Nighthawks are highly interesting birds with many attributes which set them apart from many of their fellow nightjars. Sorry to leave all the excitement behind, but wanting to respect their space, I departed for home. This landscape is just the habitat nighthawks seek for their nesting grounds and they are very protective of their nests and young.
My presence had been noted and I was welcome no longer. As I stood and took a recording of all the activity, a nighthawk dove and boomed just a few feet above my head. Several nighthawks looped through the air, their bold, white wing patches now visible in the earliest morning light. Air passing through these outstretched flight feathers makes a loud "vooosh!" that can be heard over long distances. The sound is produced by a flying nighthawk performing a sharp nose-dive, swooping upwards before reaching the ground, and flexing his wings downward. Perhaps what is most interesting about the "boom" is that it is a mechanical sound and not a vocalization. It is used as part of a courtship display to attract mates, to lay claim to breeding territories, and to chase off potential nest predators. The "boom" is produced by male nighthawks for a diverse array of communicative intentions. This rushing noise sounds somewhat like being passed by a speeding car. The boom of the nighthawk is one of the most fascinating sounds in nature. The blueberry heaths of Downeast Maine host many of these sparrows each summer making them a common associate of our nightjars. Where there are agricultural lands and dry grasslands, these birds can be numerous. Within our state, this sparrow is mostly restricted inland to within 50 miles or so of the Maine coast. The Vesper Sparrow sings at both ends of the day and will begin at the very first glimpse of the rising sun. The singer was the Vesper Sparrow, a ground-dwelling songbird of open country named for its habit of singing late into the evening, long after other daytime birds go silent. In among their repetitive chants, a sweet and melodious song joined in. These were birds in competition, taking advantage of the final opportunity to prove their vigor before the bulk of the birdlife awoke to usurp the airways. From the barren-side thickets, the songs of the Eastern whip-poor-wills overlapped and quickened pace. My final stop was just before 4 o'clock and well-timed to witness the last hurrah before the sunrise. The nightbirds would use their plumage to disappear to a day of silent, motionless rest. The nightjar's nocturne would very soon give way to a dawn chorus of songbirds. The clock was ticking and night's end was near. The sun's earliest rays manifested as a dull, yellow seam between the deep blue tapestry of the waning night sky and the sprawling, ink-black landscape of the heath. Off in the distance, the first light of day peaked above the horizon.
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