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The Mendips form an east-west hilly ridge, framing the Chew Valley to the north and the Somerset Levels to the south. They are mostly gently rolling hills, though cut into by deep gorges

such as Burrington Combe and Cheddar Gorge. But towards the western end of the ridge, and rising to 191m, sits the only true peak in the Mendips. Some place names are exciting, poetic and

laden with history. This conical hill, though, is named Crook Peak. And "crook", apparently, comes from an old English word meaning… peak. But I grew up knowing it as Crooks'

Peak, and I can't quite shake the image of bands of ne'er-do-well robbers and highwaymen hiding out on the craggy summit. But there's nothing to be scared of up there, and

it's worth climbing the peak for the magnificent 360-degree view. Looking south, you can see right over the Levels, stretching to the foot of the Quantock hills. Sometimes the mist down

on the Levels makes it look like a sea, with islands rising up out of it: Brent Knoll, Wedmore and Glastonbury Tor. Sometimes floodwaters create real islands out on the Levels. But 7,000

years ago, the Levels were properly submerged, forming an inlet connecting with the Severn estuary. A thousand years later, the sea and saltmarsh were being replaced by reedbeds and fresh

water. As plants died and half-rotted down, peat would build up and trees would grow on drier patches. It sounds an inhospitable environment, and yet we know from evidence preserved in the

peat that some ancient people felt very much at home in these marshes. Around 4000BC, the Mesolithic, hunter-gatherer way of life here gave way to a more settled, farming existence. Those

Neolithic people built wooden trackways across the salt marshes and reed beds. Many of these have been found, but perhaps the most famous is the Sweet Track, named after its discoverer, Ray

Sweet. It was constructed with posts driven at angles into the sediment, forming a series of crossed timbers, which supported planks. The Sweet Track extended from the higher land of the

Polden hills (around modern-day Shapwick), running for 2km northwards to an island (now Westhay). On a damp spring day, I explored the nature reserve at Shapwick Heath with Richard Brunning,

the Levels and Moors archaeologist for Somerset council. Peat-digging has meant that this area has reverted to a richly biodiverse wetland, with woodland, reedbeds and open water. Brunning

showed me the line of the Sweet Track, running under the newer track on which we were walking. As we talked about Neolithic life out in the marshes, we heard a bittern booming in the

distance. The deep past felt very close at hand in this liminal landscape. The peat preserved the timber of the track so perfectly that it was possible to carry out dendrochronological

dating: it was built in the winter of 3807-3806BC, Brunning told me. Such precise dates always astonish me. This is, after all, prehistory that we're peering back into. And yet we know

that, over that particular winter, a Neolithic community built this important connection between the islands of dry land. They navigated the marshes in other ways too, as the discoveries of

dugout canoes, including one found right next to the Sweet Track, attest. From the first century AD, the Levels were gradually drained and tamed. But the ancient sea- and river gods have

always been keen to take back their territory. Coastal defences were breached in the fourth century AD and the sea came lapping all the way up to the islands that are now Wedmore and

Chedzoy. In 1607, a storm surge rushed 22km inland, as far as Glastonbury. The floods of 2012-13 made Muchelney into an island again. Climate change means that the gods of watery places are

likely to be flexing their muscles even more in the not too distant future. Science offers us the possibility of understanding natural rhythms and events that must have seemed like the work

of angry and unpredictable gods to our ancestors. Our attempts to tame nature now, to drain land and build flood defences, don't seem to be enough. Other solutions are suggested by

recent research into flooding carried out by a team from the universities of Birmingham and Southampton. While planting woodlands along rivers has been shown to work in small areas, it has

been unclear whether it would be effective on a larger scale. But computer modelling indicates that restoring forests on floodplains could slow floodwaters and reduce the height of the flood

downstream. Six thousand years ago, the people of the Levels placed objects in the water next to the Sweet Track, including a beautiful, polished axe head, made of jadeite stone from the

Alps. Archaeologists interpret these objects as votive offerings, designed perhaps to propitiate the fickle water gods. We're still trying to understand how best to appease them. Always

attempting to tame and subjugate nature is not the solution. But the latest science is helping us to map out a path across this shifting landscape in uncertain times, showing us how to work

with natural forces, not against them.