Ben Martill never expected to see herds of deer galloping down busy roads right outside his flat in Horsham, West Sussex. Yet, these days, it’s become a common sight. “In the past few years there have been loads of them,” Ben, a 33-year-old gardener, told BBC. He’s watched them congregate at night on traffic islands and even had a close call while driving—"I clipped one, poor thing. It darted off into the bushes." For many Britons, these encounters are no longer confined to rural woodlands but increasingly spill into towns and cities, underscoring a problem that’s grown too large to ignore.
Britain’s deer population has exploded over the last four decades, rising from an estimated 450,000 in the 1970s to as many as two million today, according to the Forestry Commission and the Department for Food, Environment and Rural Affairs (Defra). The Covid-19 pandemic played a pivotal role in this surge; culling operations dropped significantly, giving deer populations free rein to multiply. As reported by MixVale, this unchecked growth is now causing millions of pounds in damage annually and threatening the country’s delicate ecosystems.
The roots of the problem run deep. Britain’s mild climate, open countryside, and lack of natural predators—wolves and bears were hunted to extinction centuries ago—have created ideal conditions for deer to thrive. Milder winters, likely influenced by climate change, have further reduced natural mortality rates, allowing more deer to survive and reproduce. As urban and suburban development encroaches on traditional deer habitats, these animals are pushed into closer proximity with people, bringing new challenges to both rural and urban communities.
The economic toll is staggering. In 2021, Forestry and Land Scotland estimated that deer caused £3 million worth of annual damage to young trees in Scotland’s national forests alone. Farmers like Lucy Manthorpe, who runs a 400-acre organic farm in Suffolk, have seen losses exceed £10,000 a year on just three fields due to deer. “The deer problem is costing us as a country,” she told BBC. In some cases, losses on high-value crops can soar to £1 million in a single year, the Forestry Commission notes. The financial burden doesn’t stop at crops—landowners and public managers must also pay for fencing, deterrents, and restoration efforts, costs that add up to tens of millions of pounds each year.
The impact on Britain’s woodlands is equally dire. Deer are voracious browsers, stripping bark and devouring fresh shoots, making natural tree regrowth nearly impossible in areas of high density. Alison Field, president of the Royal Forestry Society, explained to BBC, “The pressure of the deer now has become so great that we’ve lost the balance out of our landscape.” A 2013 study in the Journal of Wildlife Management by University of East Anglia researchers suggested that around half of the UK’s growing deer population needs to be culled each year to prevent devastation of woodlands and birdlife.
Public safety is another growing concern. The AA estimates that up to 74,000 deer are killed or injured on UK roads annually, leading to hundreds of human injuries and, in some tragic cases, fatalities. In October 2025, a 63-year-old motorcyclist in Oxfordshire died after colliding with a deer. The risk extends to public health as well; deer can carry ticks that transmit Lyme disease, raising the stakes for communities already grappling with the consequences of burgeoning deer numbers.
So, how did Britain get here? Of the six deer species now found in Britain, only red and roe deer are native. Fallow deer were introduced by the Romans, and three Asiatic species arrived in the 19th century. After World War One, the collapse of grand estates allowed deer populations to spread unchecked. The 1963 Deer Act imposed restrictions on culling and hunting seasons, but by the 1990s, deer had filled nearly every available habitat. Complicating matters, Britain’s deer are legally considered res nullius—belonging to no one—so responsibility for management falls to individual landowners, often resulting in inconsistent efforts.
Management strategies are hotly debated. Culling remains the most widely endorsed method by conservationists, farmers, and government officials. In 2023, Parliament was told that up to 750,000 deer may need to be culled annually just to stabilize the population. Yet, ethical concerns and public opposition persist. Non-lethal methods like contraceptive darting and extensive fencing are sometimes advocated by animal rights groups but are costly and difficult to implement at scale. The British Deer Society (BDS) cautions that fencing can also block other wildlife, while darting requires close proximity—much closer than traditional hunting.
Some conservationists and rewilding advocates propose more radical solutions, such as reintroducing apex predators like lynx, wolves, or even brown bears. Trees for Life, which manages a 10,000-acre rewilding estate in the Scottish Highlands, argues that “lynx could bring a wide range of ecological and societal benefits to Scotland.” In Europe, predators have been reintroduced with some success; Yellowstone National Park in the United States saw forest recovery after wolves were reintroduced in 1995. However, opposition from farmers and organizations like the Countryside Alliance is fierce. Tim Bonner, the Alliance’s chief executive, warned BBC that reintroducing wolves would “bring misery for livestock farmers.” Even proponents admit it’s not a cure-all—Dr. Mike Daniel, a deer management expert, said, “Being honest, it’s not a panacea.”
With culling, another question arises: what to do with the carcasses? Charles Smith-Jones, a technical adviser at the BDS, suggests eating more venison as a sustainable, low-carbon alternative to beef. “From a human point of view [deer] are a sustainable, natural resource,” he told BBC. Venison is lower in saturated fat and higher in nutrients than beef, and wild venison has a smaller carbon footprint. Still, animal rights advocates like Elisa Allen of PETA argue, “We don’t need to eat deer—and deer don’t wish to be eaten.” Instead, they call for “humane, sustainable methods of population control.”
Inconsistent management between neighboring landowners makes the problem even harder to solve. Measures taken by one property can be undone by inaction next door—deer are, after all, excellent jumpers and wanderers. The issue is particularly acute in Scotland, home to both the largest deer-stalking estates and ambitious rewilding projects. New legislation is moving through the Scottish Parliament to grant more powers for tackling deer numbers in areas facing climate and biodiversity crises. In Wales, the government is advancing its Wild Deer Management strategy, and Northern Ireland conducts annual reviews of deer-related damage.
There are glimmers of hope. On Lucy Manthorpe’s Suffolk farm, hiring staff to control deer has transformed previously barren ground into a haven for oxlips, early purple orchids, rare trees, moths, and breeding birds. “The deer are not deciding what’s going to happen any more,” she said. “Nature is deciding.” As Britain heads deeper into 2025, the challenge of managing its deer population remains daunting, but the stakes—ecological, economic, and social—are too great to ignore. The country’s next steps will shape not just the landscape, but the very character of its countryside for generations to come.
