I graduated in 2018 with a Ph.D. in biology from the University of South Dakota where I studied common nighthawks. In addition, I hold a B.S. in wildlife science from Oregon State University and a B.A. in journalism and anthropology from University of Wisconsin.
A Feathered Reptile 
I just stumbled upon the brief article in the Cornell Newsletter about your webinar on Nighthawks. I’ve had a few encounters with them on my property, since thay are very tolerant to close approaches, but I have never done much studying about their traits. Their distinctive wing motion, their white underwing bands and their call is a giveaway when in flight, however. I just ordered your book; will be anxious to read more about this elusive bird.
I have been studying American Kestrels and Western Screech Owls since 2010; the Kestrels from 2010-16 and the WSOs from 2018 to the present through nestbox observations on my property with a high-definition IP camera installed in a custom nestbox. Nighthawks would be more difficult to capture with a camera since they nest in a simple scrape, I assume. This year’s clutch of 6 eggs just started to hatch yesterday; at present 3 have hatched and I believe that there are still 3 remaining to hatch. Since mom only leaves the nest for brief intervals at night, I have to rely on the camera motion detected videos to record 10 seconds of detected motion when she leaves to do the egg/hatch count since she’s always covering the brood otherwise. This is the first time there have ever been 6 eggs; the first 5 years were 5, 4, 5, 5 & 5. Except for the first year, all of the owlets have hatched and fledged. The first year, the runt of the litter only lasted 6 days due to food competition, and then he became protein for the others.
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Hi, I will be on the road April 19. Here is a commentary about nighthawks that I wrote for the Providence Journal in 2003:
Peace Out, Nighthawks
August 15, 2003
At some stage in grade school, most city boys develop an overwhelming urge to find what is left of Mother Earth amid the brick and concrete of their daily lives.
For me, that meant seeking out small strips of weedy terrain in my native Bronx that were too rocky to build on, or the occasional patch of neglected parkland. My greatest find, however, would not be on the ground.
During that stage, 40 years ago, I spent summer evenings nestled on a windowsill of our third-floor apartment. One young night, amid the comings and goings below, I heard a nasal peenting overhead—a rough toot coming from the milky sky. No one took me seriously when I told them something was up there.
It was not until I was a teenager, sitting on a stoop one evening, that I glimpsed a silhouette banking past a street lamp. I waited, and my reward was the first clear view of a robin-sized brown bird with long- tapered wings, each marked by a white patch. Suddenly, my cityscape had expanded to the heavens.
Within days, I went to the public library, thumbed through my first field guide, and found that this mysterious creature was a bug-eating, rooftop-breeding common nighthawk.
Later, as a young adult, I discovered that nighthawks picked off in- sects around the lights in Fenway and other ballparks. I also learned that they gathered in large flocks in late summer, migrating south until dispersing mysteriously into South America.
But like so much of what was once common in nature, nighthawks have become a rarity.
From St. Louis to Bangor, it is now quite unusual to spot the bird during breeding season. Like the peculiar night creatures they are, their evaporation confounds ornithologists. Scientists and bird watchers are asking if the birds are affected by a loss of greenspace, particularly wet-lands. Is it the widespread use of pesticides? Global warming? Has development disrupted nighthawk wintering grounds?
I want my youngsters, ages 6 and 3, to see and hear a nighthawk. But the once common common nighthawk is yet another species of flora and fauna—from frogs to ferns to fowl—that is vanishing in my lifetime. I pray these species are not “canaries in a coal mine,” their decline suggesting that we are poisoning our place in the name of progress.
This summer, I learned through the birders’ grapevine that a territorial nighthawk was being heard nightly near Wayland Square, in the East Side of Providence. We live a few miles away. One late evening, after the kids were asleep, I heard faint peents in the distance. I stepped into the backyard and within five minutes a nighthawk had appeared—twisting and turning as it snatched insects from midair. The children missed it.
In late August across North America, nighthawks will draw together and head south. Just one or two birds will originate from Rhode Island. For many birdwatchers, this migration ritual is now the only chance to glimpse a nighthawk. Look up, if you get the chance. Life in the night sky is precious and fleeting.
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