That Night Feeling
By Whitney Grover
Photo by Keith Maley
It’s dark but only just dark, maybe a street light or a bright moon casts a blue glow over the world. You feel a little lonely but also exhilarated, not at all tired. The first stars twinkle and the vastness of the night sky adds to your mixed emotions, something between melancholy and tranquility. What you are feeling is That Night Feeling. There’s a small dimly lit corner of the internet devoted to expressing it and trying to capture it with images. The subreddit, r/thatnightfeeling, wraps up the description, “homesick for something you can’t quite remember.”
Is this what a Swainson’s Thrush feels the night it decides to leave the comfort of the only home it’s ever known to find a jungle 3,000 miles away? On a cool fall evening here in the bay, the sun sets, and perhaps the young bird is overwhelmed with That Night Feeling and takes off into the darkness, heading on its epic migratory journey to Central America.
Or perhaps I’m taking too much liberty, anthropomorphizing. I will say, thinking about the hundreds of thousands of birds that take to the skies in North America every night during the fall migration adds to my Night Feeling. I am in absolute awe of their migration and their ability to arrive in places they have never been before, using the stars and natural night sky to navigate. But that awe is dampened, or maybe electrified, by fear, dread for the labors they face along the way.
There are the dangers that have always been there: you could have always gotten lost, you could have always misjudged the weather and gotten caught in a storm, you could have always succumbed to a predator waiting in ambush for the moment you land. But now there are new challenges, challenges you didn’t have the chance to prepare for: your main navigational tool is gone, you can no longer see the stars, you can no longer see a dim haze of last light on the horizon. The landscape is sprinkled with dozens of glowing orbs brighter than any moon. Where there were trees there are now buildings, invisible to you but hard enough to stop you dead in your tracks. The creeks are gone and instead, streams of cars transect the landscape. New predators wait in ambush.
The super bright skyglow emanating from large cities attracts birds.…

Photo provided Audubon California
Hairy Woodpecker by Whitney Grover
Trip leaders Dan Scali (left) and Jeanette Pettibone (right) with new birders from LightHouse. Photo @ Helen Doyle