THE DEER MENACE

Grey River Argus, 19 May 1938, Page 5

THE DEER MENACE

2,400 TAILS 5 Culling in the South [Per Press Association.] INVERCARGILL, May 18. . Men who have been employed by the Department of Internal Affairs to shoot deer in the back country, between Lake Monowai and the West Coast, nave returned to Monowai, after having been about three months absent. During that time they have shot 2,400 deer, taking them on a face 15 miles deep. The 2,400 shot does not include those deer that were wounded and were not found, but it represents only the actual tally of tails. This year the men were able to stay in much longer than usual, as there has been no snow, even on the heights. PAST WARNINGS UNHEEDED. Attention to the menace of planteating animals in our native forests has frequently been drawn in the past by authorities, such as Dr. L. Cockayne, but it was not until the Forest and Bird Protection Society . took the matter in hand and broad casted the gravity of the question

throughout the land, that corrective measures were begun. The following paper by the Rev. P. Walsh, Which was read before the Auckland • Institute in August, 1892, is an instance of many such unheeded warnings. With the exception of that of the domestic animals, most of the attempts at acclimatisation that have been made in this country have been X Unfortunate. The small birds are a severe tax on the farmer; the rabbits threaten to break up the estates of the large landholders, who are said to have celebrated their introduction with' a champagne lunch; while the stoats and weasels, from which so much was expected, have rot onlv failed to accomplish the object desired, but are already, in the destruction of native birds, and in their depredations in the fowl-yard, proving themselves an intolerable nuisance. Still, though the mistake is now generally admitted, the attempt in .» these cases was somewhat justified by the hope, delusive though it soon proved to be, of some tangible benefit that would more than compensate for any attendant evil. This justification, however, can hardly be allow’ed in the case of deer, unless their introduction be accompanied by certain restrictions that have not hitherto been observed. For, although there i may be few forms of enjoyment to 'equal that which would be found in . stalking the grand game amongst our ] forest-clad mountains, still those in a ! position to enjoy the sport would necessarily form but a fraction of ' our population, while even the keenest sportsman would hardly be content to purchase his own gratification ! 5 by the destruction of that forest ; which is the glory of his country ana the birthright of the community at , large. J .To those who are unacquainted ' with the New Zealand bush, it may seem strange to associate the idea of . h destruction with a few head of these innocent-looking creatures. They are perhaps familiar with the idea of ‘ an. Old Country deer-park, where the ‘ animals wander harmlessly among the sylvan glades with no other effect '

than that of giving life and beauty to the landscape; and they would be ♦ surprised to learn that the presence ot the deer would prove more injurious to a rata or a kauri than to an elm or an oak. And, indeed, if they made the comparison at all, their conclusion would probably be in favour of the giant growth and the mas sive density of our own forest. The i two conditions, however, are entirely different, and the comparison is not so easily disposed of. The European forest or deer-park, it must be recollected, has grown up subject to the presence of ruminants of various kinds-—that is to say, the several species of trees and shrubs composing it have overcome (perhaps with artii . ficial assistance) any struggle they j may have had when young and weak, and the whole is now able to take care of itself. Again, the understuft in a great part consists of seedlings from the older trees, of which, though many may have been cropped or broken, a sufficient number have surviv ed to replace the older growth. And, besides this, the floor of the forest is generally covered with a quantity of grasses, fern, and brambles, which spring up every year, and which amp ly supply the wants of the animals. But in the New Zealand bush the case is quite opposite to all this. The forest has grown up through the course of ages undisturbed by any four-footed enemy whatever. In its virgin state there is no grass, properly speaking, at all, while the undergrowth of ferns, shrubs, and seedling plants, once destroyed, can never oe restored. And, moreover, the constituent portions are so dependent on f each other for nourishment and protection that, once the balance has been disturbed, the entire growth rap idly suffers. It may seem incredible that the towering kauri or the giant rata, ' whose twisted limbs, loaded with a fairy garden of epiphytes and climo- ; ing plants, have weathered a thousand storms, should be in any way affected by the removal of a few insignificant plants from about their base. But so it is. They, and al], or nearly all, of the larger trees in our bush, are dependent for their very life upon the growth which is so thoughtlessly allowed to be destroyed. As may be easily seen after a bushburn, or where a tree has been overturned by the wind, the principal roots scarcely penetrate the ground. Running like a network of tangled snakes along the surface, they are protected by a sort of humus com- /.(, posed of decaying vegetable matter, ’ which is kept in a moist condition by the multitude of ferns, mosses, and small plants of every kind which occupy every inch of space wherever the forest is undisturbed. Once this growth has been destroyed, which very soon happens when a browsing animal is admitted, a change begins to pass over the scene. The larger trees, deprived of the shelter at their feet, gradually grow thin and open at the top. The cathedral gloom and the damp solitude in which flourishfed THe pSTm-like nikau and the stately fern-tree are penetrated by the j; burning sun, and invaded by fierce and parching winds. All the magic profusion of grace and beauty begins

to shrivel and die; and as further desiccation takes place the unprotested roots can no longer support the strain they have to bear, and every here and there some hoary patriarch falls crashing amid an acre of ruin. And thus the game goes on:

each step in the chain of destruction preparing the way for the next at an accelerated rate of progression until the ruin is complete, when soonei or later the desolated region is swept by the fire from some neighbouring clearing, and at last a few charred stumps and bleaching skeletons are all that is left to mark the irretrievable loss of a paradise of beauty.

That this destruction is constantly going on may be seen in all the older settlements, where it may be observed in the rapidly-shrinking area of the standing and in the prevailing grey and brown tones of the tree-

tops, which, with the dry and lifeless branches, impart an air of gloomy monotony to the portions which still remain. In some districts whole families of trees are fast disappearing. Of the tawa, a tree of very wide distribution and one whose value is just beginning to be recognised, it is now in many places a rare thing to find a perfect specimen. The thin bark on its slender superficial roots bleeds to death on the slightest injury, and the tree rapidly perishes. The mahoe and the ngaio, once found in abundance on the Auckland isthmus, are now almost a thing of the past; and the whau, a handsome broad-leaved shrub which flourished in rich volcanic situations, is, in most settled district practically extinct. Other trees make a longer struggle for life; but, sooner or later, with few exceptions and under more than usually favourable circumstances, they all succumb to their change of condition.