By Bryn Macnabb, University of Vermont
The evenings spent at basecamp in the Taku Valley often consist of frustrating chess matches, a very long game of Hearts, unnecessary commentary on the Star Wars films, or Ben Schmidt regaling us with yet another questionable—albeit entertaining—story of ghosts or his most gruesome head injuries. Our days are generally exhausting, including hours of hiking for ungulate surveys, data entry, or lectures, interspersed with a few very necessary trips to the town’s bakery for the latest sweet treat followed by a powernap or two. Such long and laborious days leave most of us yearning for the quiet warmth of our tents, and I was convinced that as my bedtime crept ever closer to 9pm, I was certainly becoming my mother. Thankfully, Round River had a saving grace to provide Claire—who’s often frustrated by the group’s tendency to turn in early—with a few late-night companions for the sake of Nighthawk surveying.
The Common Nighthawk (Chordeiles minor) resides in relatively open areas and roosts on the ground or in the lowest branches of trees. They feed on insects and mosquitoes, essentially dive-bombing their meals with a resultant “wing boom” that sounds distinctly like the mechanical hoooov of a passing racecar, while their calls are more nasal, sharp, and erratic. These along with the distinctive white band across the middle of each wing helped us to identify them in the field. Our interest in monitoring this species is a result of their significant population decline in the surrounding Atlin area. However, little is known about them because of their nocturnal habits which, in the far North of British Columbia, make them active between dusk at 11:30pm and dawn around 2:30am. Our goals in these Nighthawk surveys are to determine the current and projected population trends of the species and identify lands that may be important for their conservation.
Our small student group split up so that each survey consisted of two students and an instructor, alternating groups each night. While there’s certainly argument over which survey group was best, they were surely unique in their own ways. After the first night of surveying, we awoke to tales of pepperoni meat sticks and moose sightings. While of course a midnight snack stash is essential on these late survey trips, the meat stick struck me as an interesting choice, and the grumblings about sore stomachs later in the afternoon confirmed my suspicions that they’d had far too many. Every day since this first survey, a pepperoni meat stick has either been eaten (their dog-treat stench gives them away from any point in the house) or the rest of the group has been subject to complaints about the tragic lack of meat sticks on a hiking trip or survey. They’ve become the subject of far too many conversations but are admittedly tasty after a few hours of hiking determinedly uphill toward the wrong campsite.
Having never seen moose in a natural area, I was thrilled when our late-night surveys yielded a streak of moose sightings along with some other interesting species. Nighttime in the far North is a unique opportunity to see wildlife, and the remote roads the survey points led us down only made wildlife sightings more likely. Aside from moose on every trip, we also saw a small black bear, fox, evidence of beaver activity, and a pair of orange-reflective eyes (characteristic of predators) in the road that we’d like to believe belonged to a wolf.
A large female moose captured by Bed Szydlowksi through his binoculars during the first night of Nighthawk surveying.
Evidence of beaver activity along the shore of Fourth of July Lake.
Although I was initially apprehensive about the late-night work, the Nighthawk surveys quickly became the most popular research project among our small group. Armed with candy bars, Cheeto puffs, pepperoni sticks, and a data sheet, we were eager each night to enjoy the drive around this beautiful area in good company, always with an interesting story to bring back for the others in the morning.