The night is dark and we’re huddled in silence on a viewing platform, half-way up a tree, ears alert to the calls of the wild. A rustle in the bushes, the wind in the leaves, a distant animal cry. Just as we’re about to give up, the sound we’ve been waiting for fills the inky sky.
It’s not a lion’s roar, nor a hyena’s squeal, but the sweet liquid trill of a nightingale… I am on safari, but it’s not the African bush. This is the Knepp Castle estate in deepest, darkest West Sussex, home to the largest rewilding project in lowland Europe.
“The males migrate here from Africa first and they’re calling to the females to let them know where they are,” Charlie Burrell, owner of the estate, tells us as four more birds join the chorus. “Populations have declined by 90% in the UK in the past 40 years – but here we’ve got a growing number.”
The 3,500-acre Knepp estate has been in Charlie’s family for more than 200 years (the John Nash castle at its heart is still the family home) and was intensively farmed until 14 years ago, when, disillusioned by the impossible economics of farming on heavy clay, he decided to let the land go back to the wild. A mosaic of ever-changing landscapes slowly emerged, and a free-roaming Big Five, comprising English longhorn cattle, red and fallow deer, Exmoor ponies and Tamworth pigs (proxies for the auroch, elk and boar that lived here thousands of years ago) are driving the expanding biodiversity.
It was as if the land could breathe again, says Charlie, and the results are impressive. Nightingales returned in 2010 – the first time they’d been heard here for 50 years. They love the untamed bushes where insects lurk, and 2% of the UK’s population is now found on the estate. It’s a breeding hotspot for turtle doves – the bird species most likely to go extinct in Britain in the next few years – birds of prey not seen for half a century have reappeared, and reptile life is flourishing, as are rare bats, attracted by the burgeoning insect population.
We listen again to the enchanting nightingale, then climb into the 4x4 to head back to camp. Stopping at a pond en route, a detector picks up the sound of Daubenton’s bats: they look like giant moths skimming the water. Rabbit tails flash white in the torchlight. It may not have the wow factor of the Serengeti, but there is a genuine sense of excitement among our group.
The campsite has an African feel, with an upcycled communal kitchen – wine crates as shelves and wooden cable drums for tables – that’s a great spot for sundowners on a summer’s evening. The camp, in a meadow on the edge of ancient woodland, opened fully for the first time this year, with beautifully furnished bell tents, a yurt and a tipi (complete with magnificent stag oak bed). There are a dozen pitches for DIY campers, too – each with a firepit.
It’s April and there’s a chill in the air, so I opt for one of three cute shepherd’s huts and light the wood-burning stove (thoughtful touches include wildlife guides, candle lanterns and a stove-top kettle).
Daybreak comes at around 5am and with it a knock at the door and a cup of coffee from ecologist Penny, who’s taking us on a dawn-chorus walking safari. There’s a cacophony of birdsong. “Spotted flycatcher!” says Penny, “and a great tit – the one saying ‘teacher, teacher’, you hear it?”
We walk across land that was once arable but is now a mix of woods, grassland, water meadow and scrub – mostly dog rose, sallow, hawthorn and bramble. Charlie’s inspiration came from a trip he made in the 1990s to Oostvaardersplassen, a nature reserve and rewilding project in the Netherlands, where he saw the potential for a similar scheme in Sussex. The process was long: 250 miles of fences were removed, the river Adur returned to its natural path, wildflowers and grass sown, and scrub allowed to grow before grazing animals were introduced. Meat is still produced, but the beasts now play a conservation role, driving habitat and soil restoration.
As we stroll, a couple of roe deer peer at us inquisitively then skip elegantly into the woods. A solitary longhorn meanders past. The sun starts to rise – a red stripe glowing across the misty horizon. We climb to a hide above a pond that could be an African watering hole, and the sky is alive with birds singing their hearts out: cuckoo, song thrush, wren, willow warbler … Butterflies are abundant at Knepp, too – it’s one of two UK breeding hotspots for purple emperors.
Visitors (whether staying overnight or not) can join expert-led dawn, dusk, or half-day safaris. There are also specialist safaris, to view nightingales in spring, bees in summer and rutting stags in autumn. It’s not obligatory to sign up for a safari – there are plenty of walks and pubs to enjoy – but it seems a shame not to learn more about the land you’re camping on.
Our early-bird safari finishes at the 16th-century Cow Barn with tea and bacon butties by the woodburner. In the nearby Go Down, as well as hot showers, there’s an honesty shop selling eggs, preserves and produce from the farm, including venison burgers and steaks – perfect for barbecuing. This summer, local organic lager and cider will be on sale, too.
As I stand outside my hut, sad to be leaving for the city, I think what I’ll miss most is the overwhelming sound of the birds and a kind of tangible natural energy. Knepp is the countryside at its most alive and offers something close to an African safari experience – at a fraction of the price and just an hour from London.
• The trip was provided by Knepp Safaris (01403 713 230, kneppsafaris.co.uk), which has camping from £15pppn, shepherd’s huts from £190 for two people staying for two nights. Safaris start at £25pp. Open April-October. Under-12s not permitted in the camp or on safari (except by special arrangement). Knepp castle is a 20-minute drive from Horsham station
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