On the moorland edge under the bare grey Stiperstones, the hand-reared curlews that have been held since hatching in a netted enclosure are now released. The birds either fly off in a rush or walk slowly out into the field before heading off, a few keep walking and stay in the rushy pasture on the edge of the moor. These are small but important steps in an attempt to save this species hereabouts; these flying young should survive for many years. The lucky eggs that were collected from the last nests are now lucky birds and are turned out in a spectacular country of green fields and bracken-clad hilltops, where in a few years, they will try their hand at laying eggs and rearing young; but every generation for decades has failed not least because of the abundance of badgers, foxes, crows and kites. So will someone collect their eggs in turn? There is something heroic and sad in this work to turn the clock and remember another time when farms and farmers were quite different too.