AS WINTER BECKONS and evenings draw in, it is worth looking out for things crepuscular, those creatures active around dusk. Of these, one of the most attractive and enigmatic is the Night heron. Most people’s idea of a heron is that of a slender necked, long-legged, slim-line bird, but the Night heron breaks the mold.

It is, well, dumpy, all the more so for its rather hunched habitual stance. The adult is about 65cm long, largely grey with a black mantle and crown, white forehead and elongate and, when breeding, elegant white plumes coming from the nape. The bill is black, shorter and stouter than most herons and the eye, at close range, a deep crimson. It is widespread in Egypt on passage and in winter, but its breeding status here is unknown. That fact alone made sightings this summer all the more intriguing.

The orchestrator of this nightly accompaniment is the Egyptian Square-marked toad, a species common over much of the Nile Delta and Valley.

In the third week of May, south of Cairo, I saw a pair of Night herons complete with white plumes flying south. These could have been migrant birds (though late and seriously disoriented — they should have been going north) but jump a few months and in late September I spotted a juvenile in the same area. The juvenile Night heron is very different from the adult, just as dumpy, but all-over brown spotted throughout with cream — very distinctive. Most exciting of all there seems to be a Night heron roost in Cairo, specifically in Imbaba. While attending an evening function at one of the restaurants at the northern tip of Gezira, I noticed flocks of large, distinctively broad-winged birds flying around the trees across the river.

Not unlike giant moths, these were Night herons dispersing after spending the day in their colonial roost.

For those who want their Night herons up close and personal, head down to Aswan. Take a boat out just after dawn and cruise the labyrinth of channels that thread between the islands south of the Old Cataract Hotel. Night herons should be looked for in the trees overhanging the river — but look carefully. In the dapple of light and shade, they are surprisingly hard to find. Other herons will be out and about, Little egrets, Squacco herons and even Striated herons. And at that early hour the stunning, and normally reclusive, Purple gallinule can be quite bold.

In Arabic, the name for most herons is balashuun, but the Night heron is known as ghuraab al-layl, literally ‘night crow,’ probably because it shares the black and gray color pattern of the Hooded crow as well as a crow-like call. The completely unrelated cormorant is also known as ghuraab, this time ghuraab al-bahr or ‘sea crow.’

Like it or not, we share our metropolis with a myriad of rats and mice. We are lucky therefore that we also share it with Barn owls, for whom rats and mice are their bread and butter. Barn owls are some 36cm long, golden-brown dappled with grey above and white below. The facial disk is heart-shaped and the eyes, unique among Egypt’s owls, all dark. By night, Barn owls appear all white, almost ghost-like. I find it very reassuring that we share this teeming city with creatures such as the Barn owl; that among all the concrete and garbage, there are still things wild and wonderful, although for our wild cohabitants the city is merely habitat.

That Barn owls can be true city dwellers was brought home earlier this year when an adult was rescued at AUC right on Midan Tahrir after becoming entangled in some netting. It was successfully released. I still dream of a four-owl day: It would start at Saqqara for the Eagle owl, then Abu Sir for the Little owl, Gezira for Long-eared and then, while celebrating the previous three, the Barn owl over the Marriott.

But back to twilight. One of the more unlikely emergents is a bird bearing the unlikely name Senegal Thick-knee. It is certainly not restricted to Senegal, and the thick knees are actually the knobbly equivalent of our ankle bone. This is a wader that has adopted the flat roofs of city buildings as surrogate sandbanks, its ‘natural’ home and where, even among non-Arabic speakers, it is probably better known as the karawaan. It is probably best known for its ascending and descending cry piercing the night as a “Kvi kvi kvi kvi ”

In the city, good views are hard to catch, though I saw one this summer from my eighth floor office off Falaki St. in Downtown Cairo, as it patrolled the rooftop of the neighboring Lycee. Again, head down to Aswan and after you have finished scouting the islands for Night herons and their ilk, head for Kitchener Island. Just to the south of Kitchener is a large rock known to the cognizant as ‘thick-knee rock.’ This is a daytime roost for large numbers of Senegal Thick-knee — 22 on my last visit, and close views are both possible and dramatic. Although fairly nondescript at rest, largely streaky brown, the karawaan’s nocturnal habits are given away by its enormous eyes with a stunning yellow iris. They have an almost predatory glare about them, though thick-knees feed largely on insects and other invertebrates.

Another bird reported to breed on the flat rooftops of Cairo is the Egyptian nightjar. In the States, nightjar species have wonderfully elaborate names like Chuck-Will’s Widow and Whip-poor-Will. Here, a nightjar is a nightjar and the most common one we have in Egypt is the Egyptian nightjar, though it ranges far more widely. It is an elegant, long-winged and long-tailed bird, cryptically colored in sandy beiges and browns. I have never seen it in the city, but have found it while I was horseback riding, flushing it from its daytime roost. Egypt’s two other nightjars are the Nubian nightjar from the south-east of the country around Gabal Elba, and the European nightjar, a migrant that only passes through in spring and fall. A single record of a Red-necked nightjar from 1983 at Port Said is generally not accepted.

Not everything abroad at dusk is feathered. From many of the parks and gardens, a throbbing, rhythmic ‘krek, krek,’ will be emanating. The orchestrator of this nightly accompaniment is the Egyptian Square-marked toad, a species common over much of the Nile Delta and Valley. Rather variable in size and color, it is generally dull-brownish marked with patches, by no means always square, of darker brown. Patrick Houlihan, in his book The Animal World of the Pharoahs (1996), comes up with an interesting note. Just like us, the Ancient Egyptians were far more aware of the toad by voice than by sight and gave it the name kerer which is onomatopoeic, reflecting the animal’s sound. From the 20th Dynasty it and/or the frog was associated with Heket, a goddess of fertility, probably due to the fact it is a prolific layer of eggs. J. Anderson, in his Zoology of Egypt: Reptilia and Batrachia (1898), pictures a beautiful 12th Dynasty blue-glazed earthenware toad from the ancient town of Kahun, so veneration possibly dates back far earlier. The toad had been brought to Anderson’s attention by no lesser authority than Flinders Petrie.

Today, toads get bad press. Unlike snakes, which are often described so, toads really are slimy and the slime is mildly toxic, an anti-predator tactic. They inflate themselves when threatened to give the impression of greater size and intimidate the aggressor. But toads, and more specifically the Egyptian Square-marked toad, are useful. They prey on slugs and snails and various insect pests and any gardener whose garden resounds at night to an incessant ‘krek, krek’ should be pleased.

Of course, over the past month the other creature that has been most active at night has been us. As we celebrate the Eid, may I wish each one of you kol sana we inta tayyeb.  et