Worthy aims of rewilding are in need of some honest recalibration

Highland Rewilding last week put three of its Scottish estates on the ­market. Despite lofty ambitions to scale nature recovery and attract ­investment, the organisation faces a ­looming ­deadline to repay an £11 million loan by ­January next year.

While CEO Jeremy ­Leggett ­remains optimistic about securing ­investors, the fact that land is being offered for sale ­suggests difficulty in convincing the ­broader ­financial community that large-scale rewilding projects can deliver reliable income streams – and let’s be honest – good returns. Investors are often critical to ­making large projects work, but they don’t invest for free.

To the uninitiated, the basic concept of “rewilding” is sound. As a society we are increasingly understanding that there is a pressing need to increase biodiversity – or at the very least, reverse its decline – if only to ensure that humans can have a future on this rapidly heating planet. If we should have a future is an open question, considering our current behaviour.

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Human behaviour isn’t just an issue when it comes to practical actions, it is a huge issue when we come to talking about the topic. Along with the decline in bees has come a decline in the ability to have a sensible, balanced conversation about ecosystems, land management and ­agriculture.

Instead of a conversation we have ended up in a position where one side is screaming that “all farming is bad”, and the other is dumping dung outside ­Parliament screaming “no farmers, no future, no food”.

Unhelpfully, that latter movement, which is undeniably accurate, is being ­hijacked by people who are less interested in food and farming and more interested in whipping up manufactured discontent, but that is a topic for another day.

As a crofter, I am naturally predisposed towards the “no farmers, no future, no food” side of the debate. Predominantly because the type of agriculture I know is naturally regenerative and nature-based. On trips to the States I have seen things that might well have pushed me to the other end of the spectrum were I to live there.

The reintroduction of beavers has caused disputes between rewilders and farmers (Image: Dyfi Wildlife Centre) And that’s the critical point that is often missed by both sides – there is a ­spectrum. There’s not just a spectrum of how land is currently managed, there is a spectrum when it comes to future land ­management, and there is a broad ­spectrum when it comes to the word ­“rewilding”.

Rewilding defies one definition. I’ve identified six. Firstly, there’s the ­generally accepted broad definition; large-scale ­conservation efforts aimed at ­restoring ecosystems by allowing natural ­processes to resume, often through the ­reintroduction of species that have been lost due to human impact.

Then there is headline-grabbing type – trophic rewilding. This attempts to ­restore ecological processes by ­reintroducing top predators or large herbivores. The idea is that apex species (wolves, bison etc) ­regulate ecosystems, creating cascading effects that influence everything from plant growth to soil composition.

A third approach is that of passive land management. That would be defined as a shift away from active human management of land towards a more passive ­approach, where nature is left to take its course.

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Other rewilding projects are firmly framed within the context of climate change, focusing on ecosystem improvement provided by restored habitats, such as wetlands, forests, or peatlands.

A more holistic definition encompasses not just the restoration of ecosystems but also the reconnection of human ­communities with nature – a social and cultural rewilding. People are encouraged to develop a deeper relationship with the natural world, both to foster ­conservation efforts and to improve mental and ­physical well-being.

Lastly, there is an economic and ­agricultural integration approach, ­defining rewilding as the integration of nature conservation with ­sustainable farming. Here, rewilding is seen as ­compatible with economic uses of land, where ecosystems can be restored while still allowing low-impact, regenerative ­agriculture practices. That’s the approach that I recognise best.

I may only manage 60 acres, I have no formal agricultural training, and I am excruciatingly aware of the depths of my own ignorance but, there are a few things that I do know. I know that one size – or definition – does not fit all.

I know that ground doesn’t just do what you want it to do because you hope hard enough. In my context, at least, ­leaving ground alone to manage itself is just about one of the worst things you can do if you want diversity.

I know that diversity needs to be ­managed. Land needs drained ­appropriately, rushes and bracken need to be managed. I know that well-managed ruminants are vital to create diverse ­habitat and fertilise. If you want birds, you need flies to feed them. To get flies, you need shit.

If you want bees, you need flowers. In landscapes like ours, a lack of ruminants doesn’t give you a machair sprouting wild flowers right, left and centre – rather, a failure to graze it for biodiversity just lets grass take over. And grass doesn’t flower.

I know that bee and insect numbers have been down this year across the board. On my own croft it was a ­dramatic drop. Areas of ground, rich in plants ­beloved of the bonny bumble, were ­almost silent. Fleas, it would appear, have thrived. We didn’t have enough frosts to keep them at bay, but I’ve barely seen a butterfly and we had our worst summer weather for many years according to those who have been around a lot longer than I have. That might change with a ­different set of ­circumstances next year, but it gave me serious pause for thought.

I know that no matter how well we are doing now, we all need to try harder. The problems might not be of our individual making, but it will take all of us to turn the tide. On that front, we’re ­going to have little choice as crofting (and ­farming) ­support moves heavily in the direction of net zero and biodiversity ­targets. I’m ­educating myself about carbon audits and biodiversity audits to ensure that I can continue to claim the subsidies which make the croft vaguely viable at my scale. The hoops will only increase, and the targets will only get higher.

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I also know that we can’t make our ­fortunes off the back of rewilding. Quite the opposite. I suspect that is the lesson that Highland Rewilding is learning the hard way.

The complex nature of rewilding was ­always going to be hard to translate into the immediate returns investors seek. And that’s before we discuss the delicate balance between conserving land and community involvement.

Already at the bottom of the food chain, many rural and island communities are rightly sceptical about rewilding by any definition. “Conservation” is applied to fish stocks, and to flies, but rarely to the communities themselves.

It is often the case that In places where the potential to grow biodiversity is greatest, the risk to sustainable populations is highest.

Highly Protected Marine Areas ­(HPMAs) are a prime example; a mishandled ­attempt to conserve one thing could have easily resulted in the decimation of the communities of knowledge with the ­ability to manage conservation in a place-appropriate way.

For all the good intentions expressed by Highland Rewilding – including their desire to work alongside nearby communities – the best type of conservation I can think of is one that focuses on protecting our rural populations first, in order to grow community resilience which will let both people and nature thrive.

On their terms – not on the terms imposed by faceless investors whose bottom line is less about biodiversity and more about the conservation of their profits.