Curlews - "the essence of wilderness"
20th May 2018
20th May 2018
Curlews - “the essence of wilderness”
O curlew, cry no more in the air,
Or only to the water in the West;
Because your crying brings to my mind
passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast:
There is enough evil in the crying of wind.
(W.B. Yeats)
The curlew has many folklore traditions attached to it, which in the main come from it's plaintive and sometimes otherworldly song. In Yates’ poem the Curlew's cry is used as a tool to express the sense of impending bad weather and as a harbinger of ill fortune.
Meanwhile, in another setting, the curlew is given a holy status as the bird rescued and subsequently protected the sacred writings of a Welsh Saint. In another, the bubbling song of the Curlew is believed to be the cries of souls yet to be born.
These stories/held opinions point to how the Curlews appearance/song filters into our minds, experiences and therefore into our traditions and beliefs. To me the call of the curlew also represents wilderness. A place that is a quiet, raw, rarified landscape where a more realistic perspective of our lives and the world can be sensed.
To hear this bird, when high on a bleak moorland is to experience a wonderful contradiction. Here, as you look over miles of endless bog or rough, knee and ankle jarring tufts of grassland you feel both alone and welcomed by a companion.
There is equally a familiar and strangeness quality found in the Curlews call. The pulsating, crescendo of the Curlews song stretches out across the Moor, enhancing the solitude of your surroundings, removing (for a while) the trappings of everyday life. You are here, now and that is all that matters.
The Curlew finds a stronghold in these bleak, wet soils and it has been ascertained that the UK, with its hills, heaths, bogs, and grasslands, provide a very important breeding environment. These environments host a significant number of the Curlew population. However, and very unfortunately these populations have experienced a dramatic decline. So much so the Curlew is now a major conservation concern.
This decline has been attributed to several environmental changes. The destruction and loss of habitat is top of the list as the Curlew prefers to breed in wet, boggy grass and moorland. All to often these areas have suffered the effects of afforestation, drainage or over grazing.
I have noticed a significant variation in Curlew numbers myself. The mountains and lonely moorlands of the Lake District the Curlew seems a rare creature, even though the estuaries, such as the Kent and Duddon, the bird can be found in good numbers. Meanwhile a short journey across to the Yorkshire Dales the Curlew is seen and heard everywhere. It is impossible to miss them during Spring.
A recent journey to Swaledale, a long, quiet and beautiful valley that almost points in a straight line towards the east. I encountered numerous flying pairs of Curlews. Each 'flight' of birds were making sorties over their nesting grounds. The air was filled with a tumult of rising 'curlew melody'. High on these Dales Moors, in the company of acrobatic Lapwings and mournful Golden Plover the Curlew has a stronghold.
As the season turns, these birds move inshore and back up into the moors and along with the Common Scurvy Grass - creatures of the seashore could now be found in places like the high, remote moors of the Yorkshire Dales.
However, on another day on the moors, but this time on lonely, wild land that overlooks the west coast of Cumbria, not a sight or sound of a Curlew. All was still save the odd Swallow and even fewer (especially this year) Wheatears.
What is driving this variation? The terrain is very similar - both areas of high ground consisting of wet, barren, boggy grassland. The only difference I can see is the land usage. In the Dales there are fewer sheep on the high ground and certainly less bracken, whilst the contrary is true in the Lakes. Is it over grazing? Land drainage (for sheep)? Is it the higher recreational use of the Lake District?
Whatever is dictating the fortunes of the Curlew, I believe it survives in the wild places, where its spirit can thrive. The Lakes, despite its outward appearance, suffers the hand of man more heavily than many open environments
Any landscape is a bereaved place if the song of the Curlew is no longer heard. Therefore, I take pleasure and feel blessed when ever i hear it's mournful cry.
Through space, across the ages
bubbling through the fissures
Into this lonely, hallowed land
Pulling us back,
pulling everything away.
The haunting of your song
Like a half remembered thing
Almost lost. Rising melodies
Tumble and turn
Stretch over this barren place
Calling to the barrier
Where wild and primitive dwell
Almost gone, essence almost lost
As you sense an “evil in the crying of the wind”.
Curlews - “the essence of wilderness”
O curlew, cry no more in the air,
Or only to the water in the West;
Because your crying brings to my mind
passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast:
There is enough evil in the crying of wind.
(W.B. Yeats)
The curlew has many folklore traditions attached to it, which in the main come from it's plaintive and sometimes otherworldly song. In Yates’ poem the Curlew's cry is used as a tool to express the sense of impending bad weather and as a harbinger of ill fortune.
Meanwhile, in another setting, the curlew is given a holy status as the bird rescued and subsequently protected the sacred writings of a Welsh Saint. In another, the bubbling song of the Curlew is believed to be the cries of souls yet to be born.
These stories/held opinions point to how the Curlews appearance/song filters into our minds, experiences and therefore into our traditions and beliefs. To me the call of the curlew also represents wilderness. A place that is a quiet, raw, rarified landscape where a more realistic perspective of our lives and the world can be sensed.
To hear this bird, when high on a bleak moorland is to experience a wonderful contradiction. Here, as you look over miles of endless bog or rough, knee and ankle jarring tufts of grassland you feel both alone and welcomed by a companion.
There is equally a familiar and strangeness quality found in the Curlews call. The pulsating, crescendo of the Curlews song stretches out across the Moor, enhancing the solitude of your surroundings, removing (for a while) the trappings of everyday life. You are here, now and that is all that matters.
The Curlew finds a stronghold in these bleak, wet soils and it has been ascertained that the UK, with its hills, heaths, bogs, and grasslands, provide a very important breeding environment. These environments host a significant number of the Curlew population. However, and very unfortunately these populations have experienced a dramatic decline. So much so the Curlew is now a major conservation concern.
This decline has been attributed to several environmental changes. The destruction and loss of habitat is top of the list as the Curlew prefers to breed in wet, boggy grass and moorland. All to often these areas have suffered the effects of afforestation, drainage or over grazing.
I have noticed a significant variation in Curlew numbers myself. The mountains and lonely moorlands of the Lake District the Curlew seems a rare creature, even though the estuaries, such as the Kent and Duddon, the bird can be found in good numbers. Meanwhile a short journey across to the Yorkshire Dales the Curlew is seen and heard everywhere. It is impossible to miss them during Spring.
A recent journey to Swaledale, a long, quiet and beautiful valley that almost points in a straight line towards the east. I encountered numerous flying pairs of Curlews. Each 'flight' of birds were making sorties over their nesting grounds. The air was filled with a tumult of rising 'curlew melody'. High on these Dales Moors, in the company of acrobatic Lapwings and mournful Golden Plover the Curlew has a stronghold.
As the season turns, these birds move inshore and back up into the moors and along with the Common Scurvy Grass - creatures of the seashore could now be found in places like the high, remote moors of the Yorkshire Dales.
However, on another day on the moors, but this time on lonely, wild land that overlooks the west coast of Cumbria, not a sight or sound of a Curlew. All was still save the odd Swallow and even fewer (especially this year) Wheatears.
What is driving this variation? The terrain is very similar - both areas of high ground consisting of wet, barren, boggy grassland. The only difference I can see is the land usage. In the Dales there are fewer sheep on the high ground and certainly less bracken, whilst the contrary is true in the Lakes. Is it over grazing? Land drainage (for sheep)? Is it the higher recreational use of the Lake District?
Whatever is dictating the fortunes of the Curlew, I believe it survives in the wild places, where its spirit can thrive. The Lakes, despite its outward appearance, suffers the hand of man more heavily than many open environments
Any landscape is a bereaved place if the song of the Curlew is no longer heard. Therefore, I take pleasure and feel blessed when ever i hear it's mournful cry.
Through space, across the ages
bubbling through the fissures
Into this lonely, hallowed land
Pulling us back,
pulling everything away.
The haunting of your song
Like a half remembered thing
Almost lost. Rising melodies
Tumble and turn
Stretch over this barren place
Calling to the barrier
Where wild and primitive dwell
Almost gone, essence almost lost
As you sense an “evil in the crying of the wind”.