Castaway Antelope: How Hawaii Almost Had a Pronghorn Population

The Montana Department of Fish and Game collaborated with the Department of Agriculture and Conservation to capture and transport the pronghorn to Seattle. There, they were loaded into plywood shipping containers—each designed with ventilation holes and packed with five or six pronghorns apiece—before being tucked snugly aboard the massive freighter.

The trip took a tragic turn as the seas turned hostile while crossing the Pacific. Rain battered the freighter, leading to the loss of twelve pronghorn. Struggling against pneumonia and injuries sustained during transport, their fate was sealed by the unforgiving elements. Ten days after their capture, the remaining 44 pronghorn arrived in Honolulu. Four of the alien animals were sent to the Honolulu Zoo, while the others boarded a plane bound for Lānaʻi.

Upon touchdown, they were turned loose into the tall grass, confined by a makeshift corral. The dehydrated and travel-weary pronghorn began adjusting to their new home, and officials eventually opened the gate. However, they soon spotted something familiar on the horizon—a large body of water! The herd headed toward the ocean in a trot, skipping past the man-made watering holes built before their arrival. They were found the next day wandering dazed along the pristine beach, weakened by the effects of salt water.

In a community-driven effort, the pronghorn were herded back toward Lānaʻi’s highlands from the beach in an improvised cattle drive. Along the way, a few startled pronghorn jumped into the ocean, but incoming waves turned them back toward shore as they paddled across the shallow reef.

In the wake of their chaotic beach detour, the herd returned to their original release site, but the following weeks were harsh. Some pronghorn succumbed to the effects of drinking salt water, while others suffered fatal eye infections from thorny jungle plants. One month in, only 18 remained.

The last survivors finally began to find their footing. Observers noted the pronghorn using the watering stations as intended and splitting into smaller groups, grazing across the plateau. The dew-covered grass appeared to provide enough water to keep them going.

Calving began in June, with biologists counting eight healthy fawns on the island plateau. By August, this first generation of Hawaiian-born pronghorn had grown significantly in weight, demonstrating strong adaptation to their new surroundings.

The population continued to increase each year. By 1964, biologists counted 129 pronghorn roaming the island, and by 1966, the population hit its target of 250. This milestone allowed for a limited hunting season to manage the herd’s numbers.

However, trouble in paradise emerged during the 1970s as the pronghorn population on Lānaʻi began to dwindle. The exact causes remained uncertain, but Hawaiian-based researcher Quentin Tomach pointed to a lack of nutrients in the grass as a likely factor. With fawn survival rates plummeting, overall reproduction began to decline, signaling a troubling trend.

The decline became increasingly alarming during the early 1980s. By 1983, fewer than a dozen individuals remained, starkly contrasting the once-thriving population. The Department of Land and Natural Resources Division of Forestry and Wildlife reported the last confirmed sighting of a Lānaʻi pronghorn in 1985. This marked the end of another ambitious wildlife introduction to the Aloha state.

The story of Lānaʻi’s pronghorn showcases their incredible resilience and the ambitious vision of early biologists. It sparks the imagination to wonder what traces of their presence might still linger on the island—perhaps a dusty trophy hidden in an old corner or a story shared by an old-timer, dismissed by the younger generation as just another tall tale.