Country Diary: Bedfordshire

It is the most unlikely place on the RSPB's new heath at Sandy for anyone to stop and linger. The tallest, densest thicket of thistles, interwoven with brambles and nettles, forms a barrier between the path and fence. And beyond the fence, a lime and oak stand bough to bough, blotting out the view.

All the more remarkable then, that just a fortnight ago, a visitor chose to pause here and look through the thistles. She saw something that led hundreds of people to come to this spot and marvel, before the great wonder slipped away at nightfall.

Immediately on the other side of the fence, a nightjar slept on a bare log. It roosted length ways, its broad wing shoulders sweeping down and narrowing to a pointed tail. From time to time, it raised its hood of an eyelid, revealing the great black hole of an eye. And the bird was so near that even without binoculars we could see the stiff bristles around its mouth that on night-time hunting flights deflect moths into its gaping maw.

It is exceptional to see a night jar by day and so close, but though I stood gawping for some time, I have only the dimmest recollection of its plumage. Somehow the detail in the fine flecks were beyond memory. We could not even tell where its wings ended and its body began, such was the genius of camouflage.

A fortnight later, I crane over the top of the burgeoning thistles to see the night jar's throne. The log is empty, for this bird would have flown that night or soon after, when it found there were no females. But night jars will surely return to breed here in years to come. When this trunk has rotted and the ground all around bristles with heather and gorse, those of us lucky enough to be here that day will remember with great fondness, a very public pioneer dozing on this reviving heath.