If you freeze it, they will come.
When Tracy Daniel stuck a roadkill buck in a walk-in freezer and returned eight days later, he pulled out a deer popsicle and engineered one of the most outrageous and effective stings in outdoor history.
All hell broke loose when Daniel, an Oklahoma game warden, posed an iced decoy in a pasture on the opening morning of deer season, fooling a carnival of illegal road hunters: seven consecutive vehicles, seven busts, a gaggle of outlaws, a pile of shells, and a stash of cocaine.
“Looking back, it ranks as one of the wildest operations of my career,” he recalls. “It was crazy, and I never dreamed it’d work so perfectly.”
A Dish Best Served Cold
Past and present, big numbers of bucks fall prey to road-hunting poachers, regardless of county or state. However, in 1986, five years into Daniel’s 38-year tenure with the Department of Wildlife Conservation, the Sooner State was a particularly hot road-hunting haven.
Across west-central Oklahoma’s Canadian County, Daniel covered thousands of backroad miles in a dark blue, extended-cab 4WD Dodge pickup, dressed in green khaki pants and off-gold shirt, strapped with a .357 Magnum, Smith & Wesson Model 66. Daniel and his game warden counterpart in adjoining Blaine County, Gary Smeltzer, were consistently inundated with road-hunting calls from farmers and rural landowners, a logistical nightmare considering a single officer’s territory averaged 1,000 square miles.
“The No. 1 technical violation we handled was fishing or hunting without a license, but the No. 1 major issue we dealt with was road hunting,” Daniel says, his words coated in an easy Southern dialect. “No question: The most calls we got from frustrated landowners were about poaching from the road, both in and out of deer season.”
“Road hunting was a terrible problem,” Smeltzer echoes. “We had gotten our Oklahoma deer numbers way up, but the improvement was also a major increase in bait for poachers. There was so much road hunting going on and farmers, landowners, and genuine sportsman were tired and angry about what was happening.”
Specifically, Daniel and Smeltzer fielded heavy call volume from property owners along the South Canadian River, roughly 45 miles west of Oklahoma City. Deploying plastic/synthetic deer decoys to catch poachers red-handed was not an option, Daniel explains: “Plastic decoys were out, but the state didn’t have them yet, and we had no decoy program at that time.”
“Taxidermied or robotic decoys were yet to arrive, but we had complaints pouring in,” Smeltzer concurs. “But it’s very, very hard to catch someone red-handed. You have to see them physically do it. You have to catch’em in the act.”
Approaching opening day of rifle season in November 1986, a distinct farm located in a poaching hot zone near the Canadian River afforded Daniel and Smeltzer a high probability of concentrated illegal activity.
“Farmers and landowners were our lifeline for tips and information,” Daniel explains. “They were our eyes and ears. And the farm owner in question was tired of poachers and wanted something done. Enacting any kind of decoy operation is only merited in spots where there is a heavy amount of illegal hunting complaints—and this was right in the middle of such an area.”
Over a pot of leaded coffee, the two men hashed out an outlandish plan: Find the right roadkill deer specimen. Not too big and not too little. Not a monster rack and not a spike. Just a common, believable buck that might draw the barrel of a poacher.
“You couldn’t just go catch a deer and tie it up out there. That would have been crazy,” Smeltzer exclaims. “But why not use an actual deer? Why not find the right dead deer?”
And if an ideal, Trojan Horse roadkill buck was found? Pop it in the freezer at the Darlington Game Farm, a state-owned bird hatchery and research station in El Reno; extract it on opening morning for the sting; place it on farmland under cover of darkness; and wait for the fireworks to begin at daybreak.
“We contacted our chain of command and explained the plan,” Daniel notes. “They gave us the green light, provided we had landowner permission—which we had 100 percent.”
On Nov. 14, eight days before the opening of rifle season, Daniel’s truck radio buzzed with a call reporting a fresh roadkill deer. “It was 6-point buck on the small side, about 160 lb., and not torn up,” he describes. “It was average. It was the exact deer we were looking for.”
The sting was in motion. Poacher’s justice was a dish best served cold.
Lock, Stock, Smoking Barrel
Wood, wire, and a tilt of the head did the trick.
Pulling in at the Darlington Game Farm, Daniel was greeted by the gung-ho site manager, Rex Brothers. The two men dragged the buck into the facility and began a DIY session in sub-zero taxidermy.
“We pulled his legs out straight and stuck boards between to make sure he’d freeze in a standing position. At the same time, we wired his ears up, with his head turned. We worked him so that his body would be broadside with his head cocked toward the road, looking toward a potential shooter.”
Daniel and Brothers carried the buck into Darlington’s walk-in freezer, propped the deer against a wall, and let the cold take over. Two days later, Daniel returned to the freezer to check on the preservation process. Bingo. All good.
Impatience building, with four days left until rifle season, Daniel returned to Darlington once again, and this time he rocked the buck onto its four hooves, making certain of its standing stability. “Looked great. Frozen solid.”
Roughly 80 hours of additional freezing time later, on a Saturday prior to Thanksgiving Day, opening morning arrived. At 4:15 a.m., Daniel opened the walk-in freezer and retrieved the impostor—a herculean task even for the stout game warden’s broad shoulders.
“I miscalculated a little bit,” he chuckles. “I went to Darlington alone and when I tried to carry the deer by myself, the 160 pounds felt like 300 pounds. I’m talking about frozen as hard as rock. So hard. In total, he was in that walk-in freezer for about eight days.”
Laying the buck on its side in the Dodge’s bed, Daniel rumbled away, bound for farmland along the South Canadian River, for a meet-up with Smeltzer and Oklahoma State Trooper Kirby Logan.
Roughly 30 minutes later, on a sandy river road that ran east-west, Daniel pulled up beside a flat pasture, devoid of cattle, flanked by a large hill adequate for ensuring gunfire stayed within the field’s bounds. Within minutes, Smeltzer arrived in his patrol truck with Logan riding shotgun.
Navigating with flashlights and moving with urgency in case of any drive-by onlookers, the three men hauled the frozen deer over the pasture’s fence and placed the decoy 100 yards into the field. “We got the buck in place, completely unseen,” Daniel recalls. “It looked as real as a frozen deer could possibly look. Broadside to the road, head turned looking down the road, and ears erect. To any passerby, it looked like the deer was dialed in.”
Decoy in place, Daniel, Smeltzer, and Logan hustled to pre-planned concealment. Smeltzer and Logan drove a third of a mile away, where the river road took a 90-degree northbound corner, and took cover behind brush. Remaining within sight of the deer, Daniel crawled into a parallel bar ditch, hiding at a best-estimate spot where vehicles might stop for a shot.
“If any poachers showed up, Gary and Kirby would be able to hear the gunfire and come, but the plan was for me to radio them anyway as I was making first contact and getting any shooters to lay down their weapons,” Daniel explains. “No matter our planning or what we thought of the location, we didn’t know what was about to go down. How could we? Never stuck a frozen buck in a field.”
Daniel suspected most traffic would come from the east, approaching as morning sunlight illuminated the 6-point buck standing as still as a statue in an open field—essentially a deer in a solar spotlight.
Crouched in the ditch as first dawn split the sky, Daniel heard the creep of an engine, followed by the grind of rubber on sand, and felt his chest tighten in anticipation. Would a potential outlaw buy the feint? Indeed. Lock, stock, and smoking barrel.
Biting the Apple
Crisp and clear. Mild early temps, hovering in the low 40s. A beautiful day for a sting.
Peeking over the lip of the bar ditch, Daniel watched as a westbound pickup truck slowed to a crawl at the sight of the beckoning buck. The driver gave the wheel a hard turn and eased into park only 20 yards from Daniel’s position. The driver’s window descended, and a rifle barrel emerged. Seconds later—a blast.
Daniel scrambled out of the ditch, radioing for backup, and moved in while hollering out identification and direction: State game warden. Put down your gun. Shut off your engine.
“The guy was shocked,” Daniel describes. “Wide-eyed. In disbelief. He was looking at me, and then looking back at the deer, and then back at me. We wrote him a citation for hunting from a public road and hunting with the aid of a motorized vehicle. We could have added a citation for hunting without the landowner’s permission, but the landowner had to sign that kind of complaint, and this farmer wanted to stay out of that degree of involvement.”
Citations completed within minutes, Daniel ordered to driver to continue westbound. Conveniently, no vehicles came by during the enforcement process. Once again, Daniel, Smeltzer, and Logan took up concealment and waited for the next outlaw to show. Minutes later, a second vehicle drove into view.
“This time, a truck stopped, again about 20 yards from me, and the passenger window came down. The passenger took a shot at the deer, and I was up and headed right for them. And these guys, despite it being opening day, had no hunting licenses and no deer tags. They were stunned and kept glancing back at the deer. We wrote them up, sent’em on their way west, and got ready for the next customer.”
Par for the course, no vehicles drove by during the second bust. Daniel prepared for a third bite at the apple: “That’s when things got wild. Of course we didn’t know it yet, but the first seven vehicles down the road were all going to poach our frozen buck.”
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Cocaine Cowboys
Every truck held a slightly different dynamic, but each contained at least one outlaw willing to chase a hologram.
“Some guys got out on the road to get a shot,” Daniel notes. “Sometimes the passenger shot instead of the driver. Sometimes the vehicles turned different ways to get a shot. But every single one of them had something in common—a reaction of total shock, because the buck looked so real. The rifle shots basically had no effect and didn’t knock over the deer or even really budge him.”
By 10 a.m., the ice was holding hard, with minimal thawing effect visible on the decoy buck. Spaced approximately 30 minutes apart, six consecutive vehicles with poachers aplenty had been busted. “It was bang-bang. Apprehend, issue citations, send them on their way, take up position. There were no hitches the entire time. No vehicles came along during any of it to expose the operation.”
“It was beyond anything I’d expected,” Smeltzer adds. “I was hoping to catch a single road hunter to help get the word out. Instead, poacher after poacher took shots. They may as well have lined up in the road.”
Confidence riding high, Daniel slid into the bar ditch, quiet as a teardrop, ready for lucky No. 7.
After several minutes of pause, waiting for the inevitable hum of a distant engine, the sting almost went sideways. A thundering boom ripped the air and threatened to lift Daniel out of the ditch. No trucks or cars in sight. Just the unexpected crack of a deer rifle, seemingly feet from Daniel’s hideout.
Peeking out of the ditch toward the field, Daniel saw a figure clad in blaze-orange, toting a rifle. “The shot scared me so, so, so bad because it came out of nowhere. In the field, I could see a teenager—an honest hunter. I instantly realized the decoy had tricked him.”
The teen, a 14-year-old boy legitimately hunting another area of the farm with landowner permission, had spotted the buck from afar and moved in for the kill. Daniel had to deliver the bizarre news to the heartbroken kid. “I walked over and said, ‘Son, that’s not a real deer. It’s frozen. I’m so sorry and I hate to ruin your hunt, but we are running a decoy operation and we need you to move along quick.”
“The kid was torn up and so disappointed going from high to low, but before he walked off to join his dad who had dropped him off in another direction, he asked me, ‘Can we go see where I shot him?’ It was the least I could do, so I let him go look. Sure enough, he’d bull’s-eyed that deer and would have dropped him if it’d been real.”
An hour later—with still no vehicles passing to blow apart the ruse—Daniel hunkered in the ditch for one last toss of a frozen lure. And this time, he hooked a trio of cocaine cowboys.
The Thaw Cometh
Skies beaming blue, a four-door sedan poked down the river road at 11 a.m., popped its brake lights, and lurched into park. Three doors swung open; three men jumped out; three rifles blazed away in Wild West fashion. The buck, still maintaining posture, stared toward the fire without the barest degree of twitch. Frustrated, the men continued chambering rounds and pulling triggers.
Yelling at the top of his lungs, Daniel, carrying only a single sidearm, approached cautiously: State game warden. Cease fire. Lay down your weapons.
Bewildered, the trio stopped shooting and put down their rifles as Smeltzer and Logan roared into view. As Daniel and Smeltzer began handling the wildlife violations, Logan spotted marijuana in plain view. Next up, a stash of cocaine.
“It was wild,” Daniel says. “As I recall, they weren’t even rough looking. Just some old Oklahoma boys out roaming strictly to poach on opening day, but with no hunting licenses or deer tags, and carrying drugs to top it all off. All the other violators that day got citations and were sent on their way, but the last three left in cuffs with Kirby Logan.”
After seven vehicles, seven busts, and a total of 13 outlaws, the jig was up and the thaw was on. Once granite-hard, the mighty ice decoy was sagging like too much flesh squeezed into spandex.
Twice Lucky
Walking into the pasture, Daniel rolled the buck on its side, officially ending the sting. Before leaving, curious as to the marksmanship of poachers shooting from 100 yards distant, he counted the bullet impact locations.
Twice. A mere two on-target, poacher shots across the deer’s entire body.
“That buck had been shot at all morning, sometimes with guys taking multiple shots, but it only was hit three times,” Daniel notes. “And one of those was from the 14-year-old boy. The truth was that all those road hunters, together, only hit the buck twice.”
Soon after Daniel’s ice operation, Oklahoma kicked off a highly successful synthetic decoy program, negating future frozen stings. “We’d get tips from farmers about hard-core road hunters who were after something bigger than 150”, and we’d deploy big racks because the new decoys accommodated different antler sizes. There were plenty of road hunters that wouldn’t risk it for a 6-point buck, but they’d risk it all for a trophy.”
Retiring in 2019, Daniel had a front-row seat to human nature: good, bad, and ugly. “Across my life as a game warden, the frozen buck will always rank close to the top in my memory bank of unusual stories,” he adds.
“As a game warden, you take away a whole lot of life lessons about what people will do when no one is looking,” Daniel concludes. “As crazy as it was during the entire frozen buck operation, with vehicle after vehicle doing the same thing, a sad fact remains: A 14-year-old boy, hunting for all the right reasons, was the only one that behaved properly the whole day.”
For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:
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Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust
Priceless Pistol Found After Decades Lost in Farmhouse Attic
Bizarre Mystery of Mummified Coon Dog Solved After 40 Years
Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told
Cottonmouth Farmer: The Insane Tale of a Buck-Wild Scheme to Corner the Snake Venom Market
Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing
How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer
