05/05/2026
We are so lucky to have them at our place and at neighboring Whiterock Conservancy. ☺️
I am not the bird that sings at sunrise. That's everyone else. I'm the one chanting my own name from the same branch at 2 AM.
Whip-poor-WILL. Whip-poor-WILL. Whip-poor-WILL. Without pause. Without moving. If you've counted past a hundred and given up, you weren't close to the end.
I just flew here from Central America. Found the same dry oak woodland I used last year. Started calling the moment I arrived.
The call is an advertisement — to females passing overhead, to rival males nearby. It carries through still spring air farther than most people expect.
I time my breeding to the moon. My eggs hatch so the chicks reach peak hunger during the brightest moonlit nights of June, when I can hunt moths in near-daylight conditions. Almost no other bird in North America builds its calendar around moonlight.
🌙 How to hear one:
- Dry oak or pine-oak forest, eastern or midwestern US — May through June is peak
- Step outside between dusk and dawn — densest calling is around moonrise and moonset
- Pick a moonlit night — calling rates increase significantly when the moon is bright
- Listen for a rolling three-syllable chant repeating steadily from one fixed direction
- Stand still — footsteps in dry leaves silence every nightjar within range
A two-ounce bird that flew here from Central America, calling for a mate by moonlight 🌿