up its churring song from beyond the trees and the car, providing a fitting soundtrack to the end of a memorable evening.
As we drove home, conversation inevitably turned to nightjars and we all agreed on one thing: evenings like this are highly addictive.
Year list: 261.
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