from man.” And this is
from man.” And this is where Zuid-Kennemerland National Park comes into the picture. The clouds rapidly rolling in from the North Sea are the same grey hue of the Discovery’s flanks, so we speed over the dunes back to the visitor centre, where Esther goes on: “Therefore, when we were looking for a grazing animal to restore dune dynamics, we thought, ‘Bison would be well-suited here, and might do a good job!’ Everyone told us we were crazy. But in 2007 we imported a few from Poland, and now they live here successfully.” There are 13 wisents in the park – a herd of females and youngsters, and three detached males who keep mostly out of the way of the main group except during mating season. The project relocates any further bison that are born to other rewilding projects because one herd of 11-15 is optimal for the size of the reserve. “We barely ever handle them,” Esther continues. “We never feed them, we let them live, breed and die like the wild things they are, in one of the old game reserves that was never opened to the public.” The next day dawns promisingly sunny and warm. Our guide for the day is ranger Ruud Maaskant, an impressively Viking-looking man, just turned 50, with hair and beard the same colour as the sand dunes and an easy, confident air. “I cannot promise bison!” he exclaims. “They come and they go. Like the wind and the rain.” He looks completely at home up front in the car, battered walkie-talkie standing to attention in the cup-holder, eyes scanning the horizon as we head back out over the shifting sand. A few minutes later, he opens the doors and leads us out. We’re going to do this properly, on foot, like ghillies stalking a stag. In the slants of morning sun, the enclosed reserve, the Kraansvlak, looks exquisite. Violets sparkle in the dewy grass; a fox barks at the wheeling swifts. Ahead of us, a spinney of buckthorn shadows a scoop of yellow sand. “The bison make these pits, by sandbathing,” explains Ruud. “It’s a crucial part of the dune ecosystem. They are keeping the dunes beautiful and dynamic, and rich with insects, in a natural way.” But where are the bison today? Some of the animals, we learn, are collared with GPS devices that send a signal every four hours. The creatures cannot be The Kraansvlak bison herd thrives among the dunes 36
Animal welfare maintained at all times perpetually tracked, but the rangers do have a vague sense of where they might be. Ruud signals. Keep low. We are virtually crawling now, parting the prickly burnet rose. And then Ruud silently points. There! Almost the whole Kraansvlak bison herd is staring at us, a short stroll away, with the steelworks at IJmuiden incongruously silhouetted against the sky. The bison’s dark, lashy eyes are sombre and reproachful. With a shudder of mixed emotions – sadness, delight, guilt, exhilaration – I realise that I am staring at a face from the Ice Age, staring at something from Deep Time, staring at an animal revered by early Holocene man. I am also gazing at something that, by rights, should not exist. The last surviving species of the noble European megafauna. And yet, here it is, about three miles from the nearest Aldi. Ruud waves a hand. Come closer. We edge nearer, but a twig snaps, and the oldest bull starts, and then they are gone, cantering into the woods and dunes, leaving just a cloud of silvery dust and rejection hanging in the air. And I feel as if I have woken from a dream. A wounding yet beautiful dream. 37