Firstly, congratulations! What an incredible achievement. What does it mean to you to win the Wainwright Prize for Conservation Writing?
It was a huge surprise, and I think I’m still processing it, but it’s very, very exciting. I read so much environmental writing and admire so many environmental writers, so it was incredible to be on the shortlist at all. To win is a real honour, and I hope the Prize will help more people find my book and engage with the ideas within it.
I think there are some big ethical quandaries that we face today in conservation. We so want to do the best thing for the world and to help the environment as best we can, but the way forward is not always clear. What I’ve tried to do in the book is really engage with where those agendas conflict, and where different priorities come into conflict, because I think it’s very important that we try to get it right where we can.
For anyone who hasn’t picked up your book yet, how would you describe The Savage Landscape?
It’s a history of the idea of wilderness, starting with its ancient roots and its spiritual basis. You see this not only in Christian culture, but in so many different cultures all around the world, all through time: this idea that you might step into a physical place that is also somehow metaphysical, and that you can reach or contact the other in some way while you’re there.
But the idea has changed over time. It has become an aesthetic ideal, and it’s also become a real priority of conservation, especially towards the second half of the 20th century. We started wanting to preserve wilderness, which is a wonderful thing to do, but it became tied up with this idea of pristine, untouched nature.
That can blind us to the value of nature that is intermingled with human culture. That’s one of the big things we’re facing today: this clash between human rights and environmental protection. It’s something we really need to be on top of in the 21st century.
Your book explores the idea that untouched wilderness is much more complicated than we might think. So I would be interested to know, how has your understanding of the wild changed through writing it?
My understanding of the wild has really shifted while I’ve been writing on this subject. To begin with, I thought of it as everything that wasn’t human. Increasingly, I’ve come to think of it as something slightly different – something like uncontrolled nature.
And that might be among us, and it might be in everyday landscapes that we see all the time. It’s something that is taking control of itself; something that has its own agenda. That might be weeds, or it might be a redwood forest. I think all of those things are equally valuable, and that we need to engage with all of them.
You travelled through some of the world’s most remarkable landscapes while researching the book. Was there a particular place or encounter that stayed with you?
I travelled to lots of different places while I was writing The Savage Landscape, but one of the chapters that gave me the most pause – and that I certainly think about the most – is the chapter dealing with the history of hunting reserves and modern-day trophy hunters.
I shadowed a group of American trophy hunters and their African guides into a wilderness area in Mozambique, and we discussed a lot during that trip. Partly, it was about the ethics of killing animals and the sporting aspect of it, and the emotional side of what drives people to hunt. But we also talked about the more utilitarian side: the money that comes in through the industry and how that props up conservation in many countries, not only in Africa, but in North America and across parts of Asia.
It made me appreciate not only why somebody would want to spend their time doing that, and why people have done it through the centuries, but also why it’s so difficult to unpick. It can be a very unpopular industry, but it persists because it brings in huge amounts of money for relatively few people. That means it can have a relatively small footprint in the landscape while allowing these wild-looking areas to exist.
What do you hope readers take away from the book about our relationship with the landscapes we consider wild?
I really want to ask people to question some of the unthinking assumptions they make about what we value in the environment, and what we would like to save.
Simplistic thinking about wanting to save places that look wild, or places that are more beautiful than others, can really drive conservation in particular directions. I think it’s good for us to be even-handed about the less picturesque or photogenic aspects of nature. They deserve to be saved too.
Cal Flyn’s The Savage Landscape was awarded the 2026 Wainwright Prize for Conservation Writing at the winners’ ceremony at Elmley Nature Reserve. The book explores the changing idea of wilderness, tracing its spiritual and cultural roots through to its role in modern conservation. Travelling through landscapes around the world, Cal Flyn examines the complicated relationship between people and the places we consider wild, questioning our assumptions about what nature should look like, what we choose to protect, and whose interests conservation serves. It is a thought-provoking exploration of the ethical questions at the heart of how we understand and preserve the natural world.