Elevated from a Comment by Dave Rhodes
A comment on the West Coast Regional Council’s deer dilemma
The West Coast Regional Council’s hand-wringing over deer populations would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic. Councillors are now scrambling to find funding for deer control, with Peter Ewen declaring DOC has “flown the white flag” and calling for massive government intervention. Yet one councillor inadvertently revealed the truth: there were no deer problems back in the 1970s, during the days of the wild venison industry—before the widespread use of 1080.
This isn’t coincidence. It’s cause and effect.
When Market Forces Worked
In the 1960s and 1970s, New Zealand had discovered something remarkable: a self-funding solution to deer control that actually worked. Commercial helicopter hunting had become a thriving industry. By 1970, more than 60 helicopters were operating across the country, with crews retrieving 100-200 deer per day. At the peak in 1973, New Zealand exported 3,500 tonnes of wild venison from approximately 140,000 carcasses, primarily to Germany and other European markets.
This wasn’t government-funded pest control requiring ratepayer money or complex bureaucratic oversight. This was private enterprise doing what government cullers could never accomplish. By 1976, government deer culling operations had dwindled to fewer than 7,000 animals annually—down from 62,500 in 1957—because commercial hunters had essentially taken over the job and were doing it better, faster, and at no cost to taxpayers.
The wild venison trade kept deer populations in check while generating substantial export income. Hunters had every incentive to maintain sustainable populations in their hunting areas. The system worked.
Enter 1080: The Industry Killer
Then came the poison. As 1080 aerial drops became increasingly widespread for possum control from the 1980s onwards, the unintended consequences began to mount. Yes, 1080 was primarily targeted at possums for bovine TB control, but this indiscriminate poison doesn’t discriminate. Deer, like any mammal requiring oxygen, are killed by 1080. They die slowly, agonisingly—veterinarians have likened it to being electrocuted for two days straight.
But the death of individual deer wasn’t the real problem for population control. The catastrophic blow came in 2001 when the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry recalled an entire shipment of wild venison destined for Germany after discovering the meat came from an area where 1080 had been used. Although the meat tested negative for contamination, the incident triggered a suspension of all feral-venison recovery and sent shockwaves through New Zealand’s entire deer industry.
The damage was done. International buyers, particularly in quality European markets, became wary of wild New Zealand venison. How could you market premium “clean, green” venison when there was any possibility it contained residues of a toxin so potent it’s banned in most countries? As one industry expert noted: “Our entire agricultural trade is based on consumer perception, regardless of whether this perception is based on facts or not.”
The wild venison export trade collapsed virtually overnight. West Coast farmers remember it clearly: “In the 1970s and ’80s, deer were no threat, because the wild venison export trade was booming and helicopter hunters kept the numbers down. But then DOC started using 1080 for pest control, and it killed the export trade overnight.”
The Irony of It All
Let’s be clear about the bitter irony here: 1080 is aerial-dropped to control possums and protect farming interests from bovine TB. Yet in doing so, it destroyed the one effective, self-funding mechanism that kept deer populations under control—deer that are now devastating farmland, destroying Conservation estate, and costing farmers and councils millions.
DOC uses 1080 ostensibly to protect native species and ecosystems, yet deer populations have exploded in Conservation estate areas, causing the very environmental damage 1080 was supposedly preventing. Meanwhile, the poison kills native birds, insects, and any other creatures unfortunate enough to encounter it. New Zealand uses 80-90% of the world’s entire 1080 production, saturating vast areas of the country with a toxin that has no antidote and kills anything that needs oxygen.
The West Coast councillors are right to point the finger at DOC and Conservation lands as the source of the deer invasion onto farmland. But they’re missing the bigger picture: DOC’s 1080 programme isn’t just failing to control deer—it’s the reason we need to control them in the first place.
What Was Lost
When we destroyed the wild venison industry, we lost more than export income and jobs. We lost:
- A self-funding pest control system that required no government or ratepayer money
- Economic opportunities for rural communities and helicopter operators
- Effective population management that kept deer at sustainable levels without bureaucratic intervention
- A premium export product that showcased New Zealand’s natural resources
- Generational knowledge and expertise in sustainable wild game management
Now we’re left with exploding deer populations, councils arguing over who should pay for control, and government agencies admitting they don’t have the resources to manage the problem they helped create.
The Path Forward
There are voices calling for a return to commercial wild venison harvesting. The economics could work: quality wild venison can command premium prices in international markets, and helicopter recovery could be viable again if we could guarantee product safety and quality.
But here’s the rub: as long as 1080 continues to be broadcast across vast tracts of New Zealand, the spectre of contamination will hang over any wild venison product. No commercial operator wants to risk their reputation and business on meat that might—however unlikely—contain traces of a banned toxin. No international buyer wants to take that chance with their customers.
The solution stares us in the face, yet seems politically impossible: end the 1080 programme, reinstate commercial wild venison recovery, and let market forces and private enterprise do what government agencies manifestly cannot—control deer populations effectively and sustainably.
Instead, we’ll likely see more hand-wringing, more calls for government funding, more bureaucratic working groups, and more deer. Because that’s what happens when you kill a working solution with indiscriminate poison, then wonder why the problem you created won’t go away.
The West Coast councillors are right to be concerned. They’re right to demand government action. But until we’re willing to acknowledge that 1080 is the problem, not the solution, we’ll continue this expensive, ineffective charade while our deer populations—and the damage they cause—continue to explode.
We had a solution in the 1970s. We poisoned it. Literally.
For those interested in the history of New Zealand’s wild venison industry and the impact of 1080, the research is readily available. The “Deer Wars” of the 1970s, the 2001 venison recall crisis, and the ongoing debate over 1080 use are all well-documented. The facts speak for themselves—if we’re willing to listen.