Haunting whistle of the curlew must be preserved
I have always regarded the evocative call of the curlew to be one of the most captivating of all bird-calls.
In my more youthful years, early springtime adventures tramping the moorlands were always conducted against that background of the delicious territorial, bubbling of curlew voices.
Indeed, no such adventure was complete without that musical backdrop and joining in the chorus were the lilting lapwings and the endless melodies of high flying skylarks.
Alas, now we learn that populations of these icons of those wild landscapes are all in decline and quite serious decline at that. One reason for the rapid reduction in curlew numbers, according to surveys conducted by the British Trust for Ornithology, is a degradation of habitat. Curlews, for instance, are now virtually totally absent from areas where arable farmers have turned farms into prairie-like deserts, destroying much of the natural landscape in the process.
Many areas of wetland, a favourite habitat of curlew, have also disappeared as work to ‘improve’ the landscape has further manicured it and in the process, removed its natural characteristics upon which so much wildlife depends.
As a considerable proportion of Europe’s curlew breed here in Britain – currently estimated at some 30 per cent – it is feared that the steadily advancing tide of intensive farming is legislating against the future of the curlew population.
Lapwings are similarly affected, as too are skylark. As all of these birds are dependent upon the presence of invertebrate life, the decline in populations of all manner of ‘wee beasties’, whether as a result of climate change or the heavy use of pesticides, is a serious life-threatening factor.
So my heart beat that little bit faster when, a day or so ago, I heard that deliciously lyrical song of the curlew echoing across the nearby fields. Here in Scotland, somewhere in the region of 60 per cent of Britain’s breeding curlews are to be found. However, in Lowland farming areas, curlew numbers have declined more sharply perhaps because of the reversion to the winter rather than spring sowing of crops and also to the switch from hay to silage making.
These significant changes in landuse make the likelihood of not only curlews but lapwings and skylarks nesting extremely doubtful to say the least.
I know that these days making a decent income from farming is getting harder and harder and perhaps threatens to be even harder as Brexit looms but I remain convinced that farmers still value the daily presence of wildlife, especially of birds, as an important part of their lives.
Living and working in the countryside would surely be a less rewarding experience without the myriad of voices currently punctuating these advancing spring days. Better that surely than a sterile, lifeless landscape?
Warblers are suddenly very much to the fore by the way, most notably willow warblers and garden warblers, their songs now radiating across the greening landscape.
But if these elements are valued at all, then surely some consideration to their future existence and health should be on the agenda. There has surely to be a balance.
The creation of wildlife corridors not ploughing right up to the physical edges of fields thus leaving margins for wildlife, allowing the existence and indeed the development of wetland areas, and not removing but instead planting hedges are all policies among others which are aimed at helping wildlife. It may well be the case that by using less in the way of chemical sprays and taking a host of other wildlife friendly actions would be unlikely to make decisive inroads into farm incomes, but they might well reverse the negative impact modern farming seems to be having on our precious wildlife.
Indeed, there are suggestions that those in powerful positions in Westminster are at least looking at these elements and see them becoming important parts of future agricultural policy and payment systems. As far as I am concerned, these prognostications are a cause for some optimism and would really make farmers the stewards of the future of our rural landscape.
I am certain in my own mind, that we should be examining the now rather alarming decline in farmland birds more seriously. As I’ve said on previous occasions, in a sense these birds provide us with an early warning system, which at the end of the day, has much relevance in terms of our own survival. It is simply not good enough to merely rue the absence of the likes of curlew, lapwing and skylarks. We need a much better understanding of why these birds are declining. Then we should surely look seriously at remedial policies and try to restore the balance between nature and our use of the land.
The world, I suggest, would be a much poorer place without the haunting whistling of the curlew, its piping and especially its springtime bubbling. It would also be poorer without the lilting calls of lapwings, not to mention the fantastic spring displays they enact as spring advances. And the world would certainly be poorer without the towering, breathless and musical soaring flight of the skylark.
The curlew, perhaps, is the most readily recognised of these threatened birds, its long, curved beak a notable characteristic. That long bill gives the bird the ability to probe deeply into mud or soil in its search for invertebrate life. Here in Scotland, where we commonly call the curlew the whaup, there is, in fact, another whaup of a rather different and indeed eerie origin, for it is supposed to be not a bird but a goblin. Strangely enough, it too is equipped with a long beak which, so the myth goes, is used by the goblin like a pair of tongs in order at night to carry away evil doers!
The fact that the curlew’s voice is said to have a certain human quality about it and that curlew, especially when feeding in estuarine habitats, call to each other at night, is a vocalisation which, those with superstitious minds, regard as sinister! I regard it as appealing, not sinister but some folk – perhaps influenced by the old tales of mystery - apparently also regard the calling of curlew overhead at night as a presage of death. Some call this phenomenon, the ‘Seven whistlers’. Indeed the legend of the Seven Whistlers is not confined to Britain but exists in the folklore of many parts of Europe and indeed in some cultures, such sounds are even associated with violent storms.
The only real downside to curlew life is not connected to any of those sinister legends but is simply a question as to whether the species will survive!
Significant changes in land-use make the likelihood of not only curlews but lapwings and skylarks nesting extremely doubtful