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over Yr Eifl, many miles across the sea on Pen Lleyn. The mountain
appeared to snag the star then to drag it down into the earth like an
ant lion. A puff of indigo cloud, like cannon smoke, hung against a
sheet of flaming cirrus.
I looked around the bay. Though the light was fading, I could see
the whole crescent. To the south was the gently rising plateau of the
Cambrian Desert, dissolving into the suggestion of Pembrokeshire,
where a few lights now glimmered. Closer to where I sat, the yellow
flanks of Cadair Idris still faintly glowed, richer in colour than they
had been a moment ago. To the north were the peaks of Snowdonia,
washed and blue at first then hardening as they swept towards the
point at which the sun had set. The mountains of Pen Lleyn now tow-
ered out of the sea, every knot and cleft sharp against the dying light.
Beyond them Ynys Enlli, whale-backed, rode the still water.
I thought of the places I would be leaving, of what they were and
what they could become. I pictured trees returning to the bare slopes,
fish and whales returning to the bay. I thought of what my children
and grandchildren might find here, and of how those who worked the
land and sea might prosper if this wild vision were to be realized. I
thought of how, across these five years, my exploration of nature's
capacity to regenerate itself, of the potential for wildlife to return to
the places from which it had been purged, had enriched my own life.
Wherever I went, I would take the wild life with me. I would devote
much of my life to seeking out or helping to create places where I
could hear again that high exhilarating note to which I had for so
long been deaf, where I could find that rare and precious substance,
hope. The black silhouettes of redshank and oystercatchers piped
home along the shore. To the south, moonlight glittered on the water,
now grooved like a linocut.
From behind me came a noise like a boot being pulled out of the
mud. I turned, but all I saw was a large round ripple, as if a monstrous
trout had sucked down a fly. Then a fin rose from the lavender sea,
five or ten yards away. It sank again then rose beside me. It was a
baby: one of last year's dolphin calves. It circled the boat, so close that
it almost nudged my paddle, then disappeared into the darkness.