The gentle giant who is the guardian of "Greater Manchester's Serengeti"

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.

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It is green-belt in Salford, but the demands of a housing crisis mean part of this land is earmarked for 800 homes. Dave's knowledge and, at times, emotional guardianship of the Chat may prove pivotal in whether planning permission is ever granted. Walking with him, you sense he knows every blade of grass, and what lives in it.

Virtually every day the 71-year-old treks this haven, which is nine miles from both Manchester and Warrington, and sliced in two by the M62. With binoculars, note book, and a finely tuned ear he records the birds, insects, common lizards, and flora. The recording is forensic - the location of the habitat pinned down to individual fields which he has numbered in hand-written grid. The land is split by a motorway, yet, ironically is a service station for