By Tony Dean - Dakota Country Magazine - Sept., 2005
I remember when the How-Kota Bowmen who held licenses scored 100 percent on deer with La Framboise island producing most of them. The archery club was based in Pierre, SD and the perfect scores spanned several years during the late 1970s and early 1980s. In fact, La Framboise and its near identical twin, Farm Island, usually produced the majority of the annual Hughes County deer harvest.
But much has changed in recent years and what’s noticeable to most is the deer population, which is now a fraction of what it was in the early 1990s. And though some might suggest the deer population has fallen because of over-hunting, they are wrong.
First, these are not actually islands though they once were. They are peninsulas; each connected to the mainland by a causeway, and they are marvelous places. I’ve hunted both morel mushrooms and whitetailed deer here, and I’ve seen bumper crops of both. During the 1970s and 80s, I often spent mornings and evenings in strategically located tree stands, where in a few hours I’d often see as many as 50 deer. I can remember quiet slow deer drives conducted by fellow archers, where as many as a hundred or more deer would move past my stand. At times, deer were so thick that I once unintentionally arrowed two deer with the same shot. The statute of limitations has long since passed, so I can tell the tale. Fortunately, it was the final day of the archery season and there was at least one other willing to tag the extra deer.
But today, both islands are a remnant of what they were in terms of deer hunting places. I walk La Framboise regularly and where I’d once see 10 to 30 deer on a typical hike, these days I rarely see only a deer or two, if at all.
What caused these changes? A combination of things including a herd that grew too large for it’s habitat. While most bow hunters considered it a wonderful situation, it soon developed into a major problem.
Aldo Leopold wrote, “Just as a deer herd lives in mortal fear of its wolves, so does a mountain live in fear of its deer. And perhaps with better cause, for while a buck pulled down by wolves can be replaced in two or three years, a range pulled down by too many deer may fail of replacement in as many decades.”
In this case, there are no wolves. Not even a mountain lion or two that we can use as convenient scapegoats, but we cannot leave man off the hook, for these deer problems were manmade.
Dee and I walked La Framboise this morning. It’s a delightful place for a hike, something I have done regularly beginning a couple years ago when I discovered my blood pressure was too high. Besides, I’d grown tired of getting winded when climbing even a slight grade. There is a blue heron rookery on the island, and in past years, much in the way of wildlife. But today, La Framboise is a quieter place, and once I started looking at it through a more educated eye, I began to see why.
A few weeks back, I saw a sign at the entrance suggesting people who enjoy the island contact Dave Ode, a botanist at the SD Game, Fish & Parks Department, to obtain a free copy of a study he’s completed. It was that study that opened my eyes.
So this morning, I walked and looked, while Dee did what black labs do on such hikes. She smells everything, because in her world, everything is worth a sniff. But what I saw tells a visual story. Walk the trails, look in any direction and you see why deer have declined so dramatically. Look anywhere in an otherwise dense forest, and you can easily see 30 yards or more. You shouldn’t be able to see that far in this forest. But it is what you don’t see that tells the story. In a healthy forest, enough sunlight reaches the forest floor to cause the growth of vegetation, another name for deer browse. Here, there is none. In fact, everything a deer can reach is gone. Just as the island’s deer herd lived in mortal fear of men carrying bows and arrows, these two islands have been living in fear of their deer. And for the same good reason the deer in Aldo Leopold’s tale, “Thinking Like a Mountain,” may have taken three or four decades to be replaced, that may well be the case with the deer here.
The island deer taught me much over the years. For example, there is the myth that corn-fed deer taste better than those in a forest. Those who believe that have never tasted a Farm or La Framboise island deer.
“They taste better than any deer I have killed anywhere,” said pioneer Pierre bowman Rick Ray. And he should know. Rick is now in his sixth decade and has probably successfully arrowed more whitetail deer than many so called deer experts. The truth is, deer aren’t geared to eat corn, and anyone who has bagged an island deer and does his own butchering knows that if the deer body contains fat, you cut it off. And for years, Farm and La Framboise deer never saw an ear of corn.
So what caused the island deer population to decline?
The closer you look, the more you realize that change has been constant on these islands, and the biggest began the day Oahe Dam was closed. Back when the Missouri was a real river, it frequently flooded these islands, and that resulted in new cottonwood seedlings each year. But ever since the dam was sealed in 1963, the cottonwoods have been declining while two other species, juniper and russian olives have been increasing. In doing so, they have shut sunlight off the forest floor, which prevents the growth of browse vital to deer. So when you walk the island trails and look right or left, it’s what you don’t see that’s responsible for the deer decline. Meanwhile the deer have eaten most of the browse off the forest floor and their meals are currently being taken to a level as high as a deer can stand on its hind legs. What little forage the deer haven’t consumed, a large supply of cottontail rabbits has. Though there are predators that like rabbits, they haven’t made a dent in the population, and other than bowhunters, the island deer face no predation. But since the severe winter of 1996-97 took a toll on the large deer herd, the rest of the animals have gone into a population nosedive that shows no signs of righting itself. Even so, it’s a mixed blessing. Had the large herd numbers continued, restoring the island would be more difficult. The biggest question is how long, if the right steps are taken, will it take to develop a good deer herd that’s in line with what the carrying capacity of each of the islands is.
The trigger for all the changes was the harnessing of a wild river with a dam. Thus, we have a tradeoff. We gained salmon, northern pike, and of course, walleyes, but gave up our forests, and ultimately, our whitetail deer. In future years, it could cost us more. Bald Eagles rest in cottonwoods. What if they disappear too?
If it is a trade, did we get enough in return? Yes, if you restrict the period to that enjoyed by this generation of Dakotans. But what of our kids? I’m not so sure, and I say that because all reservoirs age, and if you believe the hypothesis in Mark Reisner’s book, “Cadillac Desert,” you start to wonder. Reisner believed all dams were destined to fail, either through the natural process of siltation, or a geologic fault that would cause the failure of the structure itself. Reisner presented his case in cold logic supported with evidence that was difficult to refute.
We are already seeing the signs of failure. Lewis & Clark and Lake Sharpe are aging before our eyes. In the 1970s, Jack Merwin and I caught lots of big post-spawn walleyes each spring in the backwater known as Hipple Lake. The water was clear in those days and all it took was casting a diving crankbait in any direction. A few hours and you went home with your limit. But then the enemy of all reservoirs, siltation, began to darken Hipple Lake’s water. Soon enough, it swallowed it and the great walleye fishing came to an end.
In the years since, I’ve seen much the same thing happen to the upper portion of Lake Sharpe. From a few miles south of Pierre, silt has clogged the bottom of the reservoir nearly all the way to Joe Creek, some 40 river miles eastward. It has also caused significant flooding in the lower portions of eastern Pierre, enough for the US Congress to spend millions of dollars to buy out homowners who tired of flooding basements.
But think of all the electricity we’ve generated.
A cynic might reasonably ask, “But at what cost?”
Just as many find it difficult to follow the flow of chemicals from the upper Midwest clear to the Gulf of Mexico’s “dead zone,” so will others not understand the connection between placing a dam on a free flowing river and the deer of Farm and La Framboise islands. But Ode’s research makes it clear.
Here is a list of the significant changes:
The disappearance of the cottonwood forests.
The rapid growth of areas known as the “cedars,” which are actually junipers. Their canopy shuts sunlight from the forest floor, preventing the growth of vegetation that various wildlife species depend on.
The increase in marshes due to higher water levels, which replaced cottonwoods and green ash, and filled the void with the invasive narrow leaf cattail,
Some low-lying areas are undergoing conversion to wetland habitats, killing trees.
A former sandbar that was historically present on the southeastern part of the island has become vegetated, mostly by cattails and invasive Russian Olive trees.
An area that once was cleared for agriculture has been vegetated by another warm season invasive, smooth brome grass, which is worthless to wildlife. And Russian olives are also invading this area.
Ode’s study predicts that unless something is done by managers, the invasive species such as juniper, cattails and brome grass will dominate the islands, and if that happens, there won’t be much for wildlife. And he believes some of the impacts of dam construction can be negated by the implementation of some of his recommendations. They include:
Reforesting the grassland portion with cottonwood trees. Though converting it to native grass might aid some grassland nesting birds, the area is too small to benefit these species. Since bald eagles depend on cottonwood trees as roost sites, this measure seems logical.
Retain the “cedars” area and allow junipers to expand where the green ash trees are abent. Dense stands of juniper do provide “warmth” for deer during the winter, but do not provide food for them. Some birds eat the berries on the female trees.
Promote a mixed deciduous forest where green ash and other deciduous trees including slippery elm, bur oak, American elm, hackberry, basswood and eastern red cedar. All of these trees are compatible with a green ash-dominated forest.
Clear juniper seedlings and saplings, retain and encourage green ashplant and protect native plant species that may reproduce, control deer and rabbit numbers to enable seedling development, and conduct plantings in forest-suitable soils.
Plant cottonwoods and other suitable eagle roost ree species along the periphery of the island where cottonwoods are not reproducing.
Figure a way to deal with the most difficult problem of all; coping with the level fluctuations that are a normal part of dam management.
People have always had trouble understanding the connections alluded to earlier, such as that between closing a dam and the impact those hydrological changes have on the vegetation of islands a few miles downstream.
And it’s hard not to admit that Mark Reisner was right when he wrote that all dams are destined to fail. I don’t fear dam failure on any of the Missouri River reservoirs, but you don’t have to look very far (think Lake Sharpe and Lewis & Clark Lake) to realize how fast siltation is taking place.
Nor is it hard to realize the truth in Aldo Leopold’s writings about a mountain living in fear of its deer herd. And La Framboise and Farm islands on the Missouri River near Pierre have good reason to fear their deer.
