In the Netherlands they have developed a creative landscape philosophy called ‘New Nature’, and the most iconic illustration of this is the site called the Oostvaardersplassen, near Amsterdam. Here, throughout 6,000 enclosed hectares, feral Heck bulls excavate amphibian ponds with their hooves and horns, while stags and stallions battle fiercely for possession of herds of females. These creatures present a living vision that many ‘rewilders’ adore. Although this project may present a primeval impression, in reality it is a completely artificial, though courageous, creation, limited by fences, budgets, an adjacent main railway line, surrounding land users and fickle political support. Less than a lifetime ago, the landscape these ‘wild’ herbivores now occupy was the bed of the North Sea.

Despite the contention that surrounds such projects, the Oostvaardersplassen has produced some inspirational results. Spoonbills have returned to breed in ever-increasing numbers, creating a surplus population which has spread back into Britain. Sea eagles have raised their first nestlings in centuries, nourished by the ample supply of deer that the site affords. Projects of this type, which restore key species or re-engineer landscapes to allow natural processes such as seasonal flooding or forest fires to reoccur, have demonstrated that when nature is given free rein, the results which arise can be truly spectacular. Are we, however, prepared to live in landscapes where these processes, even if appropriately modified, become part of our own experience?

While space is without a doubt one of the biggest obstacles facing rewilders, a range of structural, social and cultural issues can also conspire to hinder change. As an example, I have been involved with the restoration of the Eurasian beaver—a large rodent that builds complex structures from wood, stones and mud across rivers—in Britain since the early 1990s. Although they once had a world range which extended from Britain to China and numbered tens of millions, beavers were hunted virtually to extinction by humans as a result of an insatiable demand for their fur, scent glands and meat. They have been widely reintroduced throughout much of their former European range as an awareness of their critical function in the creation of wetland habitats has developed. Beaver-generated landscapes also play a significant part in the retention and purification of water.

There is an abundance of entirely suitable beaver habitat available in Britain, and despite the fact that occasional conflicts will arise between beavers’ engineering activities and human land use, European experience again demonstrates quite ably that these conflicts are manageable. Despite this well-established knowledge, the restoration of beavers in Britain has proven to be a pitifully slow process. Political apathy and indifference have coupled with the total lack of knowledge of opponents who simply want no change to the status quo. The official trials in Scotland and England have focused on the creation of tiny populations which remain extremely fragile.

If a species as benevolent as the beaver presents a significant challenge, then how much more difficult will it be to restore predators? While science and experience may dictate that wolves pose no significant threat to humans, their tentative recolonisation of many western European countries over the course of the last few decades has often evoked a primal response. Farmers’ groups have trapped them in pits in France and burnt them to death; hunters have poisoned them for killing ‘their’ deer; kindergarten teachers have implored forest authorities to remove them from the landscape to ensure that this medieval menace does not lurk in the dark when their tiny children go to school on a winter’s morning. Attitude change, it would seem, is a slow and painful process, one not easily turned round by knowledge.

Any start to rewilding is therefore likely to be humble. Despite a measured approach, it is probable that fishermen and their strident support groups may not welcome the addition of the pelican, a 15 kg water bird, to the large number of predators which they already detest. The scientific community may dislike the pragmatism required on a semi-industrial scale to restore small species to remake the base of essential food chains if newly available habitats emerge. Many farmers, despite the sums they would be paid, will not wish to see their once-drained bogs rehydrated, their dead animals consumed by sea eagles or their pastures revert to scrub.

In the end, it comes down to changing patterns. We have moulded the landscapes of the world as a species to suit our own passing needs, predilections and pleasures. While change is commonly opposed on whatever basis arises, change is nevertheless a constant in life. It is likely that ‘rewilding’ or ‘New Nature’—call it what you will—could become a base movement which affords a fresh opportunity to approach nature conservation in a fashion which will, over time, be all the more rewarding for the surprises it presents.