New Zealand’s hunters: from predators to protectors

The isolated land of New Zealand, with its distinctive nature, must be a spot on every nature lover’s list. Millions of years of strict regulation have resulted in a fragile native ecosystem, honoring the hunters as key players in protecting New Zealand’s biodiversity. Like every location, the unique environment of this island country dictates the entire philosophy and practice of hunting.

Meet Ian Cox, who introduces himself as both a ground and aerial hunter of New Zealand. With at least thirty years of experience, he has plenty of stories to tell about the principles of hunting here and its fascinating evolution.

When pests invaded an island haven

New Zealand’s famously unique fauna and flora are a result of millions of years of complete isolation. Before humans stepped onto the land, the only native land mammals were two species of bats. This allowed animals and plants to evolve without the threat of predators. Consequently, in their absence, many birds evolved without the need to fly, replacing some of the land mammals. The perfect environment allowed the fauna and flora to thrive until European settlers introduced species such as goats, pigs, deer, and possums. These newcomers had no natural predators and started to damage New Zealand’s pristine ecosystem.

Measuring success

Hunting emerged as a vital solution for controlling invasive species. Unlike in North America and Europe, where hunting is often considered as wildlife management, in New Zealand, it’s primarily for pest control – here, deer, pigs, and goats are considered pests. Eventually, it became a cultural heritage that had to be maintained continuously to prevent disruption of native fauna and flora. As Ian Cox adds, “Five million people live in New Zealand, and a million of them would be hunters. Everybody just lives and breathes it. The culture of hunting and fishing is a big part of life here.”

In this island nation, hunters’ success is measured by ecological outcomes, not just the number of animals taken. “The primary success metric is the Seedling Ratio Index, which measures the health of native flora by assessing if plants are growing above 300 millimeters, indicating they are not being over-eaten by pests. If hunters can get the number of animals hunted per man-day down to two or fewer, it signals that plant regeneration is happening. For protecting endangered plant species, the goal is mostly zero density,” explains Ian.

It’s no wonder that in such a rugged, steep mountain environment with dense bush and narrow terrain, hunters took to remote hunting from helicopters, as this allows for better access to these areas.

The modern hunter’s toolkit

While in some parts of the world people are only beginning to explore and adopt thermal equipment, in New Zealand it is widely welcomed, according to Ian. “Most recreational hunters see it as a benefit, so the opposition mainly comes from a small number of recreational hunters,” he says. “They are the traditional-old school hunters, who measure the horns, avoid technology, but may use ground dogs to help. But honestly, even the old-school stuff, like spotlighting forest fringes on agricultural lands at night, has been around for years here, and that can be more hazardous; a lot of people have been hurt in accidents doing it.”

In contrast to spotlighting animals at night, thermal devices allow for non-disruptive, ethical, and clear identification of animals, while offering high-resolution images, even in the most inconvenient weather conditions.

“For me, thermal isn’t cheating; it’s just being smart. You can sit on a hill with a spotting scope for ages and see maybe a couple of animals. But with a thermal, you just give it a quick scan, and suddenly you spot everything. You can see deer lying down in the scrub, which you’d never see with the naked eye,” Ian admits. Then adds, “It’s also about being more effective. Sometimes my dog will get a scent from 100 or 200 meters away, and I can just point the thermal and see a clear silhouette to confirm what’s there. It just makes the whole process so much more efficient.”

For me, thermal isn’t cheating; it’s just being smart. You can sit on a hill with a spotting scope for ages and see maybe a couple of animals. But with a thermal, you just give it a quick scan, and suddenly you spot everything.

Ian Cox

Hunting in an unpredictable climate

Just like in other places around the world, climate change is evident in New Zealand – not only on the fauna and flora but also directly in the daily work of hunters. “The most noticeable effect for me is how it’s narrowing the best time to hunt. For goat control, for instance, in the spring, around November and December, the goats usually come down from the high country where they’ve been all winter. The new growth starts in the valley floors, and the goats follow the vegetation down. This means you don’t have to cover a massive area; you can just focus on the lower third of the valleys and take out a huge number of animals, over 60% sometimes. It makes our work much more efficient, but the timing is becoming more unpredictable.”

“Climate change is also causing more frequent mast seeding events, particularly with our beech trees. When they seed, the rodent population explodes, and then the mustelids – like stoats – explode in number because they have so much food. Once the rodent population crashes, the mustelids turn to eating native birds and lizards, which is a major problem.”

The universal issue: the financial reality of conservation

While New Zealand may highlight the management of invasive species more than other regions, the underlying challenges – the continuous nature of the work, funding instability, and the struggle to apply technology due to limited resources – are highly relatable and universal problems faced by conservation professionals across the globe.

“The hardest part of the job is probably not being able to do enough of it. I mean, we’re always trying to make gains – we might get some landscape changes done, like dealing with slips from an earthquake or revegetating an area – but the threatened plants are still at risk. It’s a bit of a losing battle because as soon as you stop, you lose a lot of the progress you’ve made. You can pick it up again, but our funding is always a rollercoaster.”

“We get funding from philanthropists, the central government, and all these community groups that are passionate about protecting nature here. But it’s just not enough. The frustrating thing is that it’s all so doable. With all the new technology, like the thermal gear that has opened my eyes, and now with drones and all sorts of new tools, if you just pull all of that together, you could make a huge, huge difference,” says Ian. Then continues: “I remember my friend Ant said to me years ago, ‘Where is this all going? I don’t think they can get it any better than this.’ And then just two years later, he was like, ‘Actually, I was a bit wrong on that. Check this out!’ The knowledge and the technology are just exponential. It’s just a matter of having the resources to use it all to its full potential”.

The hardest part of the job is probably not being able to do enough of it.

Ian Cox

In New Zealand, the isolated ecosystem has not only shaped its unique wildlife but also a new kind of hunter. Here, the pursuit is far more than a sport; it is a vital responsibility. These hunters are on the front lines of conservation, fighting a continuous battle for biodiversity with a philosophy as unique as the land they protect.