BirdGuides

A curlew’s ancient instinct to nest in the grass is a death sentence for its eggs and chicks in most parts of Britain. There is no nice way to say it. The breeding season is a misnomer – it is the killing season. Ornithologist, mathematician and wader blogger, Graham Appleton, has calculated that just to hold the line at the present population of 58,000 pairs, curlews must produce an extra 10,000 chicks a year across the UK. In places where chick productivity is not far above zero, that is a big challenge. But many people are rising to it. Today, there are more projects dedicated to helping curlews than have ever existed before. The love and affection we feel for them has galvanised an army of volunteers and professional conservationists to set their minds to producing fledged chicks. Habitat management, nest protection, predator control, public awareness-raising, even headstarting (collecting eggs from the wild, raising them in captivity then releasing them at fledging stage) are the everyday work of curlew conservationists across the country. There has even been an outpouring of art, poetry, literature and music to celebrate the curlew and to keep our minds focussed on the enormity of the task ahead, which is nothing less than redesigning the landscapes of Britain. Curlews have a right to be here and we have a duty to protect them from the demands of modern living. I am hopeful that we are facing up to that responsibility with a joyful heart and steely determination. Mary Colwell is a producer and writer interested in all aspects of the natural world. Is one of the most evocative sounds of the British country side to be lost? The curlew is a bird in desperate plight, but Mary Colwell describes how we are trying to save it. Within the curvaceous lines of curlew are written the worries of the British countryside. Curlews draw all things to themselves, providing a conduit to the wider world and opening doors onto issues that otherwise can seem huge and unmanageable. You could say that a curlew-shaped key unlocks access to the environmental issues that tax the best brains in conservation, science and policy in Britain today. Curlews are as beautiful as they are fascinating, and they have led me on a journey of a lifetime. In the spring and summer months they are (or should be) gracing the moors and meadows of our landscapes, laying eggs and producing chicks which they defend with the ferocity of the fearless. They bubble and cry through the warmer days, and to quote Sir Edward Grey: Of all bird songs or sounds known to me there is none that I would prefer than the spring notes of the Curlew…The notes do not sound passionate they suggest peace, rest, healing joy, an assurance of happiness past, present and to come. To listen to Curlews on a bright, clear April day, with the fullness of spring still in anticipation, is one of the best experiences that a lover of birds can have. On a still day one can almost feel the air vibrating with the blessed sound. (The Charm of Birds, 1927) Every year they return to the same place to nest, most likely with the same partner, but no one knows that for sure. This is crunch time. For a handful of months, the fragility of being a ground-nesting bird is laid bare, and it is why the curlew population is falling so fast. Many birds return to land that has been drained, developed or planted with forestry. If they do nest, they are assailed by agricultural machinery (especially silage cutters), trampled by stock, predated from the ground and the air, disturbed by walkers and dogs and increasingly subject to unseasonable weather and unpredictable flooding. The modern world, it seems, doesn’t have the time or the space for the bird Ted Hughes called a ‘wet footed god of the horizons’. By MARY COLWELL Curlews cry for help Curlew chick by Tom Streeter Curlew and nest by Stephen Inglis G LOBAL B IRDFAIR 2022 j 19