The expression, I was today years old when I… could be the subtitle to my life because I’m often just realizing something that others have known for years. It feels like I’m waking up from a multi-decade long coma and learning about all the news that happened while I was gone. Have you felt similarly?
I suppose I could be in distress about it and call the neurologist to find out if my brain is broken, but instead, I’m going to spin the situation into this hypothesis: if what I don’t know is greater than what I do know, I have a greater potential for discovery.
I mention all this as a preface to something that happened in June when I was co-leading a nature immersion retreat in the Hoh Rainforest (Washington, USA). On the Olympic Peninsula, in early summer, darkness doesn’t fall until about 11PM. Dusk takes her time. She lingers like a guest who doesn’t want to leave even after you’ve put the leftover food away and changed into your jammies.
On this particular night it was close to 10PM when I called it quits. All the participants were tucked in their sleeping bags and I was on the way to mine. My teeth were clean, my face was washed, and I was ready for sleep after a long day. A mere fifty yards stood between me and my tent. I slowly made my way along a wooded path in the near dark, until I was brought to a dead stop by the strangest sound. Just overhead I heard something that was cartoonishly mechanical, like a fast dropping object whistling through the air and then pulling up at the last minute. I know what you are thinking and no, it wasn’t a hummingbird.
I looked up to find its source, but all I sensed was airspace. No movement, flashes of light, or glow of eyeball could be detected. My brain sorted through possibilities and it came up with the word, “machine”. I don’t have any direct experience with UFOs, but I was open to it and honestly, pretty excited to join the club. My logical brain stomped on that whimsy and thought “drone”, but there was no hovering camera anywhere in sight.
As one does, I thought I must have imagined it so I took a few more steps and it happened again. This time I was prepared and jerked my head up to catch the culprit, but still nothing. The forest is magical and anything can happen but this was unsettling so I ran back to the Hut where Lori was brushing her teeth and asked her to come outside so she could corroborate if need be. We stood together under the canopy and waited and it wasn’t long before she clearly heard it and didn’t see it.
Perplexing. Eerie. Were we being watched? As the days went by, my ears grew accustomed to the foreign sound and I found myself listening for it, and when I heard it, I’d turn to see it, but still nothing. I know what you are thinking and no, it wasn’t an owl.
I admit, I was a little bit scared because of how disorienting it was to be with the unknown in the Dark. By week’s end, I accepted the mystery and trusted that I’d eventually come to some understanding. On the last night, before I joined the group for dinner, I stopped off at the landowner’s house to say hello. They had visitors so I took the opportunity to ask the group about it and they said, “Hummingbird. Owl.” And I said “No”. And then there was a pause and someone guessed “Nightjar”. And the person who knew about the bird acted like it was as common as a sparrow. And I was that day old when I learned there is a bird called a nightjar who roosts on the ground by day and hunts for insects at night.
The nightjar or nighthawk or whip poorwill or common pauraque or chuck-will's-widow or goat-sucker or harbinger-of-death or witches-in-the-bushes, is a elusive enigma whose camouflaged coloring and soft-edged feathers allow for silent undetectable flight during twilight.
Turns out that during breeding season, the male flexes his wings while diving, making air rush through his primary feathers, which makes a chilling drone UFO like sound. “He does this while diving at females during courtship, and while diving at intruders…” like me. (Go to 22 seconds to hear a recording)
What qualifies as life is vast and mostly ignored or overlooked. I figure that what I know about anything can fill a cup, while what I don’t know can fill all six oceans. Having a potential for discovery and remaining curious (if sometimes frightened) is part of an engaged life. My focus happens to be Nature, but it can apply to anything. If I hadn’t felt a tinge of fear, confusion, and awe, I probably would have brushed it off as just another forest sound, but this time was different. If it was any other time of year, when Dusk is quicker to leave, then I might have missed him. The encounter stays with me and I’m changed by it. I share it with you as an invitation to stay open to what you don’t know.
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