Walking the wilds

James Roberts’ debut book is a eulogy to things lost in life and nature – but it also inspires hope and a keener appreciation of the beauty that surrounds us, writes Jenny White...

that tension between a sense of loss and beauty.”

While writing the book, Roberts lived in the village of Clyro, near Hay-on-wye, in a house overlooking the River Wye. His walks through the surrounding landscape often took him to the Begwns, above Clyro.

“I remember the first time I walked on that hill, it was foggy and I got lost quickly,” he says. “But as I topped a rise the mist parted and revealed a flock of lapwings diving and circling above me.

“A few days later I encountered my first curlew and heard their amazing calls, which made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I’ve been in love with them ever since. Before I moved to the area I had never written a word about the natural world and since then I’ve written about nothing else.”

As an international traveller, he has explored diverse landscapes, many of them before he became a father. He spent almost a year traversing Africa, starting in Tangier and finishing in Mombasa.

“Africa taught me that there are many different ways to live and I started writing seriously when I was out there,” he says. “I don’t remember being motivated to see wildlife at the start of the journey, but as I lived in a tent for almost the whole time, I was surrounded by wildlife for most of it, particularly in the Congo and Kenya.

“Some journeys I’ve made have involved strange, unintentional and very close encounters with large mammals – elephants, hippos, wolves.

They became part of my inner, creative life, though it took years before they started to appear in my work.”

He credits the wild world with keeping him going in very challenging times – he started writing the book soon after his father died from Parkinson’s, a trauma that was quickly followed by his wife’s breast cancer diagnosis.

“She had several complications after treatment involving urgent interventions. Both our boys were still at school at the time and I was doing a very demanding job. So the book progressed very slowly.

“In fact, it took my publisher time to persuade me to take a book-length project on at all. But the sense of loss which comes with the death, or serious illness of a loved one, also gives you a sense of urgency, of wanting to seize the day perhaps and do something useful.”

He sees himself as a part of a concentric community, which begins with his wife and children and radiates out into the local community, which includes the birds that come to his garden, the salmon in the river, the curlews on the hill.

“A sense of sadness can also be a source of strength and inspire a stronger appreciation of beauty,” he says, adding that the call of curlews can light him up and bring tears to his eyes. A sense of wonder at the natural world runs through the whole book.

“The book is dedicated to the wolf I once met on a forest track in Jasper National Park,” he says. “I had been terrified of them as a child, so much so that I couldn’t even look at pictures of them. Then one stepped out of the trees and sat right in front of me, just staring back, its eyes shining. I felt like I was being honoured and also questioned.

“The writer Stephen Jenkinson says that we should imagine speaking to our not-yet-born descendants when they ask us the question, ‘When you knew what was happening, what did you do.’ The animals are asking the same question now. The answer I wanted to communicate in the book was that possibility of deep connection to the wild. We have the power to help heal it and it can heal us.”

He is keenly aware that Wales is one of the least biodiverse countries on earth – particularly when he walks in silent uplands devoid of bird calls.

“We’re down to the last few breeding pairs of