Birding in the dark
It's pitch black. The moon is hidden behind cloud and you are at least two miles away from the nearest road. Light pollution is certainly not a problem here. The day's warmth is still hanging on and the odd dip in the ground seems to have held onto the heat all the more - it's a bit like stepping into a warm bath. The heathland all around is quiet, save for the odd Tawny Owl and roding Woodcock, that grunts and squeaks its way overhead. As good as it is to hear them, that is not the reason that you are here. Your quarry is that bit more special and seems to know it - it is not playing ball so far tonight. Another half-hour passes but with each minute your sense levels increase. Visually you may be compromised, but aurally you've never been more alert. Was that it? A vague sound from way beyond a distant line of birches... and again! Then, much closer, the unmistakable mechanical churring of a Nightjar, fading and then increasing in volume. You cannot see it, but it mu...