Chris Casad rises before dawn on his Central Oregon property, a farm he purchased nine years ago with aspirations of cultivating vast quantities of potatoes. Today, however, water shortages have compelled him to leave fields fallow and seek employment tending to someone else’s livestock. At 38, Casad operates tractors that predate his own existence, while his young family faces mounting debt from their 85-acre homestead, a constant cycle of equipment failures and endless repairs.

The agricultural crisis gripping their farm began with a severe drought, marked by three consecutive summers of ravenous grasshopper infestations decimating remaining crops, reservoirs succumbing to toxic algae blooms, nearly a thousand Oregon wells running dry, and the springs feeding the Deschutes River dwindling to historic lows. Yet, the ultimate blow to Casad’s livelihood was not solely environmental; it was the consequence of Oregon’s century-old water law, a system that inherently protects some water users at the expense of others.

The Casads witnessed firsthand the state’s decision to curtail their community’s allocation of irrigation water from the Deschutes, a move dictated by this very law. Consequently, farmers in Jefferson County, where they reside, were forced to abandon cultivation on one-third of the county’s irrigated land. "There were a number of suicides, let alone people who closed up shop, older farmers just not wanting to waste their life’s worth of work and their savings on just trying to keep it going," Casad recounted, his voice heavy with the shared hardship of his neighbors.

Meanwhile, a mere few miles upstream, the same state law has, paradoxically, enabled landowners to lavish water upon some of Oregon’s most valuable real estate and least productive farmland. An extensive analysis of water usage conducted by investigative journalists reveals that these water-rich individuals reside within the Central Oregon Irrigation District (COID). COID operates as a quasi-municipal corporation, functioning as a hybrid public utility and homeowners association, responsible for managing and distributing the majority of the Deschutes River’s water.

Collectively, six irrigation districts divert over 90% of the Deschutes River’s flow in Bend between May and September, with COID wielding the most significant influence. Its water rights, secured in the early 1900s when the state was allocating the Deschutes’ resources, place it at the front of the line. In the Western tradition of water law, this seniority—these "senior rights"—guarantees a protected water share even during times of drought.

The Central Oregon Irrigation District diverts more water annually from the Deschutes River in Bend than all other irrigation districts combined. This senior status, however, is contingent upon COID’s ability to demonstrate that landowners within its district are putting the water to "beneficial use" without waste. Yet, Oregon’s policymakers have established such flexible definitions of what constitutes beneficial use and waste that during the recent drought, a mere one in every four gallons diverted by COID was absorbed by crops, according to the analysis.

When presented with the findings of this analysis, which utilized state-commissioned satellite data, water officials and COID leaders offered differing perspectives. While the state did not contest the data, irrigation district representatives expressed distrust in the figures, which were generated by Oregon lawmakers to assess water availability. COID also argued that the drought years were atypical. However, the analysis, spanning both wet and dry periods, indicated a consistent proportion of diverted water being consumed by crops each year.

Additional records from both the district and the state illuminate how much of the diverted water percolated into the soil, evaporated into the arid air, or drained off fields into surrounding scrubland and desert. Some of this water did replenish the aquifer, and some returned to the river downstream, contributing to waterways that environmental regulators have identified as warmer and polluted. The scant portion of water that actually nourished crops was, overwhelmingly, used for grass and pasture.

Chris Casad, who grew up in Bend, the region’s principal city, observed the transformation of farmland into sprawling subdivisions. The once-dominant lumber mills gave way to shopping centers anchored by outdoor retailers, and an economy historically reliant on timber and agriculture pivoted towards tourism and recreation.

Even as the city evolved, canals originating from the Deschutes continue to meander through Bend’s residential neighborhoods, eventually reaching estates, farms, ranches, and luxury resorts on the city’s periphery. Among these properties is a horse ranch owned by Phil and Penelope Knight, the founders of Nike and one of the world’s wealthiest families. Their ranch, which raises "high-end" horses and sells hay, is a substantial consumer of COID water. A manager for the ranch declined to comment on their water management practices.

Another long, gated driveway leads to an 80-acre property that was once arid scrubland. Cinematographer Byron Garth acquired water rights through COID a decade ago to irrigate a portion of this land. The water facilitated the transformation of a rocky hillside into what an auction listing last year described as an "exclusive compound paradise," complete with a 6,300-square-foot mansion featuring radiant heated floors, three guest houses, an expansive 10,000-square-foot garage, and a swimming pool, all enveloped by a meticulously maintained lawn.

For several years, Garth cultivated hay for approximately 15 alpacas and goats using his water rights. Ultimately, he found it "cheaper to just mow it." While Garth acknowledged reservations about using such significant amounts of water during the drought, he reasoned that someone had to utilize it. "For the aesthetic value," real estate agent Jen Bowen remarked about the property’s verdant landscape last year, offering a tour shortly before Garth sold the estate for $4.8 million. "I think most of us would agree – it’s nicer to look out over a lush pasture than it is the high desertscape."

Sprinklers maintain the vibrant green of the landscaping surrounding a pond and a pool at a property formerly owned by Byron Garth. The land, situated within the Central Oregon Irrigation District, saw Garth purchase water rights in 2016 as he was developing the multimillion-dollar estate.

One of the district’s most water-intensive developments is Ranch at the Canyons, a gated community featuring dozens of Tuscan-style mansions valued in the millions. Its residents jointly own an equestrian center, a luxury wedding venue, a winery, and a nonprofit farm managed by "dedicated ranch management and local farmers." A development manager did not respond to requests for comment. The community’s website promises homeowners "the peaceful rhythm of agricultural life – without the work."

A similarly opulent property, listed for $15 million, invites prospective buyers to envision more than just a residence or a cattle ranch, but "a Playground for Ambitions, for Imagination, for Dreamers, and for Doers." The most recent state data available, spanning 2015 to 2022, indicates that over 90% of the acreage within the district is dedicated to growing grass—primarily for pasture and hay production to support livestock, as well as for landscaping.

Casad’s farming career began within this district. He leased land near his hometown in 2010, and within a few years, he achieved profitability, harvesting thousands of tons of organic potatoes annually with a massive harvester he affectionately called "the white whale." He was drawn to farming in a region historically renowned for its potato production, once supplying one in every four bags of potatoes in the state. He leased more land, sold his produce at farmers’ markets, supplied a local brewery with potatoes for its fries, and hosted school field trips, aiming "just to show kids what a working farm is, where their food comes from."

COID’s water allocation was initially a significant advantage. "It was just always on," Casad recalled. However, this abundance of water eventually became a challenge. He couldn’t simply cease the flow without jeopardizing his landlord’s water rights. Consequently, he resorted to methods common among other landowners in the district: finding ways to utilize the "overabundance" or capture excess water in ponds. When one pond filled, Casad began excavating a second to prevent inundation of his neighbor’s property.

On more than a third of COID’s acreage, landowners employ flood irrigation, intentionally saturating fields. Water flows directly from ditches across the land, submerging crops, pooling, and then either evaporating or seeping into the ground. Water experts emphasize that water runoff from fields or seepage from canals eventually filters into aquifers or returns to the river. They argue this is not waste, as it recirculates within the river basin.

However, this recycling process takes time, while the consequences for the Deschutes River are immediate. Farmers are reducing their irrigated acreage, and approximately 40 miles downstream from Bend, fish habitats are suffering, according to state scientists. Once the irrigation districts divert their substantial share of the river’s flow during the growing season, average remaining flows over the past decade have been about half of what the ecosystem requires, based on stream gauges and state conservation targets. "The river always loses," stated former state biologist Brett Hodgson.

The fact that a significant portion of the irrigation water is, in various forms, recycled elsewhere does little to assuage concerns for COID landowners like David Fisher. Fisher flood irrigates about 60 acres of his property to cultivate hay and pasture for his cattle. "We’re just wasting water. Really. We are," remarked the 72-year-old butcher shop owner. "Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a tree hugger or one of those people that think that we should stop this for the frogs or the fish. But there’s got to be a middle of the road."

Only a quarter of the water the Central Oregon Irrigation District diverted from the Deschutes River was consumed by crops; most of it leaked from open canals, percolated into the ground, or ran off fields before returning to aquifers or to the river downstream.

Both the volume of water the district utilizes and the types of crops its landowners cultivate are sanctioned by the state. Oregon, in line with other Western states, stipulates that as long as irrigation is applied to "beneficial use without waste," water rights are protected. However, the definition of beneficial use is broad, encompassing virtually any cultivated plant, provided it is irrigated and not a native species or a noxious weed. Ninety years ago, a California court established a seminal legal precedent by prohibiting the use of irrigation water to drown gophers, a ruling that exemplifies the limited scope of what has been legally defined as waste.

Water rights are considered a form of property right, and although the law is intended to adapt to evolving circumstances, courts have historically deferred to past practices in determining the permissible water usage for landowners. In the eyes of Oregon courts, "waste is like pornography," attorney Karen Russell explained, adding, "You know it when you see it." Consequently, it matters little whether landowners are cultivating the prized crops that once fueled the Deschutes Basin’s annual potato festival, where women vied for the title of "Miss Spud," or the grass and hay that now support today’s "Playground for Ambitions."

The Redmond Potato Show in 1912 and again in the 1960s illustrates a bygone era. For nearly half a century, much of the Central Oregon Irrigation District’s water supported potato farms that supplied the West Coast. During the 1950s, local high school students were excused from school for a week to assist with harvests that filled as many as 20 rail cars daily.

This is the crux of the issue that COID’s Managing Director Craig Horrell attempts to address at town hall meetings. When questioned about incentives to encourage efficiency on "hobby farms," Horrell bristled at the term, labeling it an attempt to "shame and coerce us into change." He asserted, "We as district managers don’t get to decide whether we like somebody growing carrot seed or somebody having two llamas and a Prius in the driveway. If you’re using your water beneficially and growing a beneficial crop, that is what we manage. We don’t have the right to say whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing."

The district prioritizes ensuring landowners cultivate a non-native crop, a verification process involving field inspections and aerial surveillance, according to COID’s Deputy Director of Water Rights, Jessi Talbott. Each summer, a COID-contracted aircraft surveys the district’s more than 70 square miles of farmland, an area larger than Oregon’s capital city, Salem, searching for unwatered or brown patches. Failure to use water in designated areas at least once every five years can lead to the state revoking unused water rights. Since 2020, Oregon regulators have canceled irrigation water rights only four times, none of which occurred within COID. "Nobody else in the state does what we do to try and encourage use," Talbott stated.

Since 2021, the district has dispatched over 1,000 letters to landowners, warning them of potential water rights forfeiture. Talbott clarified that the intent is not to intimidate but to educate patrons on water stewardship. She added that COID possesses the authority to confiscate rights if landowners suspected of non-compliance fail to take corrective action, though such instances are rare.

Casad’s landlord received a letter from COID in 2016, after aerial surveillance identified "specific dry areas" on the property, district records indicate. At the time, Casad and his wife, Cate Havstad-Casad, had converted a rocky section of the land into a compost pile and a parking area for their equipment. "In order to satisfy the powers that be seeing that we’re using the water, there was an entire season where we had to water that compost pile and equipment yard," Havstad-Casad recounted. By the following year, a COID inspector’s report noted "enough growth to avoid confiscation." In 2023, on a different property, Andria Truax and her husband, Dan Baumann, received a COID warning letter that plunged them into "panic mode," they reported. The couple operates a nursery specializing in drought-tolerant landscaping plants on a 10-acre property near Bend. "We’re supposed to keep some of these areas green that are next to impossible to grow anything on," Truax said. They were reluctant to douse rocky soil and contend with the weeds that would inevitably emerge. The irony was not lost on her: "farmers are getting cut off from water downstream and meanwhile we’re being told to water more." Nevertheless, to safeguard their water rights and property values, they activated their sprinklers.

COID does not instruct landowners to water rocks or compost piles, Talbott stated in a previous interview. In a more recent conversation, she described the finding by OPB and ProPublica that only approximately 25% of the district’s diversion was consumed by crops as "infuriating." "We do so much to educate our patrons and for them to use the water right and make products out of it, feed the community, feed cows, whatever is in alignment with water law," Talbott expressed.

During the same meeting, Horrell maintained that the district not only avoids over-delivering water but also acknowledges that some properties do not receive sufficient amounts. COID does not directly measure individual landowner water consumption, focusing instead on the extent of irrigated land. In its water management conservation plan, which covers 2015 to 2020, COID estimated crop water requirements based on landowner surveys of their crops—predominantly pastures—and federal weather data. These average estimates suggested that crops required approximately 27% of the water the district diverted annually from the river, a figure closely aligning with the analysis’s finding on actual crop water consumption, derived from the state’s satellite data study. Horrell and other district officials did not respond to multiple inquiries regarding the numbers presented in COID’s own conservation plan.

State leaders have long grappled with the equitable distribution of the Deschutes Basin’s water resources amidst escalating drought conditions, population growth, and increasing demand. Bend and Redmond, the basin’s two largest cities, face uncertain future water supplies; during the 2022 drought, COID diverted over 12 times more water than both cities combined, despite their combined population of approximately 132,000 residents. While agriculture represents the largest water consumer nationwide, COID’s contribution to Oregon’s agricultural economy ranks among the lowest in the state. The region’s primary agricultural output is horse sales, ranking higher than other Oregon counties.

State Representative Mark Owens, a hay farmer from Eastern Oregon and a prominent voice on water management, contends that the district’s "hobby farmers" are receiving excess water "which they do not need, should not have to utilize and should not be delivered to them." He believes Oregon is long overdue for a reevaluation of its water management practices. The beneficial use rule, Owens explained, was initially intended to foster rural economies and "it’s what allowed some of our communities to prosper." However, he questioned the current application: "you have a group of folks that employ nobody, harvest nothing, so how are you actually providing a public benefit for that water? So is there something broken? Yeah, there is." He posed the critical question: "How do you get the most crop per drop?"

Rather than imposing mandates, the Legislature has opted for incentives, such as authorizing programs that compensate individuals for leaving water in the river without forfeiting their water rights. Baumann and Truax eventually participated in such a program, dedicating a small portion of their water rights. However, the state does not dictate how irrigation districts implement these incentives. COID’s board of directors has capped participation, limiting eligibility to very few properties. Horrell stated that the district must restrict enrollment in water-sharing programs because its 120-year-old delivery system would be compromised if the canals were not consistently filled to capacity.

The district’s extensive network of open, unlined canals relies on gravity to channel vast quantities of water from the river to fields located over 30 miles away. Horrell explained that in the past, when COID reduced the volume of this "carry water" excessively, farms situated at the system’s extremities suffered. However, the district has acknowledged in public forums and interviews that the substantial water loss through seepage and evaporation along the canals represents a significant waste. To address this, COID is seeking over $700 million in public funding to replace the existing canals with modern, pressurized pipelines. Since 2015, the district has already secured more than $65 million for piping projects. "There is no dispute that we all want a better, more equal, more balanced water delivery system that benefits our river, our partners, districts, cities. That’s a given," Horrell remarked. "How we get there is what we argue about." He emphasized that COID operates as a business that must adapt to changing climate conditions and become more sustainable.

While COID’s water rights permit it to divert even more water from the Deschutes than it currently does, Horrell noted that the district has voluntarily reduced its diversions over the past decade of drought. He indicated that, thanks to piping initiatives, the district now delivers some water to downstream farmers even when not contractually obligated. "But," he added, "that doesn’t mean that it is not ours." Environmental advocate Yancy Lind, who participates in a state-supported water planning group with districts, cities, and state managers, stated that the Deschutes River, like rivers nationwide, is public property, and taxpayers are investing heavily in its conservation. "We live in the West and in the West, water is power and the irrigators have the water. It’s that simple," he concluded. "They have all the cards. We’re just trying to pull little crumbs out from them."

After seven years of leasing land within COID, Casad relocated north to Jefferson County and the North Unit Irrigation District, where he now resides. His move was motivated by the affordability of purchasing land and the region’s fertile soil, which produces over half of the world’s carrot seed supply. Furthermore, he desired to live among fellow dedicated farmers, such as his new neighbor, Jos Poland, a "tough dude" and a lifelong dairy farmer. This transition, however, came with a significant trade-off. Casad moved from a district with abundant water to one that has historically contended with scarcity. North Unit is the first to face water cutbacks during a drought. Even in a favorable year, North Unit provides half the water per acre compared to COID, and it experiences a higher percentage of water loss through leaky delivery canals. Nevertheless, its crops consume a substantially greater proportion of the water the district diverts from the river, according to the analysis.

Farmers in North Unit take pride in their water efficiency. Driving through Casad’s neighborhood reveals rows of water-saving sprinklers and pumps diligently recycling and reapplying runoff captured in specialized ponds. "It’s the only way we’ve been able to survive," said Gary Harris, an 80-year-old farmer and a longtime resident of the district. Casad understood this reality and calculated that half the water on fertile land would suffice. This proved true until the drought intensified in 2020. To sustain his farm, he began fallowing two acres for every acre of potatoes he planted. Nearby, Poland’s organic cow pastures withered, forcing him to sell half his herd. "I was losing money so fast that I couldn’t afford to feed my animals," Poland recalled, describing the profound depression that followed. He struggled to leave his bed, while Casad began assisting him with the dairy operations, working through the night on his own farm.

Cate Havstad-Casad recounted watching the lights of her husband’s tractor from their window. She was pregnant with their first child and, experiencing contractions, delayed calling for help for hours, understanding the immense pressure on his shoulders. Casad wept as he recounted memories of the drought, admitting, "Some of this stuff you just bury. You bury it down deep." During those challenging years, which coincided with the pandemic, Jefferson County Commissioner Kelly Simmelink reported hearing from farmers struggling with declining commodity prices, escalating operational costs, "and then the real fact of water availability – I don’t know how you continue." As the drought persisted, Jefferson County’s suicide rate nearly doubled. "Our farmers and ranchers face immense pressure," Simmelink told the Legislature in early 2023, successfully advocating for the establishment of a state-funded suicide prevention hotline for agricultural producers.

Two years into the drought, at a North Unit spring meeting, Casad learned he would need to further reduce his water usage. For every acre of vegetables he could plant, four would have to remain fallow. He called his wife to deliver the news while she was out of town. After hanging up, she sat alone in her hotel room and broke down. "It doesn’t have to be this way," she stated through tears in a video diary she recorded at the time. "It is Oregon water law which will give a very wealthy person with a hayfield that they literally mow and leave in the field and do nothing with because their life has nothing to do with the land, that person will get twice as much water as any professional farmer will get in North Unit."

Casad no longer cultivates potatoes; the bins that once stored them now sit empty in the barn. He now primarily grows hay and grass for cattle—crops he says require less water. However, challenging years lie ahead for farmers in the Deschutes Basin. This year, Oregon’s snowpack is among the lowest on record, a vital source for percolating into the ground and feeding the mountain springs that sustain the river. More than half of Oregon’s counties have already declared drought emergencies. The Casad farm continues to service debts incurred from the last drought. Chris Casad worked part-time at a feedlot this past winter and is now employed as a school bus driver. To his two young children, his once-formidable potato harvester has become nothing more than a slide, a playground for their make-believe games.

A potato harvester in the barn at the Casad family farm has remained idle for four years, with the children now using it as a slide. Empty bins that once stored potatoes are also visible.

The Oregon Water Resources Department utilized stream gauges to estimate the volume of Deschutes River water diverted by six irrigation districts in Bend. These estimates, based on data from May to September when diversion flows are most consistent, do not encompass the entire April to October irrigation season. Figures regarding water lost through leakage or evaporation from the Central Oregon Irrigation District’s canals are derived from the district’s 2022 Water Management Conservation Plan, its 2016 System Improvement Plan, and state water right records. To estimate the annual water consumption by crops within COID over the past decade, reliance was placed on a recent state study integrating weather, satellite, and crop data, alongside irrigation district and county property records. The state data is publicly accessible through a 2025 study co-authored by OWRD and the Nevada-based Desert Research Institute. Reporters collaborated with Virga Labs, an Arizona-based consultant, to overlay statewide irrigated field data with irrigation district maps and county property records, specifically isolating fields within COID and North Unit’s service areas. To provide context for the water usage findings, over 50 interviews were conducted with farmers, water managers, hydrologists, legal experts, irrigation specialists, climate experts, conservation advocates, lawmakers, and COID landowners. The state’s estimates of irrigation water consumption are based on evapotranspiration data from OpenET, which combines satellite and weather data to assess water evaporation from crops. While OWRD acknowledges potential uncertainties in OpenET data in a 2025 memo, several experts consider remotely sensed evapotranspiration the most reliable method for estimating water use short of direct measurement. Efforts were made to minimize uncertainty factors outlined in OWRD’s memo by basing findings on results and trends from a 70-square-mile area spanning 2015 to 2022, the most recent period for which state data is available. County records and irrigation district billing records were used to verify that COID delivered water to the acreage included in the analysis, excluding properties identified by the state as using groundwater rights and those irrigating less than an acre, to account for potential water supply from domestic wells; their inclusion did not significantly alter the results. Information on individual properties was cross-checked using irrigation district records, aerial imagery, and landowner interviews. The analysis did not aim to precisely quantify the fate of all water diverted by COID that was not consumed by crops. COID provides approximately 1% of its water rights for purposes other than irrigation, according to state records, and these uses were not factored into the analysis.