“A Glorious Tale Indeed:" The History of Restocking Deer in the South

By Jim Casada

            Recently, I was swapping reminiscences and lies with a bunch of long-time hunters. As invariably happens in such situations, one group member began bemoaning all that sportsmen had lost, as he looked back longingly to the “good old days.”

He rightly noted that in the South, because of changing land use, quail increasingly belong to a world we have lost. That led to fond recollections of boyhood squirrel hunting, days afield with a chorus of beagles hot on a cottontail’s trail and a general loss of interest in small-game hunting.

            I said, “Yep, all of that is true, but when it comes to whitetails, the good old days are right now.”

            There was stunned silence. Finally, to the relief of everyone but me, the oldest member of the group broke the ice.

            He scratched his head, cleared his throat and left me in momentary agony, thinking the verbal fist of doom was about to crash down upon my head. His comment changed that.

            “You know,” he said, “much as it goes against my grain to admit you are on target about anything, in this case, you are right.”

For whitetail hunters everywhere, but certainly in the South, things have never been better. Basically, all the dramatic changes leading to the current happy state of affairs happened in my lifetime. Perhaps there’s no clearer way of depicting that than by sharing an anecdote from my boyhood.

            As a youngster growing up in the Carolina high country in the 1950s, I spent every possible moment in the wild. When I went off to college in 1960, I had seen 10 deer. They were so scarce as to be almost nonexistent, and merely seeing fresh sign was sure to evoke extended comment. There wasn’t even a deer season in the county where I lived. In nearby counties where you could hunt whitetails, killing a spike buck was considered a major feat. Any hunter who killed a deer was sure to dominate the conversation at the local barbershop for months. Today, on a 93-acre tract I own, a week of hunting will usually result in several dozen deer sightings. That is, by any standard, an index to remarkable change.

Varying Paths to One Goal

            Much of that change is because of restocking. Relentless market hunting, poorly conceived and poorly enforced game regulations and various other factors had all but exterminated whitetails through much of the South. Incredible though it might seem today — when folks are accustomed to nightly raids on their gardens and constant deer depredation on treasured flowers —large areas of the South didn’t hold deer early in the century.

            Yet by the late 1940s, though it was not obvious to average sportsmen, promising changes were in the works. For starters, the reign of King Cotton, which had produced vast acreages of unsuitable habitat, had ended. Agricultural practices were in transition, and that would benefit whitetails. Similarly, strong game laws and game departments, better enforcement and the full-scale realization of the whitetail’s plight helped. So did passage of the Pittman-Robertson Act in 1937, with its devotion to habitat acquisition and restoration. The passage of that federal legislation coincided closely with the advent of trained wildlife biologists, who had a pretty good handle on what needed to be done. All of that translated to conservation coming of age at about the same time serious whitetail restocking got going.

            Restocking approaches varied from one state to another in the South, and in most states, deer came from various locations. This isn’t the place to argue between “lumpers" (folks who lump all whitetails together) and “splitters” (people who split genetic hairs and identify some 17 subspecies of whitetails). Suffice to say that the genetic background of deer used in restocking largely explains dramatic differences in whitetails — even within a fairly small area — concerning rack size, body weight and general appearance.

Tennessee might be considered a microcosm of Southern restocking. From the 1930s through 1985, Tennessee brought in just more than 1,500 deer from other states for restocking. They came from nearby Kentucky and North Carolina, and from more distant states such as Maryland, Michigan, Texas, Virginia and Wisconsin. The Volunteer State even tried a small stocking of blacktails from Oregon. Along with restocking from external sources, the program — especially after it got going in strong fashion — saw many thousands of deer moved from one part of the state to another. By the late 1980s, restocking had been sufficiently effective statewide for every one of Tennessee’s 95 counties to have a deer season.

            From that point, the situation has pretty much reversed from the need for restocking to one of killing more does for herd balance.

            If you look at other Southern states, you will likely see situations somewhat analogous to that of Tennessee. Mississippi, for example, brought in deer from six states and Mexico, and Arkansas imported deer from six states. There were appreciable variations in how many deer states had when restocking commenced. In some, whitetail numbers were exceedingly low. Arkansas, for example, probably saw its statewide herd drop as low as 500 before the rebound.

Variations, Differences

            Generally, deer fared best in those states where there were large areas that might be described as “back of beyond.” Usually, though not always, those were vast swamplands in the coastal plains. Even so, a state such as North Carolina, which has a coastal plain characterized by numerous black-water rivers winding across a swampy landscape, saw its population decrease to about 50,000 animals before beginning major restoration efforts in 1944. At that point, less than half the state was open to hunting, and the only areas with sizable deer populations were more remote portions of the coastal plain and isolated areas of the Pisgah National Forest in the mountains.

            South Carolina forms an interesting and noteworthy exception. During restoration efforts, most states imported deer from any sources available, but South Carolina kept its gene pool “pure.” Even at the low point of deer numbers, whitetails had remained reasonably plentiful in the swamplands bordering Low Country rivers and in the vast areas of what is now the Francis Marion National Forest. Anyone who has read deer hunting stories by Archibald Rutledge, a great South Carolina sportsman and sporting scribe, knows that was the case. The heart of Rutledge’s hunting career spanned from the World War I era to the 1950s, when deer numbers in the Palmetto State were at their lowest. Yet he and his hunting friends killed hundreds of bucks, almost all using the traditional method of using dogs to drive deer to standers.

            Those deer, and the fact that South Carolina relied solely on them for restocking, means the genetic integrity of the state’s deer is pretty much intact. Or, to put it another way, when a hunter kills a deer in South Carolina, he is killing a true native — a lineal descendant of whitetails that have always been there. That translates to more uniformity in the body and rack size of mature deer than in many other states. It also offers an explanation — though the quality of food and environmental factors also contribute — why only a handful of Boone & Crockett deer have been taken in the state.

            Conversely, neighboring Georgia, where considerable restocking was done using imports from Wisconsin, has produced more Boone & Crockett bucks. Study the counties where the most record-book bucks have come from, and compare them with the history of restocking. You'll start to question just how much genetics matter. It’s a fascinating sidelight into the restocking picture — one that might make wildlife biologists do some rethinking about the sources they used when restocking deer.

            In fact, that brings to the forefront one of the offshoots of deer restocking: variations in the timing of the rut. Although you don’t have dramatic differences in climate across the South, the timing of the rut varies dramatically. That is connected with the genetics of deer in an area. Alabama, which is noted for its late rut (January) and late season, offers the most striking example. If you hunt in the northern portions of the Talladega National Forest, the rut occurs during the latter half of November. That’s because deer stocked in that area came from North Carolina. In the southern reaches of the Talladega National Forest, or almost anywhere in the fabled Black Belt, which stretches across the state from east to west, you have deer descended from transplants.

In South Carolina, with its native deer, the peak of the rut falls in early November. In no other state in the South will you find things quite so predictable. That’s because the genetics of deer in other states aren’t quite so clear cut.

Conclusion

            The saga of whitetail restocking in the South is glorious. Deer numbers are at historic highs almost everywhere, and thanks to long seasons and abundant game, putting venison on the table is relatively simple. The late Walt Schrader, a pioneer in South Carolina deer restoration, whom I happened to know pretty well, might have spoken for all deer hunters when he said, “The tale of the whitetail, when it comes to the success of restocking, is a glorious tale indeed.”