It was a cloudless and starry night, the sun dipping below the horizon and pulling the colours of the daylight with it.

Somewhere in the depths of the trees we'd pitched our tent to camp, and adopted our routinely duties of one making up the bedding, the other preparing the food for dinner. Soon enough, we'd have a chopped fresh salad drizzled in sticky honey mustard sauce, while the meat sizzled near the ground on our portable, tiny barbecue.

The car ticked and cooled down quietly as we unpacked from the trunk -- ice chest, headlamps, jackets for it getting chilly -- grateful for a break after hours of winding down scenic routes and twisting through the beaten back roads.

We didn't always get to choose a campsite by a lake, so this was a welcome treat. The water would lap gently against the banks, bird wings bashing against the water when flocks were landing peacefully, and the moonlight would make glistening pathways from us to the horizon.

On this particular night, the campsite was also quiet. Despite it being mid-summer and teeming with life in the way of bugs, midges, even fireflies, it was the edge of summer where humans were returning home to get ready for school and work.

After polishing off our food, with full bellies we headed down to the waterfront for a short walk to take in the surroundings. Tree-lined edges of the lake skirted as far as we could see. Thickets of aspens swayed in the breeze while the late evening birdsong chattered and hummed. We really were in the middle of nowhere.

Dusk fell eventually, and we clambered into our tent at nightfall.

Usually, it's a comfortable night for us camping. We've done so many road trips that our comfort improved year on year when we understood what best to bring, what the necessities were, how to make the experience better.

By this point, we'd adopted single, individual inflatable mattresses (much better than sharing the double, trust us) which were attached together by comfortable double bedding. We would bring our own pillows and duvet from home, as well as our sleeping bags.

Curling up in our little haven of blankets, we began drifting to sleep.

That was soon interrupted by distant, indistinguishable noise.

"What was that?"

We'd stayed in countless campsites with warnings of roaming bears, or campsites listening to the barks of distant coyotes. We'd heard everything from bickering marmots in Colorado to the nightly chorus of coquis in Puerto Rico.

Pausing to listen, it happened again.

Whatever it was seemed to let out one elongated howl, resembling a lone wolf or coyote. We'd never heard anything like it -- one beautiful, emotional, and longing howl.

In the dead of night, it echoed over the lake and cut through the stillness, reverberating in the darkness.

We listened in awe, hoping it wouldn't come too much closer. Accepting it was likely some type of wild dog, we settled down again, only for it to make a different call.

I'm no expert, but wolves or coyotes aren't particularly well versed with their voices. It wasn't a howl this time, this turned into an on and off, high-pitched type of quick chatter. A vibrato. There wasn't one solid sound to it, it differed dramatically.

Then a different, slightly higher pitch chimed in.

Two?! Surely, that couldn't only be one. Were they talking together? Talking to each other?

We racked our brains, wondering if it could be some type of deer or another land mammal. Elk make beautiful, high-pitched bugling calls that often don't sound like they're capable by the way they look. But it wasn't as jarring or severe as a typical elk, plus they didn't live too prominently in this area.

We never found out what it was that night. It was actually a few nights later, with another call that we realised.

The last call made us nearly sit upright. It sounded like a set of high-pitched squeals from a seagull type of call.

BIRDS? Could it be... a bird??!

Don't all birds go to bed or settle down in the night?

The next morning, we finally stumbled across YouTube videos that led us exactly to what we were looking for.

A "Common Loon".

Loons call most frequently at night, particularly during breeding season, because the quiet nighttime conditions and the reflective surface of the water allow their calls to travel further and be heard more easily by other loons.

If you've never heard of a loon before, the haunting call comes from this beautifully intricate, black-and-white patterned water bird, with a long beak and distinctive red eyes.

As menacing as it might look at first glance, they are extremely docile outside of their breeding periods and frequent the Northern United States and Canada, with similar families around Europe. They especially prefer nesting around the lakes and coastal areas, often frequenting the Great Lakes in Minnesota for near-guaranteed sightings. It was appointed Minnesota's state bird in 1961.

If you want to hear the ethereal loon call, this is a great video to experience them.

I'll never forget wondering what the haunting sound after nightfall was for the first time, thinking it was a lone wolf, and not knowing at all it was a bird.

Have you ever experienced something for the first time as an adult, and feeling truly surprised?

Keep carving your pathway and exploring,

-fe