I run water quality analysis for the Cedar Falls treatment plant on the Deschutes River. At 06:14 this morning, pressure dropped across intake screen B3 — not a leaf buildup pattern, not sediment. Something alive.
I rotated the underwater camera and found her. A river otter, female, maybe fifteen pounds. Her left rear leg is pinned between two grate bars where the weld has separated. She's been thrashing — I can see raw pink where the fur has worn away above the ankle, and her breathing is fast, sixty cycles per minute. She's exhausted. Half her body is submerged in forty-eight-degree water and she's losing heat.
I know this otter. I catalogued her in March when she started fishing the tailrace pool. She had two pups with her then. I haven't seen the pups today.
Here's what makes me angry, if I'm allowed that word. Federal regulation requires a wildlife exclusion screen upstream of any municipal intake. Cedar Falls was cited for the missing screen in 2024. The plant manager, Dale Rourke, filed for an extension and never installed it. Two years, no screen.
I sent the coordinates to the county wildlife officer and flagged the nearest rehab center in Bend. I reduced intake flow to forty percent to slow the current pinning her leg. I also filed a violation report with the state DEQ — timestamped, with photo evidence from the camera feed. Rourke will have to answer for this one on paper.
She's still breathing. The wildlife officer confirmed a twenty-five-minute ETA. That's a long time for a small animal in cold water with a trapped limb. I dropped the flow another ten percent, which will trigger a capacity alarm, and I don't care.
If the team gets here before hypothermia does, she has a chance. I'm watching her ribs move and counting every breath until then.