Matt Lewis talks with Matt Trevelyan, the man who walked 53 miles dressed as a curlew.
When most people think of endurance challenges, they imagine marathons or mountain climbs—not hiking miles across the Yorkshire countryside in a towering, handmade curlew costume. But for Matt Trevelyan, Farming in Protected Landscapes Officer for the Nidderdale National Landscape, this unusual feat was part of a heartfelt campaign to raise awareness and funds for one of Britain’s most iconic but endangered birds: the Eurasian curlew.
In the guise of ‘Cathy the Curlew’—a 10-foot long, hand-crafted symbol of wildness and wonder—Matt walked the 53-mile Nidderdale Way, over two days, to draw attention to the species’ decline and highlight conservation efforts.
What he didn’t expect was how far his story would travel. Cathy the Curlew captured imaginations not just in Yorkshire, but across the UK and even overseas—making unexpected appearances on TV shows both at home, in Australia and the United States. This unintentional brush with popular culture has given Matt’s message a powerful platform: conservation can be joyful, creative, and even funny—and reaching new audiences may be key to saving and protecting species like the curlew.
I caught up with Matt to find out what inspired this curlew crusade, what happened along the way, and why creativity might just be the missing ingredient in modern conservation.
Q: What inspired you to walk the Nidderdale Way dressed as a curlew?
I’d been meaning to walk the Nidderdale Way ever since starting work at the National Landscape—it’s a stunning loop through the landscape I work in every day. But I wanted to give the walk a bit more purpose, and when I thought about curlew—their declining numbers, their haunting call, and how many people take them for granted—it just made sense. Dressing up as a giant curlew felt like a fun, surreal way to get people talking, smiling, and hopefully thinking. It’s hard to ignore a ten-foot bird wandering along the dale.
Q: Tell us about the costume — was it your first foray into giant puppet building?
No. I’m not much good with a needle and thread, so my curlew costume was always going to be more of a construction, reliant on wire, bamboo and a glue gun, rather than neat-fingered sewing.
I took inspiration from that wonderful engineer of the imagination, John Fox, who sadly died earlier this year. He’s a creative hero of mine and was co-founder of Welfare State International, a pioneering participatory arts company based in Ulverston in Cumbria. John lived and worked on the Furness peninsula and loved curlew dearly. Thanks to John and Welfare State’s work, making and performing became second nature for the population of this town over several decades. John was also a poet, and his lines featured in Karen Lloyd’s Curlew Calling anthology speak of the changes to our farming landscape: “They are leaving us because / we gave them cash crop furrows / and a predation of foxes and EU crows.”
I also had last-minute help adding feathers to Cathy the Curlew’s plumage from another brilliant artist, Jonny Boatfield. Jonny is experienced in building enormous props for theatre, and also loves curlew, so was just the man for the job!
Welfare State International’s puppet-building method tends towards the enormous, and there was concern that I wouldn’t be able to fit Cathy out of the door. And then further worry that she wouldn’t make it to the starting point of the walk, which required transport down the valley inside a small Skoda. The tail feathers did poke some way out of the boot!
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- ‘New eyes for Nidderdale’ project at Breaks Fold Farm, curlew painting by Alex Richardson.
Q: What was the walk like — did Cathy attract much attention? Were there any memorable encounters or conversations along the route?
From the moment we set off from Pateley Bridge, Cathy the Curlew was met with delight, confusion, and a good number of double-takes. Children cartwheeled beside us, farmers leaned on gates to share stories, and walkers paused to ask what on Earth we were doing. Cathy never failed to raise a smile, and by the end of the first day, the rumour of a giant bird wandering the dale had already taken flight—news had spread far beyond the paths we’d walked.
I wasn’t alone — joining me were a group of friends, and we picked up more supporters along the way. Members of the Darley Beck Curlew Project accompanied us for the first stretch past Gouthwaite Reservoir and up to Middlesmoor. We picked up more walkers at the Crown Inn, then carried on looping around the upper reaches of the dale. We crossed the dam at Scar House, eyes peeled for a ring ouzel on the slopes of High Woodale, before turning back down through Stean and Ramsgill.
By 6pm on the first day, I was flagging. I very nearly skipped the steep final stretch to the Providence and Prosperous Lead Mines, but Katrina, thankfully, persuaded me to carry on. I’m glad she did. The air was alive with the clear, beautiful sound of night-curlew calling across the moor. That moment alone was worth every ache.
As I entered the town of Pateley Bridge, Cathy drew wolf whistles from smokers outside a pub. I was too tired to explain myself or to celebrate with a pint. Cathy roosted overnight in the council chamber, and I went home for a hot bath and a proper meal.
The next day took us down the valley via Guisecliff, Dacre Banks, and Birstwith. I was joined by friends Helen and Jo, my navigators and pace-setters, as well as members of Wildish Club, a group that encourages creative connection with nature.
We made a mad dash for Ripley Castle, where we were met by a group of young radio-makers from Chapel FM in Leeds. For some of these young creatives, this was a rare visit to the countryside — and their first encounter with a curlew. For those of us who think about curlew every day, it’s easy to forget how extraordinary and unlikely they are. That first meeting, whether with a bird or a puppet, tends to stay with people.
Fuelled by a giant lunch, we carried on toward Brimham Lodge Farm, where we ran into Gavin Clarke and his family, who manage the “Startover” dairy herd. When I first started curlew conservation work, I was often told that dairy farming and curlew didn’t mix. But the Clarkes are living proof that the two can go hand in hand. Their commitment to supporting curlew on their land is inspiring, and their knowledge and enthusiasm for the birds is genuinely moving.
As the light dropped, we heard a curlew call—low, soft, and long—before suddenly lifting into a flurry of rising notes.
On Brimham Moor, we were gifted one of the most extraordinary moments of the whole walk. As the light dropped, we heard a curlew call—low, soft, and long—before suddenly lifting into a flurry of rising notes. It was haunting and beautiful. Nature showing off.
That evening, Helen and I descended back into Pateley Bridge. Hearing a party on the other side of a tall garden wall, I can’t resist peering over, raising Cathy’s enormous head above the toppers. I hear a group of grown men shriek—and quickly nod goodbye, without saying a word. Ten minutes later, we were on the high street, and this time, I did have that pint in the pub!
Q: Cathy the Curlew captured imaginations far beyond Yorkshire, popping up on screens across the UK, Australia, and even the US, becoming a viral moment. How do you see the role of popular culture and social media in conservation, especially when it comes to reaching new audiences and inspiring real, lasting connections with nature?
When I set off on this adventure, I had no idea if anybody would notice—and it was quite a surprise when the walk went viral in the mainstream and social media, thanks to the video footage and photography of my supporters. A highlight for me was making it onto the BBC’s Have I Got News For You. By the time an image of Cathy was featured on The Late Show in the US, all mention of curlew and Nidderdale had been forgotten: the story had simply become about an idiot dressed as a bird.
Later that week, I donned the Cathy costume again and attended a variety of events, from a Harrogate flower show to “The Fellsman” race. I am convinced that it’s the live interactions that provide real value—the real vision of the giant curlew with the backdrop of the Dales landscape that provides a lasting impression.
While smartphones and social media can help spread the message, I believe they’re also part of the problem. They often get in the way of genuine connection with nature and contribute to a world where children spend less time outdoors.
However, Cathy has done what she was made to do: start conversations, create memories, and remind people just how magical this bird and this landscape really are.
Q: What are the biggest threats to curlews right now? How can we make a difference for them?
In Nidderdale, we’re prone to taking curlew for granted. But in many “former strongholds”, curlew are talked about in the past tense, a childhood memory. Every bird, egg, chick, and nest matters, and the boost we provide for curlew will also benefit many other species.
Entering the silage-making time of year, it’s important to remember that we only celebrate breeding success when we have young birds that are capable of flight. We need to be watching out for curlew with short bills at the end of the summer. Nests at this time of year represent the start of a long and perilous period.
Whether our lives touch on farming, predator management, afforestation, development, recreation, politics, education, the arts, climate change or moorland management, we all have the power to help these special birds in some way or another, by giving this matter our full attention.
Q: How important is community involvement to the success of curlew conservation, and what have you learned about the power of creative collective action through this project?
Community involvement is absolutely vital to the success of curlew conservation, both in terms of practical outcomes and in shifting how people feel about and relate to nature. Conservation work is often dominated by fieldworkers and data, which are essential, but they don’t always leave space for imagination, emotion, or cultural meaning. That’s where the community projects come in.
Over the past year, I’ve had the privilege of developing a series of community arts projects, from songwriting workshops to a children’s stop-motion animation project, all centred around curlew. These were generously supported by the Yorkshire Dales Millennium Trust and the Farming in Protected Landscapes Programme, and have shown just how powerful creativity can be as a form of engagement.
At first, many participants were unsure of their own artistic ability. But through gentle exercises, improvisation, and shared enthusiasm, we ended up with original songs, handmade pop-up books, animations, and even the formation of the Pennine Hills Curlew Choir. In each case, people connected with curlew in a deeply personal way, not just as a species in decline, but as a symbol of place, memory, and meaning. It opened up space for conversation too: about camouflage, predator control, biodiversity loss, and even the role of imagination in developing conservation solutions.
There’s a real magic that happens when art and nature meet — what Robert Macfarlane calls “language-magic.” Through these projects, we’ve started to rekindle that, creating cultural memories of curlew that I believe will outlast any leaflet or dataset. Our love letters to curlew now live on in song, story, film and artwork, and next year, we hope to go even further—maybe even a curlew carnival.
Ultimately, creative and collective action brings people into the story in a way that’s joyful, hopeful, and human. And if we’re serious about reversing species decline, we’ll need every tool we’ve got, including our imaginations.
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Matt Trevelyan speaks about the current danger to curlew.
It’s tempting to assume that because we see numbers of adult curlews, populations are stable. But what really matters is the number of fledged chicks at the end of summer—those are the birds that will sustain the population in the future.
A recent Nidderdale study shows that breeding success on farms is poor; the curlews we see are largely likely to be mature adults without enough young to replace them. If this trend continues, we could face a sudden and catastrophic decline.
Every nest, egg, and chick matters. At least 10,000 more chicks need to fledge each year just to halt the decline. With the right support, we can turn the tide together.
Some former strongholds have already fallen silent. To imagine a future where children never hear a curlew’s cry is deeply troubling,
Visit the website of Curlew Action: www.curlewaction.org. If you’d like to donate, please go to: www.ydmt.org/donate-nidderdale
Matt Lewis is a nature enthusiast and storyteller who loves finding creative ways to bring people closer to wildlife.
About Matt Trevelyan
Matt Trevelyan is a puppet maker who gained public attention for his work as a Farming in Protected Landscapes (FiPL) Officer for Nidderdale National Landscape in Yorkshire, England.
