The doe wandered across the wrong property. What鈥檚 left of her now is a blood stain in a bathtub.
Oregon Fish and Wildlife Trooper Darin Bean finds the deer鈥檚 remnants in a backwoods central Oregon home. He had been searching for the man who illegally shot the deer last January and now, months later, missed his court date.
Bean creeps around a dark corner and calls out to see if anybody鈥檚 home. He pulls back a yellow-crusted shower curtain and shines a flashlight on the stain.
鈥淭his is all deer blood, from where they had the deer hanging,鈥� he whispers. 鈥淚n the spare bathroom, you know.鈥�
Losing female mule deer is especially harmful to a population already in decline 鈥� a population Bean and his law enforcement partner, Trooper James Hayes, have struggled to protect. Together they are the only Fish and Wildlife troopers patrolling a habitat roughly the size of Connecticut.
While federal authorities have turned their attention to global wildlife trafficking, resources for catching poachers have diminished in the Northwest.
As a result, police say, the vast majority of poachers in the Northwest go uncaught.
鈥淲e鈥檙e probably not scratching the surface,鈥� Oregon State Police Fish and Wildlife Capt. Jeff Samuels said.
Based on biologists鈥� studies and known compliance rates, Samuels guessed his troopers detect about 10 percent of mule deer poaching.
"We expect them to do this broad spectrum of things for a huge territory, and it has got to feel like an overwhelming job,鈥� said Oregon Rep. Ken Helm, D-Beaverton. Helm, a lawyer and steelhead fisherman, introduced a bill in January that would have increased penalties for wildlife crimes.
The bill died in committee despite widespread support from environmentalists, animal rights activists and hunting and fishing groups who say wildlife crimes are given low priority in the courts.
鈥淲hen they work up good cases against these poachers, we owe it to them to pursue these cases in court aggressively,鈥� Helm said. 鈥淚f poachers know they鈥檙e going to get off, they鈥檒l turn right around and do it again.鈥�
Mule deer鈥檚 steady decline across the West has resulted from habitat loss, disease and poaching. A study by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife
Rural towns in Oregon and Washington thrive on the dollars generated by outdoor recreation.
Rampant poaching also harms wildlife in a not-so-obvious way: When trophy animals are taken illegally, there are fewer prizes for those who hunt and fish by the rules. After enough bad fishing and hunting seasons, people will give up those sports 鈥� and stop buying fishing and hunting licenses, ODFW spokeswoman Michelle Dennehy said.
Species conservation in both states is in large part financed by the sale of those licenses, along with taxes on ammunition and fishing supplies.
Add the toll poaching has on hunting and fishing opportunities to the list of other reasons for these declining fees and taxes and the result is a revenue shortfall for fish and wildlife programs. Dennehy鈥檚 agency faces a . Its counterpart in Washington faces a .
鈥淲hen we can鈥檛 offer as many
It鈥檚 a clear day at Twin Lakes north of La Pine. Trooper Bean is standing in tall grass staring through binoculars.
He spies a campfire on the far side of the lake.
There he finds Larry Archer, whom he knows well, and Archer鈥檚 brother. They鈥檝e each got a line in the water but nothing鈥檚 biting. Bean knows Archer鈥檚 license is good before he checks it.
Archer says he鈥檚 known Bean long enough to get in trouble once.
鈥淵eah, Larry shot our decoy one time,鈥� Bean says.
鈥淏lew him clean off his feet, though,鈥� Acher says of the stuffed deer. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 miss when I shoot.鈥�
鈥淒id you get a ticket, Larry?"
鈥淵eah I did."
鈥淭hat wasn鈥檛 fun. I鈥檒l tell you what, Larry.鈥�
鈥淗ey, you鈥檙e doing your job,鈥� Archer says. 鈥淵ou gotta do it.鈥�
Bean and his partner, Trooper Hayes, have spent the past 16 years patrolling near La Pine. Both grew up hunting, fishing and hoping to become game wardens some day.
Today, they know roads their GPS doesn鈥檛. Bean can鈥檛 buy chicken strips at the Gilchrist grocery without being approached with multiple leads. Ask Hayes about a white sedan or a red Jeep he spotted months ago and he can tell you what kind of tires it had.
鈥淲e鈥檙e both pretty successful at catching people,鈥� Hayes says.
Bean and Hayes are more effective working together, but doing so too often means days when no one is on patrol.
Oregon and Washington have fewer fish and wildlife troopers than they had in the 1980s. The region鈥檚 population has grown by more than three million since then.
Meanwhile those troopers still working fish and wildlife enforcement have fewer hours to devote to such cases. To avoid deeper staff reductions and raise their profile, the states鈥� fish and wildlife enforcement divisions are also putting their troopers on other duties, like boating and ATV safety or drug eradication.
鈥淵eah, the days of just solo Fish and Wildlife are not anymore,鈥� Bean says.
In rural Oregon, the presence of local law enforcement has diminished as federal payments have been curtailed for timber-dependent counties. That means there are times when state Fish and Wildlife troopers are also the only on-the-ground police.
On one weekend alone, Bean and Hayes handled arson, domestic violence, DUIs, hit-and-runs and burglaries. Bean says many residents call his cellphone instead of 911.
Shifts like these -- working ATV safety detail or responding to general police calls -- takes them away from tracking down poachers, Hayes says. 鈥淎 lot of these wildlife cases take lots of hours, just sitting in the desert, looking for our suspects. There鈥檚 thousands and thousands of miles of road they can travel.鈥�
The way the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife has dealt with these expanding responsibilities for its shrinking enforcement troops has contributed to .
A group of them launched an online petition to overturn the current administration. Their union investigated Deputy Chief of Enforcement Mike Cenci and lobbied legislators and the state Fish and Wildlife Commission to intervene
Their main gripes: Too much emphasis on shellfish and not enough on wildlife. That, and too much work unrelated to fish or wildlife, like traffic stops or drug enforcement.
Todd Vandivert, a retired WDFW detective, has led the effort. In 2013, he detailing an undercover sting operation as well as his disdain for Cenci and the rest of the administration.
鈥淲hen our administration prioritizes shellfish above everything else, something鈥檚 gotta give,鈥� Vandivert said. 鈥淲e only have so much time and money and manpower.鈥�
Washington has 100 land-based officers and 27 in its marine division. The agency鈥檚 investigative unit, meanwhile, spends at least 70 percent of its field time on marine issues such as lucrative shellfish trafficking, according to an analysis of WDFW data.
鈥淚 would like to have the luxury of driving a game management unit and try to catch that guy taking natural resources when you鈥檙e not allowed to have them,鈥� said Cenci, who oversees the agency鈥檚 marine division. 鈥淏ut I can鈥檛 ignore the fact that I鈥檝e got a multi-million dollar commercial industry rife with complexity and high potential for abuse occurring at the same time.鈥�
In Oregon, Bean and Hayes are going hard after a big game case.
In January, after months of pursuit, they
鈥淭hat guy 鈥� one guy 鈥� killed a tremendous amount of deer,鈥� Bean says.
Using a search warrant, Bean and Hayes seized nearly 20 antler sets, along with deer meat, firearms and controlled substances. Parsons has been charged so far with .
Months later, Parsons has yet to stand trial. He has not responded to requests for an interview.
鈥淗e鈥檇 shoot five to six deer a night,鈥� Bean says. 鈥淎nd he鈥檇 cut the antlers off. With a chainsaw. And bring 鈥榚m home, and as far as we could tell sell the antlers.鈥�
Where exactly poachers sell has remained a mystery for Bean and Hayes, but they鈥檝e learned recently of a local antler dealer said to be in possession of several thousand dollars worth of stolen horns.
If they can connect suspected poachers like Parsons to the dealer, that can mean additional charges, such as racketeering. That would draw a stiffer penalty than a poaching charge by itself.
鈥淚f there鈥檚 no jail time involved and it鈥檚 just monetary small fines, they鈥檙e not likely to quit, if they鈥檙e the real criminals,鈥� Hayes said.
Minimum restitution has increased over the years: Poaching a trophy deer will cost you $6,000 in Washington. It could cost $7,500 in Oregon.
For other species, the financial gains from trafficking eclipse the penalties. The highest estimates value bear gall bladders, used for medicinal purposes, at up to $10,000 on the black market. Oregon has no such restitution for poaching a bear.
鈥淛udges all too often let poachers off with a slap on the wrist to go out and continue decimating our big game resources,鈥� Rich Thompson of Traditional Archers of Oregon .
In 2014, Bona Bunphoath 鈥� a man Vandivert called the 鈥� 鈥� 鈥� received 30 days of community service and 60 days of home detention after pleading guilty to four counts of first-degree unlawful trafficking in fish and wildlife. Bunphoath鈥檚 supplier was sentenced to 240 hours of community service.
鈥淚t鈥檚 very common,鈥� Vandivert said 鈥淓specially in counties where they have a really big population base. First of all, they aren鈥檛 even familiar with the laws. And second of all, I think a lot of the big cities see it as, 鈥楽o what?鈥欌��
In the course of a 19-month undercover operation, Vandivert said Bunphoath was involved in the sale of 10 elk, three deer and 11 sturgeon.
Bunphoath sees it differently. He said in an interview that he only bought enough to feed his family, not knowing it was illegal. Not until the state baited him into selling more, he says, did he expand his business.
鈥淔or them to say I鈥檓 the biggest bust, I don鈥檛 think I can ever agree to that,鈥� Bunphoath said.
Prosecutors across Oregon and Washington shared mixed responses when asked about claims that fish and wildlife cases are handled inconsistently or given lower priority in the courts. Many said their approach to those cases is no different than any other type of crime. Others lamented budget cuts and limited jail space that make prosecuting all cases difficult.
Take, for instance, Ulys Stapleton, the district attorney and the lone prosecutor in Lake County, Oregon. Stapleton鈥檚 office often receives cases from Bean and Hayes. Hayes says jail time, not fines, has been a better deterrent against poaching. But Lake County鈥檚 jail has 17 beds and Stapleton says most are claimed by people involved in drug-related crimes.
鈥淚 understand why officers may be frustrated but you don鈥檛 have the resources to throw everyone in jail,鈥� he said. 鈥淪o, what I try and do is hit them up with a fine. Make it hurt for months at a time instead of a few days in jail.鈥�
The sun is setting on a windy day in Lake County by the time Hayes stops his truck beside the antler dealer鈥檚 gate.
Bean pulls up minutes later in a cloud of dust, along with troopers from Bend and John Day who are also tracking sales from poaching suspects.
Hayes rolls down his window: 鈥淗e鈥檚 not home.鈥�
鈥淣ot home,鈥� Bean echoes. 鈥淒id you see any activity?鈥�
鈥淚t鈥檚 padlocked. Looks like one set of tire tracks came out of there maybe this morning.鈥�
They meant to come earlier but Bean was called in as backup on a burglary that turned out to be a false alarm. The county sheriff had no officers available to send.
The fish and wildlife officers wait outside the property for a few tense minutes before the dealer returns a call to Bend trooper Travis Ring.
鈥淲ell, what鈥檚 the word?鈥� Bean asks.
He鈥檚 gone for the evening. The antlers have moved on. His sale records aren鈥檛 at the house, either.
鈥淚 said, 鈥業鈥檓 trying to run down some stolen horns,鈥欌�� Ring tells them. 鈥溾�榃ho do you sell them to?鈥� He said 鈥業鈥檓 running a business and I鈥檓 not in the business of telling you where I鈥檓 selling my stuff.鈥欌��
Without the dealer鈥檚 help, the chances of proving the sales involved poached antlers get slimmer. Short on options, they agree to return another day. So, they load up and roll out. And the hunt goes on.
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Tony Schick, OPB/EarthFix
/Darin Bean looks through binoculars at Twin Lakes while chatting with La Pine resident and fisherman Larry Archer. Bean cited Archer in the past for shooting a wildlife decoy.
Tony Schick, OPB/EarthFix
/Oregon Fish and Wildlife Police seized several antler sets in the course of investigating suspected poacher Gene Parsons and others.
Tony Schick, OPB/EarthFix
/Fish and Wildlife troopers from Bend and La Pine wait outside the property of an antler dealer in Central Oregon. They need his help to track down some stolen antlers and connect suspected poachers to antler sales.
Tony Schick, OPB/EarthFix
/Oregon State Fish and Wildlife troopers James Hayes, left, and Darin Bean patrol several thousand square miles in central Oregon, where mule deer are in decline.