Berkshire nightjars :: 02 June 2026

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.

Nightjaring & a Montys :: 27/28 June 2025

What a 24hrs that was ...

Kev @kev07713 and I hadn’t managed to find the time to visit our usual nightjar spot this year. He’d even considered making the trip on his own with his wife, Karen, but that plan never quite came together either. On this Friday evening, after finishing work and with my wife away at the tennis in Eastbourne, I had dinner with my daughters and decided to head out alone. I’d checked with Kev to see if he was free, but he wasn’t.

Nightjaring — the quiet art of slipping into the dusk, waiting under darkening skies for the strange, whirring, "churring" songs of the nightjar — is a ritual of stillness and sound, of twilight wings brushing the edges of silence. I arrived with time to spare and settled on a bench, listening in the fading light for the first signs of that mechanical, continuous purr, like an engine idling somewhere just out of sight.

Late spring to mid‑summer, roughly May to July, offers the prime window for nightjars. Warm, still evenings at dusk and dawn are ideal; the birds stir just after sunset and may call or hawk insects well into the night. They favour open heath and moorland, woodland edges, clear‑fell and young conifer plantations - anywhere with scattered trees and wide sweeps of bare ground. This patch ticks every box, and I could see nightjar surveyors out again this year, almost certainly from the BTO.

I settled in to enjoy the quiet, broken only by a young lad - perhaps in his late teens or early twenties - who whirred past on an e‑bike. He seemed upset, so we talked for a while. By the end he thanked me, saying he would reach out for help and find someone qualified to talk things through. He left looking lighter. I hope he does find the support and friends he needs; it’s not easy for youngsters when so much of life plays out on a phone screen these days.

Around 9.30 pm the first nightjar started up, churring beyond the trees behind me, then fell silent as abruptly as it began. Just as I turned to investigate, another bird began to chur from the spot where I’d been standing earlier. The survey team on the far slope grew noticeably livelier, and a woodcock ghosted overhead, its silhouette clear against the last light.

Darkness gathered before I finally caught a nightjar flitting across the sky above the opposite ridge. I glimpsed it two or three times, then another bird appeared off to my right. When that one settled on a branch, I found it through the scope and enjoyed a few crisp views. Photography at that range was tricky; after the bird moved on, I halved the distance and waited. It returned, and though the light was all but gone I managed a record shot. From that vantage I could pick out three separate birds churring. After about forty‑five minutes I slipped away, feeling my way through the black heath back to the car - tomorrow’s dawn birding awaited, and Banbury was still an hour’s drive away.

Almost back at the car, I came across two nightjars darting and weaving through the trees beside the track. In the darkness, I couldn’t find them in the camera viewfinder, so I gave up trying to photograph them and simply stood and watched. A third bird called from the side - another individual, I believe, different from the ones I’d seen earlier. I stayed there for about ten minutes, taking in their fleeting silhouettes under the sky, before finally packing up in the pitch black. I’d hoped for a quick drive home, but a road closure forced me onto a diversion, adding at least 20 minutes to the journey.

While I’d been waiting for the nightjars earlier, Kev and I had been messaging to plan the following morning. A Montagu’s harrier had been reported on Wednesday and then on and off since. Initially sighted by a local farmer who said it had been “around lately,” the bird’s ID sparked debate - some thought it might be a pallid harrier rather than a Montagu's. But with the arrival of more photos and video, the ID was confirmed: Montagu’s. We decided to meet at Otmoor at around 7:00 am, planning to be in position by 8.00 am, ready to follow any updates on the bird’s whereabouts.

Once a scarce but regular summer breeder in southern England, the Montagu’s harrier has suffered a dramatic decline due to habitat loss and agricultural intensification. By 2020, there were no confirmed UK breeding attempts - a troubling milestone not seen since 1975, despite targeted conservation work by the RSPB since the early 2000s. In recent years, most UK records have involved lone passage birds, rarely staying long.

The next morning, my alarm went off early. I dressed, checked my phone, and there it was, the Montagu’s had already been seen, coming out of roost and even pausing long enough for photos and video as it preened. This would be a lifer for me, so I quickly messaged Kev: “Let’s skip Otmoor and head straight to Cheddington.”

We arrived and parked in a small pull-in by a gate on what turned out to be a surprisingly busy road. Parking was limited, so we crossed over carefully and joined a small group of birders. One of them mentioned he’d missed the bird by just five minutes - it had flown off behind the barns and hadn’t been seen since. That was an hour before we got there, so we settled in, hoping patience would pay off.

We chatted while keeping watch - red kites, buzzards, and ravens helped pass the time, as did a lively show of corn buntings, meadow pipits, and yellow wagtails across the fields. At one point, a commotion between some raptors suggested something had been scavenged from a hidden ditch, but still no sign of the harrier.

I wandered back to the car to refill my flask and found Steve Alley, an Oxford birder, standing in the gateway nearby. We talked for a few minutes, listening to a corn bunting singing from a wire. Then, across the ridge behind the others, I spotted a raptor interacting with a red kite - something different. I pointed it out to Steve, and he immediately confirmed it: … “That’s our bird.” I shouted to alert the rest, but the traffic drowned me out. I took off towards the other birders, only to spot the Montagu’s crossing the road ahead and dropping into the field. Seconds later, Kev appeared to tell me the bird was showing, only to realise I was already halfway there.

I joined the group and quickly got onto the bird - distant, off to our right. It was quartering the field methodically, drifting from about the 2 o’clock position toward 12, gradually slowing as it crossed the track between the two large fields.

The Montagu’s harrier continued across the track, following a ditch that ran through the field to the left - in addition to photos (which wouldn't probably be great at this distance), I took a short video. As it reached the 10 o’clock position, it began to turn back, but gradually veered further away, crossing into the next field and then at the far edge it started rising steadily. We were all surprised by how high it climbed, soaring well above the trees, until eventually it drifted off beyond the distant tree line, far out of range for even a record shot.

Well that was a rush - a very special bird and although at distance we had good and prolonged views. Kev updated the sighting on Birdguides and I did the same on the Bucks Birders WhatsApp group.

We decided to wait a while longer, hoping the Montagu’s would return, and this time, we agreed to focus on simply enjoying the bird rather than trying to capture it in photos or video. Not long after, we were joined by Jim Hutchins @jimhutchins2, whom I’ve met before but never really spoken to - Kev knows him better, especially from crossing paths during big year listing. A couple of ravens passed by at close range, but otherwise, bird activity was fairly quiet. After another four hours with no further sign, we accepted that our time was up, packed our gear, and made our way home.

Berkshire & WWT Slimbridge : 07 & 08 June 2024

Back from Scotland and time for our annual pilgrimage to see nightjar and woodcock. Kev @kev07713 Karen @karenheath62 Charlotte and I dropped down to a site we know in Berkshire that is an ideal habitat offering a mix of open ground for hunting and dense cover for roosting during the day. We parked in a lane and made the short walk from there to the same area we enjoyed the spectacle last year.

Nightjars feed on flying insects, particularly moths and beetles, catching their prey in flight using their wide mouths and bristle-fringed feathers. The best time to observe them is during their active periods at dusk and dawn, and although we'd seen some video footage of the dawn period, our preference was for dusk.

We saw a pair of great spotted woodpeckers in their preferred tree and watched as both left to feed and probably return with food for their nest. Very shortly after we had our first indication confirming the presence of nightjars, churring very early at 7.39pm - nightjars are known for their distinctive churring song; it lasted only a couple of minutes and then stopped for the next couple of hours.

We chatted and listened (just in case) but noted that we'd had our first flyover woodcock at 9.00pm last May (the report here) - it wasn't until almost 9.20pm before we had our first view of a woodcock this time. The light was being lost quickly and I managed a few record shots of woodcocks as they started to pass regularly - circa 15 while we were counting.

Once we'd counted 15 woodcock flyovers the nightjars started calling around us, mainly from behind. Kev strolled back to see where the calls may be coming from and found an individual in a tree - he managed to get a video (see his post on X here) before the bird departed and I arrived (no chance for a record shot). We watched over the back treeline and had great views of flying nightjars, watching them drop into the heather and scrub before rising again. All too far for photos, and the light had gone. Woodcocks continued to pass over, but we were distracted now.

A couple of people appeared, conducting a nightjar survey for the BTO. They moved around the area to get the best views and record the number of birds calling. Since nightjars are primarily active at night, they are difficult to study, and little was known about their movements during breeding and migration. However, recent tracking with high-resolution GPS devices has provided the most detailed and accurate information ever on the migration and movements of British nightjars. These surveys at known locations are an excellent way to monitor changes through the seasons and over the years.

We watched at least three nightjars flying and perching on various trees and Kev managed to take another video - I was again on the other side of the trees and path - idiot. I'd had great views though, just not the photo I wanted. We eventually packed up and made for the car - we'd be getting home after midnight.

Kev and I agreed to meet the following morning and made for WWT Slimbridge - as it doesn't open for members until 8.30am, we didn't rush. There were a handful of cars already in the car park - members that had gone in a little early. We got kitted up and made for Middle Point where a white-spotted bluethroat has been showing again. This is most likely a returning individual that birders have been going to see for the last three years. I feel it is becoming easier to see – I’ve heard a number of people recount the number of repeat visits they had before seeing it in previous years, but it has been a simpler exercise in the last two.

Male bluethroats are particularly colourful, with a bright blue throat featuring a white or sometimes reddish spot, a white belly, and a combination of brown and orange on the upperparts and flanks. The primary component of the bluethroat’s diet includes insects such as beetles, flies, caterpillars, ants, and spiders and so the bird is often out of view and down in the reeds. Bluethroats typically forage on the ground, where they search for insects and other invertebrates among leaf litter, under stones, and in low vegetation.

We passed a birder coming the other way who confirmed the bird was showing - we walked on reaching the Shepherd's Hut and set up outside. As expected, the bird had gone to ground and we scanned around waiting for a view - reed and sedge warblers, and reed buntings popped up and down. A crane flew passed.

After quite a wait Kev spotted our bird on a post way off to our left - he alerted the assembled birders, and we all got our tick.

For the next half an hour it flew up and down this fence line, occasionally dropping from view for 5 - 10 minutes. Eventually it did the decent think and perched on a long twig protruding above the reeds and made a record shot a bit easier. Eventually it flew right at greater distance and out of view.

I was scanning with binoculars and pointed out where I was searching on posts in front of the reeds, away to our right; Kev scanned the area and picked up our bird again. It was too far for photos but soon it reappeared on another perch out in front of us. We decided to make our way back to the Visitor's Centre for some breakfast/brunch.

We made our way round past Rushy Hide having seen a report of drake garganey there just an hour before. Entering the hide it wasn't apparent that it was there at all but as we know they can go AWOL for long periods of time, sleeping/feeding in reeds or dense scrub. It took a while but eventually I saw it in a bay largely concealed by reeds, before it disappeared - Kev didn’t have a chance to see it. 15 minutes had passed when it reappeared at the end of the scrub and at the very far end of the pool. It is entering eclipse plumage and so not quite the stunning individual I'd been hoping for.

Talking of stunning birds, the gadwall is usually a rather plain species but at this time of year really ups its game. A number of these striking individuals were preening close in front. A male gadwall in breeding plumage has a finely marked grey head and neck, with a subtly mottled appearance. The body is primarily grey, featuring intricate patterns and a distinct black rear end.

Just in front of the garganey were two families of shelduck, the young looking particularly cute, quite a number with each pair of parents. They took to the water and looked very conscious that they should stay close to mum and dad. A little ringed plover dropped in very briefly.

We continued walking, and while I paused to watch a warbler in a tree, a kingfisher flew over the path between us and a woman approaching from the other direction. It headed towards a pool beyond a hide. Hoping it might stay around the pool, we entered the hide and spotted it right in front of us. The kingfisher perched for a couple of minutes before relocating to another branch on the left side of the pool. Before finally departing, it moved to the front of the reeds and scanned the water below.

Out in the fields beyond we could see an Egyptian goose on the edge of a pool, feeding on the grasses.

We toured around the rest of the hides and enroute Kev rescued a drinker moth caterpillar crossing a path where it was very likely to be stepped on - footfall traffic was very heavy now. I suggested that he should select an implement to lift it with as I'm sure I'd read that the contact with the hairs is an irritant and care should be taken if you handle one of these. Of course, Kev didn't listen - I know how his wife Karen feels 😂. Reading up on this species it appears that this large, fluffy-looking moth is on the wing in July and August, but that you might spot a caterpillar at almost any time of year. They're most often found in marshy places such as the habitat we were standing in at Slimbridge, the caterpillars feeding on a variety of grasses and reeds. The moth is called the "drinker" because of the caterpillar's habit of drinking drops of dew from grass stems.

Eventually we reached the Kingfisher Hide and found that there were no views of kingfishers to be had. Scanning around we saw a crane working through the meadow to the right, just visible above the long grasses. This crane became two as another raised its head above the height of the grass and followed the first as it worked further and further right.

As they got closer to one another, I had the thought to try and get the two birds in the same photo; as I focussed, I saw a juvenile working along between them. Now trying to get the three in the same photo, I spotted a second juvenile ahead of the leading adult. Like most cranes, this species displays indefinite monogamous pair bonds and their clutch usually contains two eggs, with seldom one laid and, even more rarely, 3 or 4. It was therefore great to see the successful fledging of likely both eggs. I got a photo with three birds, but never the four.

Trying to distract us were three roe deer (one buck and two does) also working through the meadow and dropping to the pool edge for a drink. One doe made the most of abilities prancing left to where the buck was largely concealed from view.

It was getting late in the day, and we could see reports of diversions on the road home, so made tracks encountering road closures and road works in a few places.

Year list: 213.