Nightjar Sculpture



A number of years ago I went out on a Nightjar watching evening.  Once we arrived at the site I found a tussock of heather and made myself comfortable. And watched, and waited.  We were surrounded by trees and rough upland terrain, which gradually became indistinct as the light ebbed away.

But still I watched, and waited.

I’d planned to be quiet and still – noiseless – but the midges were biting like mad and it became very difficult to concentrate.

At a point I felt as if I’d just about had enough, there was an extraordinary sound coming from a cluster of young Scots Pine trees.  A whistling, churring song, like nothing I’d ever heard before.  Rising and falling in note – then suddenly wings rose, flashes of white, and silently the male Nightjar disappeared into the night.

I’ll never forget it, indistinct, short-lived but magically real – my first sighting and soundscape of this bird of old myth.

Nightjar sculpture carved in Yorkstone to help re-live the treasured experience.






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