Why won't the British government legalise beaver reintroduction?

Why is it that one incoming government after the next promises to legitimise beavers, which would be a hugely popular move, only to backtrack furiously when it comes to the crunch?

The Guardian has reported that Number Ten is to delay the legalisation of beaver reintroduction. Could it be that Labour’s Steve Reed is set to join a long line of Defra Ministers who, having promised finally to legalise reintroduction of beavers, end up backpedalling under pressure from rural lobbyists who have long decided beavers have no place here? The assorted vested interests, farming representatives and rural power cliques who direct countryside policy from the shadows dislike beavers on account of an astonishingly poor understanding of how nature actually works. Their lack of knowledge is in stark contrast with that of the public and most of the media which are gripped by beaver fever.

Just a decade ago, the average Brit had no idea that there had once been beavers in Britain. Now seemingly everyone knows that beavers are a native species, that they’re back living wild in parts of Britain and that they’re playing a vital role breathing life back into our terribly nature-depleted landscapes, all while helping to protect communities from both flooding and drought. Beavers are the zeitgeist. Yet despite huge and growing public support for the legal return of beavers, as has taken place across mainland Europe, releasing beavers remains firmly illegal.

Beavers were eradicated from Britain and driven to near extinction in Europe centuries ago. Trappers sought not only their fur, but also the yellowish oil, castoreum, that beavers exude from sacs beneath their tail. This oil was in such demand for use in early cosmetics that the value of a single beaver in Dark Ages Britain was equal to an entire year’s earnings for the average peasant. By the time of the First World War only tiny remnant populations of European beavers remained in the mountainous reaches of eastern France, Germany and Russia. Since the beginning of the last century beavers have been granted legal protection in a growing list of countries, while the value of their fur has diminished. Consequently, they are staging a remarkable comeback. Carefully planned reintroductions have taken place across Europe, and while numbers remain at a tiny fraction of their former level, there now exist perhaps two or three million European beavers.

Across the Channel, decades of frustration here in Britain may have led to some rewilders taking matters into their own hands in a practice known as ‘beaver bombing’. Just think: every single wild-living beaver in Britain today is there as a result of unlicensed releases. Beavers have returned centuries after their extirpation in spite of, not because of, government.

Three years ago a family of beavers settled in the Somerset valley I call home. Since then they have created a paradise. Their huge shield-shaped lodge at the centre of a small pond island is built of sticks and plastered with dried clay. They have bred during each of the last two years, and the growing family has extended a string of small, perfectly engineered dams along the length of the valley, giving the appearance of a series of meandering Japanese rice terraces. The beavers have taken a particular liking to the aspen and willow of the young woodland, digging little canals outwards on each side to reach them. By felling some of the trees, they have created a sunlit mosaic of clearings in the woodland that are flooded with water in the winter and with the colours of an English water meadow in the spring and summer. This beaver-made wonderland which sings with life of all kinds is like no habitat I have ever previously seen.

Beaver-made wetlands are not only of huge benefit to wildlife, they also protect us from flooding, seasonal drought and even wildfire. In the absence of beavers, winter rainfall brings torrents of water that flash down all the streams at once, bursting the banks of our straightened and dredged waterways and flooding communities further down the catchment. Floods in turn give way to dry, lifeless ground (and hosepipe bans) through the summer once the water has gone. Beaver dams slow and regulate the flow of water, holding it back, giving nature time to cleanse it of sediment and farm pollution, and releasing it gently, clean, through the year.

Opposition to the return of beavers arises mostly from misunderstanding. There are worries that migratory fish such as salmon and trout might be unable to make it past beaver dams, which ignores the fact that these fish co-evolved over millions of years with beavers. In fact it is likely the beaver taught the salmon how to jump, and young salmonids depend on the cool, stable pools and gravel spawning beds created by beavers. Some people object to the perceived mess created by beavers along the water’s edge. But once we let go of our innate desire to tidy and subjugate every square inch of land and begin to trust that the beavers know what they’re doing, our reactive anxiety becomes appreciation. It’s against our nature to grant another species autonomy over any part of the landscape, which is why the return of beavers represents such a momentous cultural shift in the British psyche.

The return of beavers to Britain is cause for great celebration. We must hope that the Labour government finds the courage to stand up to the bullies and legalises beaver reintroduction now. If they do, a plethora of conservation organisations, farm clusters, river keepers and water companies stand ready to get on with the job of restoring beavers to all of our river catchments. The best way for you to join the chorus is to support the brilliant Beaver Trust today!

[Published in The Spectator 15 January 2025.]