I was in Orono the other day, dropping off something for a friend, and decided to take a walk around her neighborhood. It’s near the river and I had always thought there would be great birding down there, resolving many times to set aside time to do so. But it just never happened.

This time, I put aside all the errands I had to do and just spent time enjoying the area.

The first spot I visited was the boat launch. Before long common nighthawks hove into view. The evening was so perfect: Blue sky peeking through patchy cumulous clouds; the river flowing silent and serene; a light breeze making tree branches sway gently; and over all, the nighthawks dipping, swooping and sliding nimbly through the air, catching insects on the wing.

At first there were just a few. Quickly the few grew to several and, looking downriver through my binoculars, I saw nighthawks too numerous to count. Most of these birds moved farther southward, out of view, but several seemed to find the airspace above the boat launch as prime hunting grounds. I was treated to several up-close views as they zipped overhead.

The white, comma-shaped patches on their wings are easy to see from a distance, but up close I was able to discern the finely barred chest and belly feathers, and the little white patch on their throats, just beneath their bills.

I watched these lovely birds for quite a while, for they are one of my favorite symbols of summer in Maine. When I first moved here in the spring of 1995 and was living in Blue Hill, I spent many an evening walk observing them and listening to their nasal “peenting” calls, so similar to that of a woodcock.

Ironically, though, my first encounter with this bird occurred in New York City. That summer I worked as a veterinary technician for a clinic called The Cat Practice, running my own pet-sitting service on the side for clients away on vacation.

This had me traipsing all over midtown Manhattan, sometimes late at night – not a very enjoyable thing to do, but lucrative.

One night as I approached the high-rise where one of my clients lived, I heard that distinctive “peenting” call of a nighthawk. At the time I didn’t know what it was, but knew at least it had to be a bird. When I found out, I was astonished.

What was a common nighthawk doing in the concrete canyons of NYC?

I soon found out nighthawks nest on the ground, right in the open, on sandy or gravelly surfaces that provide camouflage for their eggs. Since this bird does not build a nest, the cryptically-colored eggs blend right into the surface; so does the incubating female, whose mottled brown plumage effectively hides her from detection, even up close.

The flat, gravelly rooftops in urban centers provide adequate, though not ideal, nesting grounds. Likewise, the myriad lights which remain on through the night attract the nighthawks’ main prey – winged insects.

Since that encounter, the common nighthawk has had a special place in my heart. It is one of the few of our native bird species that has managed to live in such altered, unnatural habitats.

I much more enjoy encountering this bird in its natural habitat, especially here in Maine. I realized I had taken too few moments to enjoy such encounters in recent years, and was glad the trip to my friend’s house had brought this to light.

NEWS bird columnist Chris Corio can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net