|Bell Heather at Buxton Heath|
|Darkness sets in while waiting at this gate for nightjars to show up|
|These Greylags flew over the heath as we waited|
Then in the drindling light, we got brief glimpses of them. They swoop over the clearing, vanishing from vision as the silhouettes of the border of trees gave them cover from what was left of the daylight that could help us see them again. They were the size of a kestrel, but they feed on night-flying insects. It was quite a sight to see them glide over the path in front of us, which was sandwiched between two sections of woodland, even if the sighting was only for a few seconds.
While the nightjars churred their calls well into the night, they were joined by a chorus of other sounds. Excluding the blaring noise of a local rock festival nearby, we also heard croaky squeaks of woodcocks as they flew above the trees somewhere in a display known as roading and the hooting of a tawny owl completed the dusk chorus. As we arrived tonight, I also pointed out the song of a woodlark. It was soon getting too dark to see and it began to spit with rain again. We called it a night. It was a successful night despite the midges eating at my face.