THE CURLEW CALLS

Ireland’s breeding curlew population is highly endangered, but the bird still holds a special place in our stories, songs, poetry and place names. Can the curlew’s deep roots in our culture and heritage inspire current and future generations to save it?

On a crisp morning in April, I set out across a bog in County Galway at sunrise. Mist had settled across the rolling landscape and dew sparkled on the heather. I listened intently for Eurasian curlew, hoping that as I walked, I would startle a hidden bird into letting out a warning call or flying up out of its nest. In spring, curlew return from their winter sites across European coastlines to breed further inland. They are generally site-faithful, meaning they return to the same field or patch of bog to nest and only a few decades ago the ground-nesting bird’s call was a common feature of the Irish countryside in spring and summer months. We refer to those that settle in open bogland or marginal grassland in Ireland as our native breeding curlew population. Since the 1980s, Ireland’s breeding curlew population has dropped by around 90%, mainly due to rapidly diminishing habitats caused by the changing ways that we humans use land. Curlew have been pushed to the margins because of destruction of bogland, increasing swathes of "IT LEAVES US TO dense forestry and changing farming practices. WONDER WHETHER In early spring, the curlews' CURLEW WERE INDEED exuberant calls and airborne ONE OF THE MOST breeding displays indicate to COMMON BIRDS, OR IF members of the Curlew Conservation THEIR DISTINCTIVE LONG CURVED BILL AND THEIR Programme where the birds are likely to nest over the coming months. The Curlew Conservation Programme UNIQUE WHISTLING was established by the National Parks CALL STOOD OUT TO and Wildlife Service (NPWS) in 2017 LOCALS. OR HAD THEIR and is partnered by the Department NUMBERS DECLINED IN of Agriculture, Food and the Marine THOSE 30 YEARS? as Ireland’s primary effort in helping curlew in Ireland. I was privileged to be part of this important project in 2020, as part of the Curlew Action Team working in the Slieve Aughty Mountains, which straddle counties Galway and Clare. An unfortunate result of the Covid-19 lockdown restrictions in March meant that our teams were prevented from surveying potential

Fiona Smith

breeding sites. By the time surveying commenced, curlew pairs were settled in their well-camouflaged nests, staying mostly silent and out of sight to avoid threats. It was in this context that I walked across bogs and fields at sunrise, searching for any sight or sound of the wader.

In an archive of folklore compiled by Irish schoolchildren in the 1930s, called the 'School's Collection’ (www.duchas. ie), children's accounts frequently reference the curlew as one of the most common local birds. But in ‘The First Atlas of Breeding Birds in Britain and Ireland: 1968-1972’, curlew ranked 45th on the list of recorded sightings – far from the most populous species. It leaves us to wonder whether curlew were indeed one of the most common birds, or if their distinctive long curved bill and their unique whistling call stood out to locals. Or had their numbers declined in those 30 years?

The curlew’s cultural significance is also evident in religious folklore. One story recalls how a curlew helped Christ to evade his enemies by calling loudly to wake him in his sleep, or by covering his footprints as he fled. Another tale says that Saint Patrick fell asleep beside a stream and avoided drowning thanks to a curlew screeching loudly to wake him. In these stories, Christ and Saint Patrick thank the curlew by ensuring that its nests will never be found.

On making my way back to my car that morning after unsuccessful surveying, I met a local man who commented that he hadn't heard a curlew in the area for years. He added that his mother remembered hearing the curlew's distinctive, whistling call on the bog – a ubiquitous sound that W.B. Yeats described as a “sweet crystalline cry” in his poem 'Paudeen' and connected to feelings of

Janice Mulligan

melancholy and lost love in the poem 'He Reproves The Curlew'. The man told me that he would love the curlew to return to the area and I was hopeful that their silence that day did not prove their absence. "ACCOUNTS FROM I wondered whether the fine, sunny weather was the reason I ACROSS IRELAND IN THE hadn't heard any curlew that 'SCHOOLS’ COLLECTION' morning, as they are frequently DESCRIBE HOW “WHEN referred to as ‘the storm bird’ in THE CURLEW WHISTLES Irish folklore – their call signalled WE ARE SURE TO HAVE RAIN BEFORE LONG” incoming rain. Accounts from across Ireland in the 'Schools’ Collection' describe how “when the AND “WHEN A CURLEW curlew whistles we are sure to have IS HEARD CRYING AT rain before long” and “when a NIGHT, AND IT IS SEEN curlew is heard crying at night, and FLYING OVER LAND, BAD it is seen flying over land, bad WEATHER ENSUES.” weather ensues.” The storm bird’s unique call inspired musical minds too. Antrim composer Josephine Keegan was inspired to write ‘The Curlew Reel’. In the song ‘My Own Leitrim Home’, the curlew’s cry stirs up a longing for home: “There to smell the sweet scent of the heather And to hear the lone Curlew call... I ask not for fame or for fortune Just give me my own Leitrim home.”

This association of the curlew with home was also highlighted in the 1982 Harp Lager advertisement, wellknown for the line “Sally O’Brien and the way she might look at you”, in which an Irishman abroad longs for home. The Irishman longs for a pint of Harp and the curlew’s cry. Thinking about this ad today begs the question, what animal or bird would an ad in 2021 use to evoke a nostalgic sense of home? What sounds and sights remind us of the Irish countryside? Would the curlew still feature?

Still out surveying later that afternoon,I met a local woman and asked her if she knew of any curlew in the area. She had never heard of the bird and didn’t recognise my descriptions. After a plummet in the curlew population over a short few decades, our experiences of the bird have lessened and our ability to recognise them has also diminished. Yet the curlew’s presence was at one time abundant enough to inspire place names across Ireland.

‘Curlew’, the Irish ‘an crotach’, or the Scots Gaelic ‘whaupp’, appear in at least 16 place names across Ireland, from Whaup Hill in Co. Antrim to An Chrotach Theas/ Crutta South in Co. Tipperary, hinting at the bird’s deep connection with Ireland’s landscape.

From poetry to place names, the curlew has permeated Ireland’s cultural heritage. It was once associated with the Irish countryside, home, as well as spring and summer evenings. Michael Viney described hearing the bird’s call as “oddly reassuring”, bringing the same

 Katie Spiers

comforting “contentment...as the sudden tang of turfsmoke”. Today, their endangered status has inspired artists in a different way.

For Katie Spiers, a glass sculptor from Dublin, her delicate sculptures of curlew represent the bird’s fragility and beauty. She describes how observing curlew makes her feel connected to previous generations. Curlew are also a muse for the sculptor Fiona Smith, who created a bronze sculpture called ‘Moon Bird’, depicting a Curlew sitting on top of a thin crescent moon. The artwork references the bird’s scientific name Numenius arquata – ‘Numenius’ comes from the Greek word ‘neos’ meaning new and ‘mene’ meaning moon and is thought to reference the curlew’s curved bill.

The Irish branch of Extinction Rebellion, the environmental activist movement, uses an image of the curlew alongside the words “Gníomhaigh anois/Act now” to symbolise Ireland’s biodiversity crisis and the bird’s threat of extinction. One member of the group told me that the curlew brings the threat of species extinction closer to home, rather than pointing to species like the polar bear, which are far removed from our experience in Ireland.

The following morning, I was out surveying again. I came across a farmer and asked him if he had heard or seen any curlew in the area. Luckily, he replied that he knew exactly where they were and he could take me there. Wary that this could be too good to be true, I followed the farmer in his tractor down winding roads bordered by high hedgerows to a nearby area of open bogland, surrounded by dense forestry. I thanked him and he wished me luck. I was grateful for his local knowledge and willingness to help. The combination of focused conservation campaigns and local contributions is sustaining Ireland’s remaining breeding curlew population.

But after such a calamitous decline from thousands of pairs to no more than 150 pairs, is this, one of the greatest conservation concerns of our time, an insurmountable task?

How do we restore and grow the population? How do we inspire people in Ireland to care about the threat of the curlew’s extinction?

In the USA, celebrating the cultural importance of a species was an effective tool in fostering stakeholder support for the bald eagle recovery programme. The bald eagle is the USA’s national symbol, representing the qualities of freedom and strength that Americans associate with their own national identity. As a result, when the eagle’s population declined worryingly in the 20th century, significant resources were poured into a recovery programme in the 1970s and 1980s.

Are there any wild Irish animals to which we would commit similar attention? For species like the curlew, we may realise that the bird is an important part of our cultural heritage by acknowledging the place that it held in the lives of previous generations.

Walking through the area where the farmer had led me, I looked around at the bordering forestry and signs of burnt vegetation. I wondered if curlew could possibly make this their temporary home. Suddenly, an ethereal whistling call made me look up. A curlew flying overhead sounded off its warning call, suggesting that they were nesting in the area. Next, I set out to try to find the bird’s nest so that next year’s surveyors can arrive here early to help ensure this pair’s success. Heartened by the bird’s unexpected appearance, I suddenly felt the entrancing effect this enigmatic species has had on Irish hearts and minds for generations.

Michelle worked as a Curlew Champion with the Curlew Conservation Programme in 2020. Inspired by the programme and encouraged by Dr Barry O’Donoghue and Dr Caitriona Carlin, she undertook her MSc research project 'Mapping the cultural ecosystem services of the Eurasian curlew (Numenius arquata)on the island of Ireland’, collating material that showcases the bird’s significance in Ireland’s cultural heritage. Thanks to Dr. Barry O’Donoghue for his guidance and contribution.