Dave Steel is a force of nature. And he is a force for good. His dad was a boxer, and at six foot six he is not the kind of bloke you expect to be stooping gently in a hedgerow overjoyed to see a green-veined white butterfly.
On the horizon rises the outline of what he calls "Manchattan". But he stands proudly on the plains of the twin-city. His non-stop friendly chatter is infectious as he implores you to embrace the beauty and wonder of "Greater Manchester's Serengeti".
He says with a rye smile "there are no lions" but what there is can be life-enhancing. On a clear bright April morning we are on Chat Moss, a vast, flat patchwork of reclaimed peat bog, woods, coppices, diverse fields of barley, coriander, and cricket pitch perfect turf, peeled back in parts ready for sale. And, crucially, borders of fields left wild.
