Special Memories: Securing the Future of Cornish Chough

A very special blog today from Claire Mucklow who over two decades worked tirelessly to help secure the future of the Cornish Chough. Claire was the RSPB’s Chough Project Officer and here she shares her personal memories of chough nest night shifts, balancing on the edge of Cornish cliffs to locate new roost sites, and building lasting friendships with local volunteers and farmers, who continue to work together to help this iconic bird. The Cornish Chough Conservation Network (note 1) have made a film to celebrate the 20th Anniversary of the first Cornish born choughs seen once again out on the cliffs, after falling to zero in 1973, watch it here:bit.ly/Chough20Years. Members of the public are asked to report their chough sightings by emailing: choughs@cbwps.org.uk

Photo above: Claire Mucklow, standing on moorland

I knew I was hooked. That first glimpse of three choughs on a rocky outcrop near Kynance back in 2001 just reeled me in. My manager at the time said, “look after them” and a project to support the birds started to grow (note 2). My roots in Cornwall go back for centuries, and heritage and culture have always been important to me, so to take on the challenge was instinctive if a little daunting. There’s a saying ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ and it’s just about impossible to mention everyone woven into the choughs’ story over the past two decades, their ‘supporting cast’ if you like, so no names here, just a few personal memories and stand out moments that were often shared.

Photo above: Four adult choughs perched on a Cornish clifftop by Phil Taylor (rspb-images.com)

Lights, camera, action - 

Nature does its thing, but we were not going to take the risk of human interference, either deliberate or accidental, harming those precious first nests. Many of my memories are wrapped around days and nights spent keeping watch in all weathers, mostly just perched on a cliff at one site or another. The first year was all quiet and secretive, but later, as choughs tend to advertise their presence (that bouncing flight, the flash of red bill and legs in the sun and the ringing call!), measures were more obvious. The equipment stash needed at night was comprehensive, gadgets often made by volunteers. Four-wheel drives or sheds (strapped down to withstand gales) erected to give a degree of shelter to our watchers, a generator, hundreds of metres of cable, halogen lights, cameras, two way radios and mega-beam torches were all part of the protection for some nests. No mobile phone reception made things extra challenging so pen and paper were the most important communication method and notebooks were filled with the choughs’ behaviour, personal observations, even sketches.

Night shifts were mostly a pleasure though I know many thought the opposite, it helps being an owl rather than a lark. Ex-military volunteers often took night shifts - I understood what ‘Watch-on Stop-on’ meant – very long shifts but all worthwhile to have successful fledglings. Those hours between dusk and dawn were rarely boring - besides being watchful for people (it’s surprising how many are out in the dead of night and the activities observed!), there were always creatures sharing your watch. Tawny and barn owls hunting the cliffs, moths and bats lured by lights, badgers bumbling by and the ritual of feeding sandwich crumbs to mice. Sunset and sunrise, magnificent dark skies and stars, and time to appreciate and ponder on our speck in the universe. Nights at Botallack had a different atmosphere to the Lizard area, eerie sounds of the sea coming up mineshafts, waves crashing into zawns, chimneys and other structures creating strange shapes, lights from vehicles taking shortcuts along tracks making you hyper-aware. What must it have been like when the tinners were there?

Photo above: Adult chough perched on a rock calling by Martin Yelland (rspb-images.com)

We all learnt ‘chough speak’ and could interpret when they were not comfortable with human activity nearby. Chough watchers are a fiercely protective gang and while the cliffs sometimes echoed with shouts of ‘Oi you! would you mind not doing that’ as someone threw stones down a mineshaft or approached too close to a nest site, most conversations with passing walkers and others were positive, sharing delight at the birds and demonstrating a willingness to not linger near too close to nest sites. And I treasure time spent on the cliffs watching the choughs’ lives unfold.

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As years went by, the choughs led us on a merry clamber around the coast to find their latest roost or nest sites. Teetering on cliff edges or peering down a mineshaft requires a head for heights but best not dwell on health and safety. Looking at old records and undertaking habitat assessments meant it was possible to predict where the birds would turn up next. Working with farmers around the coast (choughs need lots of good foraging habitat near to their nest sites) was a pleasure and I was always welcomed because everyone wanted to do their bit. One thing I do not miss is the mountain of agri-environment scheme paperwork necessary to underpin the landscape management choughs require. On the plus side I doubt many people have been permitted the experience of being able to wander around wherever they please off footpaths. My party piece is show me a photo of the coast and I can probably tell you exactly where it was taken.

Photo above: Claire Mucklow and a colleague looking at a map, checking chough sightings

The decision to colour ring the chough chicks for many years was a sound one, making it relatively easy to identify and so keep track of individual birds, their movements and assess how they were faring - all invaluable information to steer different aspects of work. Undertaken by a licensed ringer with years of experience, ringing day was a real bag of mixed emotions. Keeping the birds (and the people involved) safe, were the chicks ok? how many? Sighs of relief and jubilation as the total for the day was sent out to everyone. Seeing three or four week old chicks half-feathered and gawky, grow up to be sleek, confident adults raising families of their own is very special.

Photo above: Adult choughs collecting nesting material from a bale by Mark Hayhurst (rspb-images.com)

More memorable moments...

Getting the phone call announcing the first chicks had fledged - I remember the lay-by I pulled into to take the call (near Port Isaac). Second nest site, third, fourth, fifth……..

Pasties. There were many. Coffee, gallons of it. Houses left unlocked so we chough watchers could come and go to use the kettle. One of the best meals ever was a surprise ‘crab dinner’ brought to the cliff by a volunteer, we ate together while watching choughs and basking sharks. The yearly end of season parties for volunteers were a ritual. Raiding my ridiculously large crockery store, packing the small project car and catering for BBQs, cream teas or picnics on the cliff, these celebratory afternoons or evenings with familiar faces - and chough fly-bys - were great fun.  

Observing the subtle change from dusty bird on a crest and in pages of history books to much loved modern emblem of Cornwall. The Council wanting to change its logo and Cornish people saying NO, the chough is staying put.

Delight in seeing the choughs on TV and in the media. Talking to anyone who wanted to hear about the birds and spreading chough love. Luckily not suffering from stage-fright when giving talks to huge audiences and the lady who fell asleep, front row, in a village hall. Writing booklets, papers, getting promotional t shirts printed and bags made to raise funds, visits to Brittany, Portugal and Spain to meet and talk with other chough experts. Sleeping in the car on Bodmin Moor too tired to make it home.

And sadness at funerals of dear volunteers and farmers over the years. Tears over dead choughs too.  

Sometimes the weight of responsibility was overwhelming. Making decisions that could affect the choughs’ future in Cornwall was always at the back of my mind. Some aspects could be talked through with others involved, but ultimately the practicalities had to be dealt with and consequences faced. 

It’s been over three years since I left the RSPB when my post ended came to an end. It was a privilege to have had the choughs under my wing for a time and play a part in their amazing success. Well done to everyone, past, present and future, who supports choughs. They are totally worth it.

We couldn't help save special species like the Cornish chough without your support. You can help us by joining the RSPB, making a donation, or volunteering your time. Together we can help nature thrive. 

Notes

1. The Cornish Chough Conservation Network is made up of: RSPB, National Trust, Natural England, Cornwall Bird Watching Preservation Society, volunteers, local farmers, landowners, and members of the local community. It is a strong example of people coming together to help nature.

2. Choughs were once a common feature along Cornish clifftops, they sit proudly on the Cornish coat of arms. However, persecution by trophy hunters and changes to agriculture, leading to a loss of chough homes, meant that by 1973 the choughs’ wonderful calls could be heard no more across the cliff tops. For the next 28 years, choughs remained absent from Cornwall; the only recorded sightings being of a few birds passing through. The natural return of choughs to Cornwall in 2001 changed all that.