“Looking westward into the continent, I dream of deer in the valleys, deer amidst the mossy alpine heights, deer on burned droughty plains, deer in riverbank glades, deer on bouldery scree slopes, deer among cactus forests, deer neck-deep in waving green grass…” — from Beginnings, the first chapter of Richard K. Nelson’s Heart and Blood: Living With Deer in America [Alfred A. Knopf, 1997]
The first parts of this series addressed the effects of omnivorous and carnivorous apex predators on ecosystems, with asides on the effects of trophic cascades and super predators. It’s time to move down the pyramid a bit…
…to an herbivorous prey species.
I started life among the droughty plains, scree slopes, river bank glades and cactus forests that eventually drew the author I’ve quoted above into a life devoted to subsistence hunting and the study of humans and landscapes. Growing up, I often used trails kept open by deer and elk to reach river bank glades still mostly untrammeled by avid fly-rod wielding ‘sport’ anglers. I’m a son/grandson of deer hunters, a nephew/cousin to bear and bird hunters. Early on, I learned to rely on the route choices of prey species to navigate unfamiliar terrain, to avoid blundering into confrontations with other predators, and to (eventually) acknowledge the effects of human predation and exploitation enough to stow my fishing gear and simply walk the land, sometimes with a camera but more often with empty hands, open eyes and ears, and focused attention. On these journeys, I’ve often been cautiously studied by curious Odocoileus hemionus, the aptly named mule deer. Somewhere along the way, I started talking directly to my observers while watching their twitching tails and over-sized ears for signs of alarm. These conversations are currently a handy tactic for soothing nerves amongst the resident deer herd as we walk our dog in my small town.
As Richard Nelson notes in his homage to North America’s deer herds, the two main species of deer — the white-tail deer, and the closely related mule/black-tail deer — have been heavily studied by hunters, scientists, habitat managers, and in recent decades by urban planners and communicable disease researchers. Their widespread ranges, ability to browse nutrients from grasses to vegetables, fruit, tree leaves and bark, and an apparent willingness to suffer the nuisances of highway traffic, feral (and ill-controlled) dogs, and humans have allowed deer populations to withstand human migrations into their formerly natural habitats, though with increasing threats from habitat loss and fragmentation, drought, wildfire, increased hunting pressure, and disease. This adaptability has caused reactions among humans that run the gamut of emotional responses, from delight to fear, from irritation to itchy trigger fingers. White-tails are by far the most common of the two main species, ranging from the east coast west into the Rocky Mountains, with a few populations reaching almost to the west coast in California. The larger, sturdier mule deer dominates this publication’s main focus area, the drylands, with the somewhat smaller blacktails occurring mostly along the west coast’s mountain ranges. I found this Mule/Blacktail Deer range map from 40 years ago that doesn’t vary too much from recent studies, though it contains a few data gaps that may be obvious to dedicated deer aficionados:
Different studies vary in their current population estimates, but a safe bet is that around 375,000 to 400,000 mule/blacktail deer still range the west, somewhat down from a mid-1900s high this collaboratively produced fact sheet calls, “the good old days.” Doing a little more research, I came across a recent article in an outdoor sports-oriented magazine that lists threats to mule deer populations, and some possible responses. Overall, it’s informative and may be helpful to recently arrived human residents of the west’s drylands, with the caveat that it embraces a single-focus philosophy of increasing deer numbers by reducing non-human predator populations to accommodate increasing human predation on mule deer. Here’s a quote from the article, “If you want to do something to protect mule deer from predators, go hunt black bear this spring. While you’re at it, kill some coyotes in April…”
This response ignores the major causes of mule deer population fluctuations, the lack of forage mostly due to drought and habitat loss, in favor of simply extirpating competition. To illustrate the now amply documented folly of this very human response to a complex problem, I’ll turn to another quote, this one from the abstract of Trophic Downgrading of Planet Earth, :
Until recently, large apex consumers were ubiquitous across the globe and had been for millions of years. The loss of these animals may be humankind’s most pervasive influence on nature. Although such losses are widely viewed as an ethical and aesthetic problem, recent research reveals extensive cascading effects of their disappearance in marine, terrestrial, and freshwater ecosystems worldwide. This empirical work supports long-standing theory about the role of top-down forcing in ecosystems but also highlights the unanticipated impacts of trophic cascades on processes as diverse as the dynamics of disease, wildfire, carbon sequestration, invasive species, and biogeochemical cycles. These findings emphasize the urgent need for interdisciplinary research to forecast the effects of trophic downgrading on process, function, and resilience in global ecosystems.” — James E. Estes, et al, [Science Magazine, July, 2011]
As noted above, many studies now document the pernicious effects of a death-match-combat style competition with other apex predators of the earth’s ecosystems. There are other ways to conduct ourselves while we’re at the pinnacle of the pyramid. Wildlife agencies have long adjusted hunting license quantities to match estimates of prey population numbers, though of course with various misjudgements. Public and privately held range-land can be (and sometimes is) managed for the health of habitat, rather than economic profit potential. Droughts and climate anomalies can be (and sometimes are) addressed by changing our long established, over consuming ways. It falls to the apex predator to decide when to abandon the chase, slow down and dream the abundance we long to move among.
I’ll end this post with a few intriguing, disturbing and possibly inspiring stories for you to consider. Up next, Turning the Page: On Navigating an Ecosystem of Fear, Part 4. Feel free to comment below, email me at: BFrank.WaterIntoStone@yahoo.com, and share this post with friends and acquaintances. Meanwhile, let’s help each other enjoy this beautiful planet we share. - B
The longest known migration corridor for mule deer stretches over two hundred miles from the high deserts of western Wyoming into southwest Idaho. These lands are controlled by the National Forest Service, Bureau of Land Management, state, private and non-profit interests. Here’s the story of a collaborative effort to maintain access through this corridor for deer, elk, and other free-living species.
Though this post’s focus is mule deer of the drylands, there are as many as 58 species and sub-species of the deer family in North America including elk, moose, caribou, etc. Here’s a site with images of 6 widely known species.
One of the major, currently unmanageable disease threats to North America’s free-ranging deer and elk is a fatal neurological illness, Chronic Wasting Disease. It’s been diagnosed in 29 U. S. states and 3 Canadian provinces. As of now, there is no known cure, though studies of possible vaccines and the positive effects of natural predators are ongoing. Here’s a recently updated map of documented occurrences from the US Geological Survey:
Richard K. Nelson’s descriptions, insights and observations are well worth reading, for ideas and philosophies that may still be possible as our species navigates the effects of our predations on landscape and lifeways. Explore his work here, through your local library, or independent bookstore.