Nowadays, when you stroll through practically any broadleaf woodland in England, something seems a little strange. In certain areas, the canopy is thick. The understory should be dense, but deer trails cut through it. Simply put, nothing is keeping the deer in check, which makes it difficult for young trees to establish themselves. It’s not overly dramatic. It doesn’t appear to be a disaster. However, ecologists who visit these areas frequently agree that the forest is out of balance and has been for a very long time.
It makes sense that mammals have dominated the rewilding debate in Britain. Most of the headlines are about the lynx. Wolves continue to be politically dangerous. Beavers are now a true conservation success story, having established themselves in a number of river systems. A lesser-known movement, however, is quietly operating alongside all of this: bringing back apex avian predators to skies that have been mostly devoid of them for many generations.
With wingspans of almost eight feet, white-tailed eagles are the largest raptors in Britain, but they are no longer only found in Scotland. Establishing breeding populations in southern England is gaining traction, and a reintroduction program on the Isle of Wight has been growing. There is currently a serious plan to reintroduce golden eagles to Northumberland after they were last seen in England at least in the middle of the 20th century. These ideas are not out of the ordinary. The early indications are truly encouraging, and they entail coordinated efforts between government agencies, landowners, and conservation organizations.
The politics are complex, but the ecological case is clear. Big raptors serve as moderators. A white-tailed eagle’s presence alters behavior throughout the landscape, but it doesn’t hunt deer like a lynx does. Different prey species avoid open spaces, move differently, and graze differently.
In regions where ungulate browsing has kept vegetation suppressed for decades, this type of indirect pressure—what ecologists sometimes refer to as the “landscape of fear”—can enable vegetation to recover. As rewilding efforts have advanced, the Knepp estate in West Sussex has recorded this kind of cascading effect. It’s messy, slow, and authentic.
As this develops, it seems as though Britain is gradually renegotiating its own natural history. The nation lost its top predators as a result of intentional, persistent persecution rather than a geological accident. By the 1700s, wolves had been hunted to extinction in Scotland. The Middle Ages saw the extinction of brown bears. Gamekeepers and farmers prioritized the protection of livestock and game birds over ecological function, which led to the great birds of prey being poisoned, shot, and trapped. Although the remaining landscapes appear natural, they are not. They are managed remnants that are frequently in decline.
Whether reintroducing raptors alone can correct the imbalance in UK woodlands is still up for debate. The truth is probably not entirely; either intensive management or lynx control are needed to solve the deer problem, and neither is easy. However, the fact that avian predators encounter fewer visceral objections than mammals like wolves makes them valuable. Most people find it easier to welcome a golden eagle soaring over a moor in Northumberland than a wolf passing through sheep country. Even though the mammalian predators would perform more labor-intensive tasks ecologically, that distinction is important politically.
The most remarkable thing about Britain’s rewilding movement in 2026 is probably how the discussion has moved from whether to bring species back to how. A few years ago, the white stork made its first breeding appearance in Sussex since 1416. In England, beavers are now legally protected. Thirty years ago, no one could have predicted the extent to which osprey populations have recovered. Before being accepted, each of these returns was met with opposition, took time, and required persistent advocacy. The same arc is being followed by the birds returning to British skies.
It won’t resolve every issue. Nothing will make things better right away. However, it’s difficult to avoid feeling as though something is being subtly and obstinately fixed when you’re standing in a woodland with a red kite circling overhead—a bird that was almost extinct throughout the British Isles in living memory.
