The curlew is a bird that makes you stop. With its long, downward-curving bill and muted earth-toned feathers, it blends quietly into the background—until it sings. Then, its haunting, bubbling call rises like an echo from the land itself, and for a moment, everything else falls away. That sound captured me and never let go.
In the UK, the Eurasian curlew graces our coastal edges in winter before returning inland in spring and summer to breed. In Australia, the Far Eastern curlew follows a staggering migratory route from the southern hemisphere to northern China. These birds connect continents with invisible threads across the skies. I once witnessed thirteen Far Eastern curlews clustered on a sandbank near Lake Macquarie in Australia. Within an hour, the tide rose and they were gone—silent, mysterious travelers with no trace left behind.
But behind this grace lies a crisis. The Eurasian curlew is in serious trouble, having declined by 60% in just 25 years. In the UK, which hosts a quarter of the global population, this is a devastating figure. Curlews nest on the ground, often in active farmland, leaving them exposed to everything from tractors and silage cutters to predators like foxes and crows. Their vulnerability is compounded by human development, leaving little space for these creatures to thrive.
“We’ve already lost the slender-billed curlew, with its extinction formally recognized this October. Two out of eight species gone. It’s a warning we cannot ignore.”
Mary Colwell
These birds are more than their biology. They are storytellers. In Wales, there are over twenty names for the Eurasian curlew. In northern Germany, they are called the “water flute.” Saints in Christian legends were guided or saved by their calls. They’ve been part of human culture for centuries, embedded in language, folklore, and seasonal rhythms. Losing the curlew means losing a voice in our shared story with the natural world.
As the natural world has thinned, so too has our connection with it. In schools, children often don’t even know what a curlew is. Farmers who once heard them every spring now only remember silence. This disconnection is as much a threat as any predator. That’s why I created World Curlew Day on April 21, marking both Saint Beuno’s feast day and the average egg-laying date for Eurasian curlews. It’s also the day I began a 500-mile walk across Ireland, Wales, and England—a tribute to the bird that inspired me to act.
Through Curlew Action, we aim to revive that lost connection using every tool available—science, education, literature, music. We’ve deployed drones with thermal cameras, placed radio tags on chicks, and installed acoustic monitors to listen to their world. We’ve hosted gatherings of field workers from across Europe to share insights, united by a common purpose.
Eastern and Eurasian Curlew
Curlew
Curlew
Curlew on Wing
Curlew Nest
But the curlew’s decline isn’t a technical problem alone—it’s a societal one. The pressures of agriculture, development, and climate change weigh heavily on them. The solutions demand more than just innovation; they require sacrifice, policy shifts, and a willingness to make space for joy and wildness. Conservation isn’t just about saving a bird—it’s about asking who we are if we can’t make room for beauty.
We are working with policymakers, major conservation groups, and educators. With the help of dedicated voices, we’ve secured a new GCSE in natural history in the UK, ensuring that future generations grow up knowing and naming the life around them. Citizen science is growing as more people seek to understand and contribute. But knowledge must be accompanied by confidence and access.
The work in Ireland through pollinator programs demonstrates how coordinated efforts across agriculture and policy can make a difference. These initiatives align with curlew conservation, recognizing the value of wildflowers, insects, and soil health—critical components of a resilient ecosystem.
The curlew is our flagship. It asks for space not only to exist but to thrive, and in doing so, invites us to rethink what kind of world we want to live in. Its voice, once a mark of spring, must not become a memory.
When I sat down to speak with Thomas Mesaglio – on the Citizen Science Show Podcast – his enthusiasm for the natural world was immediately apparent. A lifelong nature lover, he has turned his passion into a career that blends citizen science with professional research. As a curator and moderator on iNaturalist, an engagement officer for the Atlas of Living Australia (ALA), and a PhD student at the University of New South Wales, Thomas has dedicated himself to improving the way we document and understand biodiversity.
