Curlew and skylark: a tale of two birds

Curlew and skylark: a tale of two birds

A curlew just after catching a lovely fresh crab for lunch at low tide at Monkstown, Co Cork. This was one of the winners in the Irish Examiner's photographic competition in 2022. Picture: Brian Fahy

The sounds of old, the songs of lark and curlew, like the smell of baked bread or a smoker’s pipe, are strong in their ability to bring back fond memories. Over the years, the waft of pipe smoke has faded and, alas, so too has the song of the curlew.

Thankfully, the Lark, or Skylark, still soars and sings but the curlew has been driven to the point of extinction. All hope is not lost however and great efforts are being made by highly enthusiastic teams to ensure that the cry of the curlew will be heard again on summer evenings.

The Lark in the Clear Air 

I remember the tune, The Lark in the Clear Air, being played each Sunday morning as the late Ciarán MacMathúna introduced Mo Cheol Thú, an Irish radio programme of my youth. The tune was played on violin by Geraldine O’Grady. 

Another reason I remember the tune was that her uncle, Fr Padraic O’Grady, was our parish priest at the time, and Geraldine was a regular visitor to our church. The clarity and sweetness of the tune emulated the skylark, not just in song but in movement and pitch.

The best way to listen to the song of the skylark is to lay on your back on a heather bank, eyes closed. You may not see him, but you will definitely hear him. Each spring and summer, he soars in the sky over Ox Mountain bogs, his thrills and spills, a delight. Unfortunately, the skylark is also under threat as it fights the changes that wild birds everywhere must now endure.

Skylarks are small, robust, and mainly brown birds that blend in with open landscapes such as our Irish bogs. They are found in open country, where they prefer to run or freeze rather than fly from danger. Skylarks primarily eat seeds, but will also consume insects, especially to feed their young. Skylarks build their nests on the ground, often under vegetation like grass clumps. To avoid disturbing the birds and their nests, it is important to stay on marked paths and to keep dogs under control when walking in areas where skylarks likely to nest.

The following poem, The Lark, whose author is unknown, depicts the skylark as a messenger from God; the music of the little bird reminding the reader of the power of music, the beauty of nature, and the gift of forgiveness.

Learned in music sings the skylark, 

I leave my cell to listen;

His open beak spills music, hark!

Where Heaven's bright cloudlets glisten.

And so I'll sing my morning psalm 

That God’s bright Heaven may give me 

And keep me in eternal calm 

And from all sin relieve me.

The Curlew 

Birdwatch Ireland opens its section on the curlew with the following paragraph. For those who remember the cry of the curlew, it makes for sad reading.

The curlew is one of the most iconic birds of the Irish countryside. Many still recall a time when the summer sky was full of its evocative bubbling call. Sadly, the curlew, along with other breeding wader species have suffered drastic declines in recent years and have almost disappeared from the Irish countryside.

Birdwatch Ireland goes on to inform readers that according to recent data, 90% of the Irish curlew breeding population has been lost since the 1970s. A national survey carried out between 2015 and 2017, funded by National Parks and Wildlife Service (NPWS), found that only 138 pairs remain.

The curlew arrives back at their breeding grounds in late March or early April, laying their eggs between mid-April and mid-May. Chicks hatch between May and June and have typically fledged by mid-July. They breed on upland and lowland bogs, wet grassland, and rough pasture. Once hatched chicks leave the nest, within a day or so, and thereafter are self-feeding. Damp ground and shallow pools make ideal chick feeding habitat as these areas typically have an abundance of invertebrates during the summer months. Adult birds also need soft mud for probing.

The bogs and meadows of the Ox Mountains were ideal breeding grounds for the curlew. As farming methods progressed, marginal ground was improved and forestry plantations took over, essential breeding grounds were lost to the curlew. I must admit to being part of the problem. I had one of those plantations and I know it was grown in a typical curlew breeding ground. I could say I didn’t know any better at the time but where is the beleaguered curlew going to cash that? It just goes to show, in a very quick space of time, what we do in one place has a corresponding effect someplace else.

Conservation Programme

I know a young woman who works on a curlew conservation programme in the Brecon Beacons, a mountain range in south Wales. Curlew Connections Wales is a wader conservation project supported by the Welsh Government’s Nature Networks Fund. One million pounds has been allocated to support breeding curlew in Wales. Curlew Connections outline their ambitions.

With breeding curlew predicted to be extinct in Wales by 2033, an important aspect of the project is to connect the landscape and people to these iconic birds. A team of dedicated Curlew and People Officers will work closely with farmers, landowners and land managers, alongside contractors and a workforce of volunteers to improve the fledging success of local populations of curlew throughout Wales.

Not Just Sheep 

This work is painstaking; progress is slow and often ends in tears. I saw TV footage recently depicting the damage that can be wrought on the nests of ground-breeding birds by wandering dogs. 

Dogs that are not kept on leads, where ground-nesting birds breed, do untold damage. This all happens completely unbeknownst to the dog owner… but it does happen. It is the nature of most dogs to ferret out such things but dog owners should be informed and should take responsibility. So, if you walk your dog on uplands or in bogs, it is not just sheep you should be watching out for, think also of the curlew and the lark.

Sooth’d by the murmurs on the sea-beat shore, 

His dun-grey plumage floating to the gale, 

The Curlew blends his melancholy wail 

With those hoarse sounds the rushing waters pour.

- From Sonnet to The Curlew by Helen Maria Williams

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