Out on the far here-be-monsters exremities of RXland, Robin Harris & I looked for Nightjars at Darwell Wood on Friday evening.
A warm twilight stroll, thick with tannin and pepper perfumes of bark and dust, lulled by the sleepy songs of Turtle Dove, Yellowhammer and Chiffchaff, and shadowed by a friendly Cat, preceded the onset of churring at 21.40.
The vegetation has grown up so much that, while Nightjars have yet to be excluded, they are very hard to see. Two were churring just east of the house and there seemed to be another deep down the valley toward the car park. We could hear the “quip!” flight calls very frequently, but had only one view of a bird gliding over our heads. Just one sighting too of a Woodcock, and a scattering of skulking Glow-worms.
All dark, mysterious stuff, beneath a hazy crescent Moon and bright Jupiter with its own pinprick satellites.
The vegetation in many of the local woods has become too tall and dense for Nightjars, but recent clearings along the north edge of Brede High Woods has probably created suitable habitat.