On 8 February, I heard my first curlew of the year, its sweet-sad double note floating down the valley to my house. The timing was the same as last year, almost to the day, and it felt reassuring in this uncertain world. There were postings on the local Facebook page when others heard or saw their first curlew, oystercatcher, golden plover or peewit. The return of wading birds to the moors and fields of Allendale is celebrated locally, and when Allendale Brewery made its first beer in 2006, it was named Curlew’s Return.
Now, the landscape is full of competition and exuberance as waders pair up, display and look for nest sites. A few miles up the hill, there’s a small abandoned quarry, where a thin stream threads along the marshy bottom. It’s a place I visit every year, and there, right on cue, a pair of oystercatchers are probing the oozing mud. It’s comforting to find birds where I expect them to be.
A pair of buff-chested curlews are working their way up the grassy entrance track, their downward curving bills searching for worms in the wet ground. A kestrel sweeps in to land on the vantage point of a sloping sandy ledge. A sudden flash of wings catches the light, and a flock of golden plover wheel low over the quarry. On the surrounding rough land, a black grouse struts through the tussocks. The longer I sit here, the more I see.
I’m hoping for a short-eared owl, as I’ve been watching them up here over the winter. Easily seen from the road, I’ve often passed a “shortie” on its fence-post perch, or quartering the moorland on the lookout for voles. Then, I spot an owl coming over the fell, its pale wing edges making it look backlit by the sun. Head turned towards me, its piercing yellow eyes look fierce, its muted colouring like the faded wings of a painted lady butterfly. It’s not interested in me, though, but a ringtail. They have a brief sparring encounter before the hen harrier flies off down the field and the owl is left to hunt undisturbed. I turn for home.
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