Across the UK, the curlew’s call is fading – but in the Lyth Valley, a band of volunteers and farmers are working to make sure it isn’t lost forever
Words and photographs by John Birch
It was a tightly choreographed, military-style operation. The target was identified after much surveillance, the team fully equipped, and the gear repeatedly checked. Before going into action, everyone was thoroughly briefed on their individual responsibilities. Barny gave the signal and the Taylor family took position.
Barny Sykes, a volunteer with a local group, rushed in with a white post to mark the nest. Charlie, 14, set up the trail camera. Mum Emma and Ben, 10, quickly put in the perimeter-fence posts and laid the cable to electrify the fence. Dad George strimmed the grass beneath the fenceline to avoid short circuits. Samuel, 16, positioned the solar panel and battery.
A quick check confirmed everything was working and the team rapidly retreated. Mission accomplished – in just under 14 minutes. Another vulnerable curlew nesting site protected.
DECLINING POPULATION
Sadly, the population of the curlew – Britain’s largest wading bird – has been declining since the 1970s. In the past 20 years, the breeding population has crashed by 50 per cent. Between 1972 and 2011, its breeding range shrank by more than 4,220 square kilometres (more than a million acres). Conservationists fear this iconic bird – with its extraordinarily long beak and evocative call – could disappear from our shores in a matter of years.
Curlews have a typical life expectancy of 11 years, breeding after the age of two. They can live far longer, with one ringed individual recorded at 32 years and seven months. While adult birds continue to breed throughout their lives, fertility declines as they age – a troubling fact for recovery efforts. The bigger problem, however, is that fewer than half of juvenile curlews reach their first birthday.
They nest on the ground, often in the open, laying eggs in a small scrape. Lacking the protection of fringe scrub, which has gradually disappeared in most areas, the eggs are highly vulnerable to predators and accidental destruction. In lowland areas especially, they are exposed to agricultural activities such as harrowing, rolling and frequent grass cutting for silage.
All evidence suggests that breeding failure is the primary driver of the species’ decline in the UK. Intensive agriculture and forestry, climate change and an increasing population of mesopredators – foxes and crows – are identified as the key causes.
FIRST NOTES OF SPRING
My earliest memory of the curlew dates back more than 30 years, on the shores of the Solway Firth. I watched a solitary bird glide low along the mudflats of Wigtown Bay, its call piercing the morning stillness. With a graceful flourish of its wings, it slowed and settled onto the mud. Striding purposefully across the soft foreshore, it periodically paused to probe the ground with its remarkable bill.
It was only relatively recently that I encountered curlews in significant numbers near our upland home. Their presence was announced not by the piercing cry I remembered, but by the soft, haunting whistle of their mating call. This melody – etched into my subconscious – has now become, for me, the unmistakable first note of spring.
Soon after, I grabbed my camera and headed out along the quiet roads that traverse the heather-clad grouse moors. The curlews were exceptionally wary, with one or more acting as sentries while the others ate. They foraged on open grassland, assiduously avoiding terrain that might conceal predators, and took flight if I approached to within 200 metres. I left empty-handed.
I revisited the area that summer and was surprised to find curlews willing to tolerate my presence, even flying near, seemingly to facilitate my photography. Once their chicks hatch, rather than fleeing at the first sign of a threat, the adults become fiercely protective – standing their ground to safeguard their young, or flying in circles to distract or discourage would-be predators. I’ve seen them boldly ward off black-headed gulls, short-eared owls and hen harriers poised to prey on their eggs or unseen chicks. Their determination and resilience in the face of danger underscore the curlew’s remarkable character.
In recent years, there has been an impressive response to the curlew’s growing plight. Conservationists such as Mary Colwell have helped mobilise a national effort. The Curlew Recovery Partnership and the RSPB’s Curlew LIFE project work alongside organisations such as the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust, the British Trust for Ornithology, Curlew Action, the Game and Wildlife Conservation Trust and the Duchy of Cornwall.
CONSERVATION IN ACTION
To understand how these national efforts are being translated locally, I visited a charity – Curlew Recovery South Lakes (CRSL) – to witness conservation in action.
It was the last week of April, a special time for curlews: 21 April is World Curlew Day, and the week when they typically lay their first eggs. I met CRSL trustee and organiser Barny Sykes in a pub, where volunteers had gathered for the first meeting of the year.
Curlews return from their winter haunts on the English coastline and further afield, searching for a suitable place to breed or faithfully returning to their natal sites. Arriving in February, they congregate until most have formed or re-formed their pair bonds. Curlews are generally monogamous and remain together for life.
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CRSL volunteers identify nesting sites, cordon them off with electric fencing, and monitor them with trail cameras until the chicks hatch. During incubation, crows are trapped and removed, and foxes are periodically shot. Within 24 hours of hatching, chicks are ringed for identification purposes.
That day, I joined the Taylor family as we walked the lanes of the Lyth Valley, stopping periodically to look and listen for curlews. George is a fourth-generation farmer and passionate conservationist. The cooperation of local farmers is crucial: when mowing for silage, they avoid fenced areas, leaving them uncut until the curlews have moved on. The Taylors were well equipped with scopes, binoculars and thermal-imaging gear. We didn’t locate a nest, but the process was instructive.
Back at the pub, promising sightings were recorded on maps with Post-it notes. For the next few weeks, Barny and others would spend hours each day searching for nesting birds. Two days later, on Easter Sunday, I joined the Taylors on a successful fencing operation.
A month later, I returned to witness the ringing of a newly hatched chick. I met Barny, fellow trustee Susannah Bleakley, and a licensed bird ringer, Professor Stuart Sharp. Barny had been alerted by the trail camera that one chick had hatched the previous day, with the others close behind. Unlike many birds, curlew chicks leave the nest quickly and feed independently while their parents guard them.
The ringing operation needs to take place at short notice. The chicks were collected and taken to one side, while the parent birds – alarm-calling – took to the air.
Three chicks were suitable for ringing. Stuart quickly fitted each with one metal and two plastic coloured bands, allowing for visual identification at a distance and avoiding the need for recapture. Their large feet – nearly as big as their bodies – explain both their early mobility and the safe fitting of their rings.
Within ten minutes, Stuart had returned the chicks and the parents had calmed down, and we departed.
NATIONAL RECOVERY
From just one nest located in 2021, CRSL found and fenced 28 in 2025. Barny, who has worked on the project for more than six years, attributes their success to several factors – the most important being the growth of trusting relationships with local farmers. Simply put, the willingness of landowners to grant access and adjust farming methods is fundamental.
In addition, the team’s growing understanding of curlew behaviour has significantly improved nest-finding and enabled more prompt intervention using protective fencing. Equipment costs are met through grants and donations raised through talks given by Susannah. The project thrives on strong leadership and community effort.
What impressed me most was the active support of local farmers. Often blamed for the curlew’s decline, here they are central to recovery. In three cases this spring, farmers spotted nests during silage cutting and alerted volunteers, who swiftly erected fences.
CRSL isn’t alone. Some 20–30 similar projects are underway across England, with others in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Yet there is no central reporting system, making large-scale analysis difficult.
While local success is heartening, national recovery remains uncertain. As Mary Colwell told me: ‘The issues curlews face are so enormous […] that a few projects are not going to sort it. We need landscape-scale change, and we need wholehearted reassessment of how we manage the land so that wildlife like curlews can nest in peace.’
The fate of the curlew is a test of our willingness to live alongside nature, rather than against it. Local projects such as CRSL demonstrate what’s possible when communities, scientists and farmers collaborate with a shared purpose. But time is short. Without a serious rethinking of how we use our land, this soulful voice of our countryside may yet fall silent.
