The era of live deer capture had an aura of glamour to it. But the reality for those involved was very different.

The era of live deer capture had an aura of glamour to it, much as ground hunting and aerial venison hunting had previously.

But the reality for those involved was much different. Families lost their fathers. Wives lost their husbands. Some such as pilot Dave Richardson carried lifelong injuries suffered in crashes.

"And I lay there and I thought, 'oh god, I've smashed my bloody machine'. And I thought, 'I'll just lie here for a bit and then I'll get up' and I went to get up. And there's no one at home to get up. I just couldn't move. And I thought, 'oh, god, I've broken my back'."

But the industry itself was about to crash in the most dramatic way when on the 26th of July 1995, then Finance Minister Roger Douglas introduced a standard deer price and a reversal of tax write offs to take effect immediately. The bill had an immediate and catastrophic impact on deer farmers and those holding onto deer while building up a herd for the future. Predictably, the Queen Street farmers vanished overnight and their money with them.

Some heavily indebted deer farms went into bankruptcy. Many people like Harvey Hutton were ruined overnight, losing both land and house. Even today those who were caught out are bitter about the way the legislation was brought in with no consultation or the chance to prepare.

Today deer farming in New Zealand is a $300 million industry, the largest in the world. Some 2,000 farms hold 800,000 deer, all of it built on the back of these pioneers.

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The success of live capture and the skyrocketing prices inevitably encourage poaching.

The success of live capture and the skyrocketing prices in the mid 70's (up to $4-5,000 per animal) inevitably encourage poaching.

Opotiki-based Milton Kuri sums it up well; "I used to wake up in the morning and open your arms up wide and whatever was out in front of you was all yours, and that's how you looked at it."

Poaching was widespread and indiscriminate. Deer were poached off paddocks or the bush edge on farmers properties. Choppers were shot at by enraged farmers and others who resented the unrelenting poaching. Civil Aviation tried to prosecute crews and did catch a few but the poachers were so mobile it was an uphill battle.

By now many of the older pilots and shooters had either retired or gone elsewhere and the lure of big money (and the perceived glamour) saw a flood of new and inexperienced pilots coming into the industry to try their hands.

Once again it was learning on the job and only the best could manage the demands of live capture, flying fast into tight gullies or dodging trees while chasing a deer through the forest.

Crashes and deaths were all too frequent and as usual the women at home had to deal with the consequences.

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By the mid 70's things were about to change dramatically. The hunters had become so efficient they were shooting themselves out of a job.

From 1967 on, businessman Tim Wallis had exclusive hunting rights to all of Fiordland National Park and was taking out deer in their thousands.

Resentment from other operators at being excluded came to a head in 1973 in the so-called Helicopter Wars with constant poaching in the park. It went too far with helicopters being sabotaged and eventually the RNZAF stepped in to try and sort it out - to no avail.

But things were about to change dramatically again in the industry. The hunters had become so efficient they were in danger of shooting themselves out of a job. As deer numbers diminished it became uneconomic to keep flying and the end was in sight.

In desperation the industry tried their hand at live capture to set up deer farms. It was highly risky work at first. Leaping on running deer from a helicopter - known as bulldogging - or firing tranquiliser darts into animals. Each approach had its own problems of having to be so close to the animals - and the ground.

What saved the day was the invention of net guns. The first were very crude and took a terrible toll on the shooters with their savage recoil. Many a net was fired into the rotors or snagged on helicopter skids or tangled in bushes and crashes increased. Eventually more sophisticated guns were developed that the pilot could fire remotely.

Because of tax breaks for investors, the so-called "Queen Street farmers" got into the game, and the demand for live deer skyrocketed. The price of a hind rose from three or four hundred dollars to three, four and even five thousand dollars a beast. On a good run, pilot and shooter could make $10,000 before breakfast - unheard of money for the times.

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The mid 1960's are the golden years for aerial hunters. Venison prices are high, fuel costs low and there seems no end to the deer. But something has to change.

The numbers of animals are now dwindling. Deer start to become wise to the danger of choppers and hide in the forest, laying down in the tussock or rocks or change their feeding patterns so they only come out at night.

It becomes harder to find deer and harder to cover flying costs and make a profit. So the pilots and shooters take more risks. As they push boundaries, inevitably there are accidents and deaths.

Brian Bluey recalls a typical aerial crash with a chopper written off and a badly injured shooter airlifted out on a stretcher. Just another accident that hardly rates a mention in this high adrenaline world.

By now some men have suffered multiple crashes and the toll begins to tell with different families coping in their own ways. Lyn Bond tells how she became a believer in fate, ''when your time's up, your time's up."

This belief will be tested in the worst way possible.

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Shooting from choppers is a game changer but teams are learning from scratch, working at break-neck pace in such dangerous terrain that an accident is always on the cards.

Shooting deer from choppers may be a game changer but everyone is learning from scratch. Working in such dangerous terrain, an accident is always on the cards. As shooter Jeff Carter puts it, "there were no margins for error."

Pioneering pilot Tim Wallis crashes his first chopper within ten days of getting it. A series of accidents and fatalities follow, rocking the industry.

Each man reacts differently but almost everyone smokes. Veteran shooter Pete Campbell recalls the stress of flying "in one of those damn machines."

"I'd probably go through about two pack of cigarettes. I dunno, it was just the height that scared you and this was the safest time in the whole lot."

Many shooters drink every night after work, probably to calm the nerves and avoid dealing with the stress of this dangerous work. But families suffer as a result and alcohol becomes a major factor in fractured marriages.

The consolation (and the lure) is big bucks. The men are earning huge money for the time and spending it on new cars, land and or fancy furniture for the missus. A few wise ones save their money.

But the money doesn't compensate wives and families for the long periods when they're left alone wondering, as the accidents mount, if they'll see their husbands again.

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The arrival of helicopters turns the culling business on its head. Hunters shoot deer from the air and with big money to be made, venison recovery will never be the same.

It's the early 1960s and helicopters have turned the culling business on its head. Aerial hunters are shooting 150 or more deer a day, chasing big profits but courting incredible dangers.

With low fuel prices and venison selling for a pound a pound, this is an absolute gold rush. Fortunes are being made and, in some cases, lost.

But the risks are also growing. These are inexperienced pilots in underpowered choppers, flying with a bare minimum of training, anywhere between five and 50 hours. Today a pilot would need between 200-300 hours minimum for this type of work.

The hunters learn their dangerous craft on the job and it's a steep and sometimes deadly learning curve. Crashes, deaths and bad injuries are common and it's the wives and families who bear the burden.

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Suddenly everyone wants to be a culler but who will make the cut?

Suddenly everyone wants to be a culler but who will make the cut? Books about culling start to attract all sorts of men to the job. But while some are experienced shooters, others are bank clerks or shop managers with no experience in the bush.

Applicants from all over New Zealand try out for a rigorous and no nonsense six week course in Marlborough run by the NZ Forest Service . The primary training camp, called Dip Flat, covers key bush skills but also puts them through their paces.

They tackle river crossings, firearms safety, camp cooking and a ruthless assessment of their physical fitness for the job. Then there's the infamous "gut buster " - a gruelling 1500 metre climb up to the snowline which weeds out the unfit pretty quickly.

Around the same time, the overseas venison market is booming and private hunters can now make good money shooting. Previously treated as a pest, deer become very valuable and hunters take to the hills in their droves to retrieve deer anyway they can.

Soon, very basic airstrips are being hacked out with pick and shovel in the mountains and alongside (or in) river beds. Small planes like Austens and Piper Cubs can land and take off without crashing and deer are stockpiled and flown out six or eight at a time.

This is the first venison gold rush and serious money can be made and lost.

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The elimination strategy hasn't worked. In 20 years, the cullers have shot perhaps 10% of the deer. It's time to up the ante.

By the early fifties, it's become apparent that the deer elimination strategy isn't working. One report estimates that in 20 years the cullers have shot just 10% of the deer.

So, in 1956, the well-funded Forest Service takes over the deer control programme building a network of huts (the basis of today's backcountry huts) and wire bridges across rivers.

Now, in theory, a hunter is never more than four hours walk away from a basic hut with bunks, a fireplace, billies, and often a food cupboard. Trial airdrops of food are carried out, not always successfully. Kea get into some while others land in the river or on tree tops.

However, successful drops provide a greater variety of tinned foods and basics, no longer having to be carried in on the cullers' backs. Some shooters explain how they're forced to live off just the deer they shoot when floods cut off their airdropped food supply. Others tell of coping with injuries or isolation, with some becoming virtual recluses.

Yet with the new huts, better food, some tracks and some wire bridges, hopes are now high that cullers can make more of a dent in the deer population.

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Red deer run rampant across the high country in New Zealand, causing extensive environmental damage. A 50-year effort to control the invasive animal gets underway.

By the 1930's the deer population in New Zealand was out of control and causing serious environmental damage through grazing, severe soil erosion and slips from the thousands of hooves ripping up the ground. Even today you can find deer trails several feet deep crossing major passes.

The Department of Internal Affairs creates an ambitious program to drastically reduce the deer population, run by World War I veteran Captain George Yerex, aka "The Skipper". The programme hires men, mostly experienced shooters, as cullers. Their job is simple; to kill as many deer as possible, leaving the bodies where they fall and cutting off the tails as proof of kill.

There are no huts. Cullers stay in tent camps or rock bivouacs, spending up to nine months at a time in the field, often without seeing another person.

This is some of the toughest, most remote country in New Zealand. The men are working above the bush line in snow and ice, fording dangerous rivers and negotiating ravines. With no radio communications, they have to be totally self-sufficient.

The job attracts a mixture of applicants. Some are experienced bushmen but others are enthusiastic teenagers and overseas immigrants with no idea of New Zealand's harsh, mountain conditions. All of them are thrown in at the deep end with very mixed results.

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Deer Wars tells the story of the 50-year struggle to control New Zealand's red deer population. Lives were lost and fortunes made.

Deer Wars tells the story of the 50 year struggle to control New Zealand's red deer population. Numbering in the millions, the deer were causing serious, escalating damage in the backcountry.

The estimated two million deer shot by ground cullers made little impact. It took the arrival of helicopters with deadly shooters onboard and then a dramatic switch to live capture to get the numbers down.

Each period brought its challenges - from isolation, food shortages, and a lack of huts, bridges or communications for the ground cullers, to the daring and dangerous efforts to shoot deer from the air.

The risks were huge, it was all learning on the job and resulted in many crashes and accidents, deaths and injuries. The move to live capture doubled the danger and risk but also the profits.

This nine-part podcast series shares the unique and compelling story told by those who lived it.

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