THE nightjar, an elusive and once-threatened bird, known for its characteristic call and acrobatic displays, has made a comeback in the North Pennines.

To highlight its return and publicise the reopening of forestry footpaths in Weardale, the Forestry Commission recently held a guided night-time walk through Hamsterley Forest.

Nightjars, which are ground-nesting birds, disappeared from the North during the 1970s. Historically, they lived on heath land, but their numbers suffered as those areas declined. Recently, they have returned to forest clearings and Hamsterley now has the largest northern population.

Hoping to hear and see a nightjar, I joined a group of walkers at Hamsterley Forest visitor centre for a guided twilight walk.

It was led by Mr Gordon Simpson, of West Auckland, a retired forestry warden who now surveys wild habitats for the commission to protect important areas. He was accompanied by members of the Durham Dales bird ringing group.

We set off through the forest and Mr Simpson pointed out foxgloves, yellow pimpernels, ferns and bat boxes - one of which was once home to no fewer than 34 females. An old wooden garage was another favourite bat haunt. Remarkably, the tiny animals squeezed into the narrowest of gaps between wooden doors.

Mr Simpson said the forest had many conifers but there was a large number of broadleaved trees, including oaks planted in 1936 to celebrate King George VI's coronation. We looked at Ayhope Beck, which empties into the River Wear, where otters and sea trout had been spotted.

He recalled growing up near Pickering, where his lifelong interest in wildlife began.

"As a lad, I was given a pair of army binoculars. I can remember seeing my first cock bullfinch and identifying a marsh gentian, although I didn't know it was rare then."

After grammar school and national service, he fancied becoming a farmhand.

"Unfortunately, I broke my wrist. So I looked for a one-handed job and applied to be a forestry clerk. I got my first job in 1953 at Newton Dale. Later, in 1964, I became the first conservation and recreation warden in the forest. In the 70s, I worked at Cleveland Forest and lived in Great Broughton."

He was made an MBE for his conservation work in 1988. Speaking about his surveys for the Forestry Commission, he said: "If I find a rare animal, plant or fungus, I record its location with a little satellite global positioning machine and pass the location to forestry workers, so they avoid special sites.

"In Northumberland, I recently found a variety of bramble that had not been seen in 100 years. Now it grows in six patches.

"Hamsterley Forest is amazing for wildlife - there are 20 ponds here. If I find one more dragonfly, I can classify it as being home to an outstanding population."

We continued uphill, crossed small steams, and walked along a medieval drove road where salt and lead ore were once transported to Hexham. Here stood the ruined Metcalf's coaching inn - flattened in the 60s for health and safety reasons. Suddenly, clouds of midges appeared.

Thankfully, we moved on and were soon positioned up near Hamsterley common, waiting for nightjars.

Mrs Trina Barrett and Mr Chris Spray, of the bird ringing group, believed ten pairs of birds nested in the clearing.

Mr Spray explained: "Nightjars feed on insects as they fly. If it is a warm, still night, there is a better chance of seeing them. Tonight, the conditions aren't bad."

He switched on a cassette recording of a male bird's call. This hoax sound was designed to lure out any rival males in the area, by provoking their strong territorial instincts. For greater effect, a white handkerchief was tied to the cassette player to resemble a male bird's white-marked wings.

An owl and a snipe called out and two rival woodcocks chased each other - but there was no sign of nightjars.

The midges returned so we smothered our faces, ears and necks with "jungle-strength" repellent. A lone bat flapped above our heads - silhouetted against the silvery moon and milky clouds - and its call was picked up on Mrs Barrett's high tech listening equipment, the bat box.

We scanned the clearing for nightjars and were told to cup our ears "like owls" to pinpoint distant noises.

THEN eventually, came the distinctive churring call! "10.28 - six minutes late," noted Mr Spray.

The churring came again - an almost electronic, synthetic noise. This time it was prolonged. Then a nightjar appeared above us.

Although the proud males are known to dive-bomb rivals, the tape recorder and handkerchief were not targeted.

"Flap your hankies, pretend to be nightjars" ordered Mr Spray, excitedly.

We did our best to be nightjars, but the bird wasn't convinced.

However, we had caught a brief glimpse of it and a good listen to its peculiar call. Our guides were satisfied with the night's adventure and we headed back down through the forest, enjoying views of moonlit Weardale.