Nightjars

“I remember one night,” I said to Jerry Knowles, “like this one, when we were out on the nightjar survey.”

“A what survey?”

“Nightjars. Birds. You know, flying things.”

“I know what birds are. What the heck is a nightjar? Something you use for the toilet?”

We were sitting on Jerry’s back porch watching another glorious sunset, on a warm June night, the lightning bugs were in full light, and one or two night insects were tuning up their hind legs. Jerry’s wife was shopping on the town with my wife and between the two would probably expand the national debt by a significant factor.

He knew I liked to go on bird watching forays with the local club but apparently he’d never heard this story before.

“A nightjar is a common name for whip-poor-wills and chucks-will-widow. Night birds that fly with their mouths open and round like a jar and scoop up bugs.

“But,” said Jerry, “you can’t see a bird a night, right?”

“Well, yes, but what we really is listen for their calls. Like you would an owl, for instance.”

“I bet that makes for some interesting questions from the natives,” said Jerry.

“Yes,” I said, “well, there’s a story that goes with that. But I gotta get a refill first.”

We both groaned our way out of the deck chairs, those Adirondack back-killers that makes you sit way back in the seat and impossible to get out of, gracefully. He kept a bottle of Old Quaker or Young Granddad or some kind of cheap hooch next to the sliding screen door so we didn’t have to go back inside. We both liked our booze with a splash of water but no ice. Jerry’s deck looked out towards the west but his back yard was full of trees which dappled the shade for about an hour before sunset but now was backlit only by a glow. Along one side of his property someone had planted a solid row of pine that were very mature and really tall. He had said more than once he didn’t know what to do or think about when those pine decided to lean over some day and start knocking on his roof!
Along the other side, that neighbor had built a fence in the last few years to keep out prying eyes watching his pool. The neighbor didn’t quite understand that Jerry had been under no obligation to remove his deck as a sign of cooperation. The pool didn’t get used much, apparently, after that.

“So, you go out in the night to count birds?” said Jerry.

“Sort of,” I said. “We do a regular, predetermined survey for only one class of birds. The night jars.”

“Which are?”

“Whip-poor-wills, mostly. Didn’t you used to hear them when you were a kid?”

“Not me. I grew up in Charlotte. Not a nightjar in sight. Or sound. As far as I know.”

“Out in the counties they call in early summer or late spring. They call then and mate then and when mating season is over they’re quiet again. We know from earlier surveys where whips and chucks have been found before and we follow that route. Wait for them to call and record the times.”

“What if they don’t call?”

“Then we note that they didn’t call.”

“I suppose once in a while the sheriff shows up and wonders what is going on?”

“Now that you ask,” I said.

“They do? They did?”

“Better than that,” I said. “We were at Hatcher Cemetery which is actually in Carter County down below Milligan College. Our second stop of the night. Full darkness. Full moon but it was overcast. The cemetery is up on a hill top. No farms really near so no lights at all. I suppose there were eight of us. Two cars, I think. We’d pulled into the back of the cemetery because that gave us a better chance to hear from more open farm land rather than in front near the road where a passing car really throws off listening. I mean, it was dark, so I guess that was the idea. Like I should know the difference.”

“Wouldn’t the locals notice your headlights?”

“I suppose but most of them are inside watching TV. You can see sometimes the glow of a television or a computer screen. And there’s people who drive all over the place at night. You wouldn’t believe the traffic in the most remote places sometimes. For a mid-week night, about eleven o’clock, out in the middle of nowhere, along comes a bunch of cars as if they knew we needed to have quiet. That sort of thing. Or you run into a string of people who insist on asking if you need help. It’s nice but strange. You know?”

I got myself a second refill.

“So, we’re out at Hatcher Cemetery. In the back. Lights out. Listening. We can hear dogs and cars and even a whip calling. Count of one, so far. We mill around. Not much happening. The clock is winding down. Into the cemetery comes some headlights. Two cars. Carefully. Together. I’m thinkin’, oh, boy, it’s the cops. Or worse, it’s some good ol’ boys and they’re looking trouble and we’re it.

“They pull up and we sort of nervously await to see what’s to happen. Even though it’s dark, we have a flashlight or two, but we can tell it’s not the sheriff. This is gonna be trouble, I’m thinking. They get out, I think there were only about four of ‘em. Real quiet like. No rumble. No yelling. Whatcha doin’, they asked. Just as friendly as you please. Listening for whip-poor-wills said our guy in charge. We’re on a survey for the USDA.

“Oh, this one guy says, in a really nice voice. We were just wondering. We’re with the UFO club in Jonesville and thought maybe you’d found something.”

“UFOs? Really? X-file guys?” said Jerry.

“I know, it sounds weird. It sure threw me for a loop.”

“What happened after that?”

“Oh, they were polite and all but not terribly interested so they left.”

“And that’s all?”

“What’d you expect? They were going to whistle up a flying saucer? It’s squirrelly enough being out in the dark at some cemetery listening for birds let alone team up with some space junkies looking for aliens. I mean, who’s weirder? Them or us?”

Jerry didn’t say anything. He was still awake, I knew, I could see him slowly take a sip from his drink.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “they’re a bunch of UFO nuts up here in the mountains. Along with every other crazy human being?”

“No,” I said. “I think these guys were just a bunch of fellows with a common interest and havin’ fun. I don’t imagine they require secret handshakes or oaths of allegiance or roast live chickens over a bond fire.”

Jerry said, “Yeah, but, they were out there roaming around in the dark looking for something nobody hardly ever sees.”

“You don’t say?”

I smiled into the dark of my drink.
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