The stage was set. As the light went down, the audience buzzed with excitement, waiting for the stars to enter from the wings — make that ON their wings.

After all, they were birds.

“Any minute now,” I announced, glancing at my watch.

As if on cue, a few feathered critters fluttered into view.

As they say on Broadway, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” We were about to witness one of nature’s most stunning performances: the swirling, tornadic migration of hundreds of thousands of tree swallows at Goose Island on the Connecticut River, just off the Old Lyme shore.

The tiny birds, en route to points as far south as Central America for the winter, have been drawing rave reviews from human spectators for decades. The sunset shows, which began in September, should continue for a few more weeks before cold weather polishes off the bugs upon which the birds feast, and the swallows resume their southern tour.

One glorious but blustery late afternoon this week, Curt Anderson, Maggie Jones, Phil Plouffe, Andy Lynn and I launched kayaks from Ferry Landing State Park in Old Lyme. An ebbing tide that bucked a 15-plus mph breeze kicked up rolling waves beneath the Baldwin Bridge, but conditions calmed when we passed Calves Island, slipped through Lord Creek and entered the protected waters of Lord Cove.

Along the rocky shore, a pair of great blue herons sprang skyward, flapping majestically. Nearby, a great egret stalked the reeds. All around us, gulls cried, Canada geese honked, ducks quacked, cormorants dived — an avian abundance that inspired The Nature Conservancy to proclaim the lower Connecticut River one of “the world’s last great places.” The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization regards this area as “an estuary of global importance.”

Ornithologists are uncertain how long the swallows have been passing through the area.

No less an authority than Roger Tory Peterson, a world-renowned bird-guide author and artist who lived only a few miles away, was unaware of the phenomenon until a friend brought him to Goose Island by boat in 1994, two years before his death.

“In all my long lifetime of birding I have never witnessed a spectacle more dramatic than the twisting tornadoes of tree swallows I saw plunging from the sky after sundown this past October. And this was within four miles of my home near the Connecticut River, where this has probably been going on every October — all the 40 years I have lived here,” Peterson later reported in Bird Watcher’s Digest.

As our group worked our way north, we joined a small fleet of kayaks, canoes and power boats that drifted with the current, poised to take in the spectacle. A crowd of spectators also assembled at a private landing on shore.

The western sky glowed an iridescent crimson and wind rustled Goose Island’s tall grasses when the first swallows flitted past. Moments later, another batch arrived.

Then, someone exclaimed, “Look up!”

Directly overhead, a massive, undulating cloud of birds materialized as if by magic, and began their trademark, swirling maneuver called a murmuration.

“A lot of birds murmurate,” explained Maggie, director emeritus of the Denison Pequotsepos Nature Center in Mystic. However, none swarm and swhoosh in such numbers as tree swallows, she noted.

Also, many migrating birds fly at night, while swallows, which travel during daylight, are more visible, Maggie said.

It’s unclear whether swallows remain for days at Goose Island, or a fresh flock arrives every evening.

Maggie said it’s likely that most birds only linger a day before continuing south, but when a strong southern wind is blowing, as was the case earlier this week, many swallows may prolong their stay until air currents shift.

The crowd oohed, ahhed and cheered as the birds performed mesmerizing aeronautics.

Phil, who was enjoying his first performance, sat transfixed in the cockpit.

“Amazing!” he gushed — a sentiment echoed by Andy and other nearby paddlers.

Having attended more than a dozen shows over the years, I’ve come to understand that a swallow murmuration is like a snowflake: No two are alike.

What set this week’s performance apart were a series of encores, instead of one grand finale. In the past, I’ve watched the birds eventually arrange into a corkscrew formation and drop to earth together, as if sucked by a giant vacuum cleaner.

This week, one murmuration after another staged separate, funnel-like plunges.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Maggie said.

Curt, another veteran attendee, called the show “the best ever.”

Had we not been in kayaks, we would have given the swallows a standing ovation.

If anything, the wind had intensified as daylight faded, making for a sporting paddle back to our cars.

Maybe I’m getting soft, but I had little interest in spending the night on muddy and buggy Goose Island. As far as I’m concerned, it’s, well, for the birds.

Enjoy your stay, swallows, and I hope you have fair winds for the rest of your journey.

Ferry Landing State Park on Ferry Road in Old Lyme, off Route 156, has ample free parking and a small, sandy beach for launching kayaks or canoes. It is only about a mile and a half from Goose Island.

Another public launch, at the end of Pilgrim Landing Road, north of the Baldwin Bridge, is only a few hundred yards from the southern tip of Goose Island, but the tiny parking lot tends to get crowded, particularly on weekends.

There are several other public accesses on both sides of the river that are more distant from Goose Island, but bear in mind you’ll be returning in the dark, so pack a flashlight or headlamp.

Finally, don’t procrastinate — if you delay more than a week or two to take in a show you’ll have to wait until next year.