Text and two images by Jane Hahn, September 2025
On August 23rd…
I stood on the tidal flat at Maehyang-ri, squinting through a scope while the August heat shimmered off the mud. Our task was to count shorebirds. It meant hours of stillness, sweat, and moving dots that turned into flocks of curlews, sandpipers, and spoonbills. It also meant listening to the voice of Dr. Nial Moores, who has spent decades thinking about what wetlands mean for both people and birds.
1) Quiet creates wonder, and wonder creates support
Looking through the scope, I had a flash of awe as a curlew settled on the flat. Then a truck rattled past and the moment vanished. Dr. Moores explained why that matters for policy change. Maybe the first time you saw that curlew and there was a moment, and then a truck came to get by, and then we all had to move, and all of that sense of wonder was all gone.
If all the time, there’s noise, distraction, danger, it’s almost impossible for people to say, “I want to change my values.” You need to have a safe space where people can step into it.
That’s why he argues for simple design fixes like safe pull-offs, a hide, a place to sit, so regular visitors can actually see birds without constant disturbance.
Hwaseong’s challenge is not only to protect birds, but also to design those undisturbed spaces where people can look, and feel what is at stake.
2) One rare bird makes the whole world matter
We learned that whether a site is “internationally important” is actually measured against Ramsar Convention criteria. Any wetland with more than 20,000 waterbirds, or one that supports 1% of a population, is internationally important. Hwaseong ticks the boxes.
That definition hit home when I spotted a Spoon-billed Sandpiper through the scope. There are thought to be only about 400 left in the entire world. To see one here, scurrying along the tide line, was surreal. For me, the one bird embodied the urgency of protecting a whole system.
3) When people and birds both find room
Conservation is often framed as sacrifice, but it doesn’t have to be. Dr. Moores told the story of Martin Mere in England, where angry farmers once wanted to shoot geese eating their crops,
“So what did they do? They made this protected area and provided subsidies to the farmers. The farmers were happy, the geese were happy. And visitors left thinking, ‘Wow, birds are fantastic.’”
At Hwaseong, similar solutions, linking birdwatching to pensions, cafés, or eco-education, could build pride and livelihood together.
4) Sweat, numbers, and the shape of a wall
At Maehyang-ri, our specific mission was to see how birds were responding to a new “blue carbon” seawall. For 90 minutes before high tide, we measured with rangefinders how close each flock dared to roost. If a seawall is built higher than a bird’s eye level, the bird cannot see approaching danger and will avoid the site, but if the wall is lowered enough to allow visibility while still breaking waves, the birds can roost and feed in safety.
In other words, data lets you argue for lowering a wall instead of tearing it down. Counting moving birds under the sun may be hot and sweaty, but it translates lived discomfort into evidence that can persuade a mayor to adjust a wall and protect thousands of lives.
By the time we packed up, I understood why conservation is less about “taking action” and more about “seeking solutions.” Actions can fix immediate problems, but solutions create the conditions where problems no longer arise. Numbers matter because they make issues visible, but solutions matter because they change values and habits. On that tidal flat, I learned that admiration, once allowed to settle, can shape decisions. Science provides the evidence, wonder gives it weight, and together they can build the support wetlands like Hwaseong need to endure. If you’ve never visited a tidal flat, try one still hour with binoculars. A single glimpse of a curlew probing for crabs might change how you see the coast, and why it deserves protection.
About the Author
Jane Hahn is a high school student from Chadwick International located in Songdo, South Korea, who works at the intersection of sustainability and storytelling. She has organized campaigns with the East Asian-Australasian Flyway Partnership, linking local schools and communities to global conservation; volunteered with BFS & Friends, supporting local awareness and education activities for the conservation of birds; and joined restoration efforts at the Clark Street Beach Bird Sanctuary in Evanston, Illinois, removing invasive species and installing public education signage.
In addition to her conservation work, Jane has pursued journalism for four years as a reporter and editor for her school newspaper, deepened her training through the Medill Northwestern Journalism Institute, and worked as an intern reporter with the Korea JoongAng Daily.
Beyond these experiences, Jane writes articles and delivers speeches to spark dialogue about the balance between urban development and ecological survival. Growing up in Songdo, a city built on reclaimed tidal flats, she has used journalism and creative writing to remind others that migratory birds are not only passing visitors, but also powerful indicators of the Earth we share.
