Chris Casad rises before dawn on his Central Oregon farm, a property he purchased nine years ago with dreams of cultivating vast quantities of potatoes. Today, however, water shortages have forced him to let fields lie fallow, taking a job tending cattle on someone else’s land. At 38, Casad operates machinery older than he is, while facing mounting debt from his 85 acres and the constant need for repairs. His family’s crisis began with a relentless drought, marked by three summers of grasshopper infestations decimating crops, toxic algae blooms in reservoirs, nearly a thousand Oregon wells running dry, and the Deschutes River’s springs dwindling to historic lows. Yet, the ultimate blow to Casad’s livelihood came from Oregon’s century-old water law, a system that prioritizes some water users at the expense of others.

The Casads watched as the state reduced their community’s allocation of irrigation water from the Deschutes, a decision dictated by this antiquated law. Farmers in Jefferson County, where they reside, were compelled to cease cultivating over a 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, highlighting the devastating human toll.

Simultaneously, just a few miles upstream, the same state law has empowered landowners to irrigate some of Oregon’s most valuable real estate and least productive farmland. A comprehensive analysis of water usage by ProPublica and Oregon Public Broadcasting reveals that these water-rich residents are part of the Central Oregon Irrigation District (COID). COID, a quasi-municipal corporation functioning as both a public utility and a homeowners association, controls and distributes the majority of the Deschutes River’s water.

Six irrigation districts collectively divert more than 90% of the river’s flow in Bend between May and September. COID stands as the most influential among them, holding rights to over half of the river’s volume. This significant allocation stems from its early position in line when water rights were established in the early 1900s, backed by a comprehensive plan for water utilization. In the framework of Western water law, this seniority—known as "senior rights"—ensures that water access remains protected even during drought conditions.

The Central Oregon Irrigation District diverts more water annually from the Deschutes in Bend than all other irrigation districts combined.

This legal framework also stipulates that COID can continue to draw water indefinitely, provided it can demonstrate that landowners within its district are applying the water to "beneficial use," explicitly forbidding waste. However, Oregon policymakers have adopted such flexible definitions of what constitutes beneficial use and what constitutes waste that, during the recent drought, only one in every four gallons diverted by COID was actually absorbed by crops, according to the analysis.

The news organizations shared their findings, derived from an analysis of state-commissioned satellite data, with both state water management officials and COID representatives. While the state did not contest the data, irrigation district leaders expressed skepticism, questioning the reliability of the data collected by Oregon lawmakers for water availability studies. COID also argued that the drought years were exceptional circumstances; however, the analysis across both wet and dry periods indicated a consistent proportion of diverted water being consumed by crops each year.

Additional records from COID and state agencies detail how a substantial portion of the diverted water seeped into the ground, evaporated into the arid atmosphere, or drained from fields into surrounding scrubland and desert. Some of this water replenished the aquifer, while other portions flowed back into the river downstream, contributing to waterways that environmental regulators have identified as experiencing elevated temperatures and pollution. The single gallon that did reach crops was primarily used for grass and pasture.

"We’re just wasting water."

Casad, who grew up in Bend, witnessed the transformation of farmland into residential subdivisions. The region’s economy, once reliant on timber and agriculture, shifted towards tourism and recreation, with the local lumber mill eventually replaced by a shopping mall. Canals from the Deschutes River still meander through Bend’s residential neighborhoods, extending to the estates, farms, ranches, and luxury resorts on the city’s periphery. Among these is a horse ranch owned by Phil and Penelope Knight, founders of Nike, whose family is among the largest consumers of COID water. Their ranch, which raises high-end horses and sells hay, 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 described as an "exclusive compound paradise," complete with a 6,300-square-foot mansion featuring heated floors, three guest houses, a 10,000-square-foot garage, and a swimming pool, all surrounded by lush green lawns. Garth initially used his water rights to grow hay for about 15 alpacas and goats, but ultimately found it "cheaper to just mow it." He acknowledged reservations about using so much water during the drought but reasoned that someone had to use it.

"For the aesthetic value," realtor Jen Bowen remarked about the expansive lawn, offering a tour of the estate shortly before Garth sold it 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," she added. Sprinklers maintain the verdant landscape surrounding a pond and pool at a property previously owned by Byron Garth, who purchased the water rights in 2016 as he was developing his multimillion-dollar estate within the Central Oregon Irrigation District.

One of the district’s most water-intensive developments is Ranch at the Canyons, a gated community of numerous Tuscan-style mansions. Its residents collectively own an equestrian center, a luxury wedding venue, a winery, and a nonprofit farm managed by dedicated professionals. A development manager did not respond to requests for comment, but the community’s website promises homeowners "the peaceful rhythm of agricultural life – without the work." Similarly, a property listed for $15 million invites prospective owners to envision more than just a residence or a cattle ranch, but "a Playground for Ambitions, for Imagination, for Dreamers, and for Doers."

Analysis of the most recent state data, 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 for livestock, as well as for landscaping.

Casad began his farming career within the district, though not as a grass grower. He started leasing land near his hometown in 2010 and, within a few years, achieved profitability by cultivating thousands of tons of organic potatoes annually, harvesting them with a massive machine he affectionately called "the white whale." He took pride in farming in a region historically known as a significant potato producer for 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 to educate children about farming and food origins. COID’s water supply was instrumental in his success. "It was just always on," Casad recalled.

However, the abundant water supply eventually presented a challenge. He couldn’t simply shut off the flow without jeopardizing his landlord’s water rights. Consequently, he adopted the practice common among others in the district: finding ways to utilize the "overabundance" or capture excess water in ponds. When one pond reached capacity, Casad began digging a second to prevent excess water from flooding his neighbor’s property. On over a third of COID’s acreage, landowners employ flood irrigation, allowing water to flow directly across fields, saturating plants, pooling, and then either evaporating or seeping into the ground.

Water experts acknowledge that water runoff from fields or leakage from canals does filter into aquifers or return to the river. They contend that this recirculation within the river basin is not necessarily waste. However, this recycling process is time-consuming, and its effects on the Deschutes River are immediate. Farmers are reducing their irrigated acreage, and for approximately 40 miles downstream of Bend, fish habitats are suffering, according to state scientists. Once irrigation districts divert their 90% share of the river 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 much of the irrigation water is, in some form, recycled does little to ease the concerns of COID landowners like David Fisher. Fisher flood irrigates about 60 acres of his property for 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.

"Waste is like pornography."

Both the volume of water the district utilizes and the types of crops its landowners cultivate have the state’s endorsement. Oregon, like other Western states, maintains that as long as irrigation is put to "beneficial use without waste," water rights are protected. However, the definition of beneficial use is broad, encompassing virtually any planted crop that is irrigated and is not a native species or a noxious weed. Policymakers and courts have rarely classified uses as wasteful, with one of the most cited legal precedents dating back 90 years to a California court ruling that prohibited using irrigation water to drown gophers, according to Sarah Klahn, a water law attorney based in Colorado.

Water rights are considered a form of property right. While the law is designed to adapt to evolving circumstances, courts have historically deferred to past practices in determining water usage allowances for landowners, explains Karen Russell, an Oregon-based water law attorney. In the eyes of Oregon courts, "waste is like pornography," she stated: "You know it when you see it." Consequently, it matters little whether landowners are irrigating prized crops that were once celebrated by the Deschutes Basin’s annual potato festival, where women competed for the title of "Miss Spud," or the grass and hay supporting today’s "Playground for Ambitions."

The Redmond Potato Show in 1912 and again in the 1960s. For roughly half a century, much of the Central Oregon Irrigation District’s water fed potato farms, and those potatoes fed the West Coast (left). Local high schoolers were excused from school for a week to help with a harvest that filled as many as 20 rail cars a day in the 1950s (right).

This is the crux of the issue that COID’s Managing Director Craig Horrell, responsible for the district’s daily operations, attempted to address at a town hall meeting in Redmond last March. When a moderator posed a question about incentives to enhance the efficiency of "hobby farms," Horrell reacted defensively, deeming the term a label intended 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’s primary focus, according to Jessi Talbott, COID’s Deputy Director of Water Rights, is ensuring that landowners cultivate non-native crops, a practice verified through field inspections and aerial surveys. Each summer, a COID-contracted plane flies over the district’s more than 70 square miles of fields, an area larger than Salem, Oregon’s capital city, searching for dry patches. Landowners risk the cancellation of unused water rights if they fail to use their allocated water in their designated areas at least once every five years. Oregon regulators have revoked irrigation water rights only four times since 2020, 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 behind these letters is educational, promoting water stewardship, rather than punitive. She added that COID possesses the authority to confiscate rights if landowners suspected of non-use fail to take corrective action, though this rarely transpires. COID records indicate that Casad’s landlord received a letter in 2016 after aerial surveillance identified "specific dry areas" on the property, where Casad and his wife, Cate Havstad-Casad, had established a compost pile and equipment parking area. "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, Andria Truax and her husband Dan Baumann, owners of a nursery specializing in drought-tolerant landscaping plants on a 10-acre property near Bend, received a COID warning letter that plunged them into "panic mode." "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 inundate rocky soil and combat the weeds that immediately emerged. The irony was not lost on her, as "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.

Talbott stated in a previous interview that COID does not instruct individuals to water rocks or compost piles. In a more recent conversation, she expressed that the finding by OPB and ProPublica that only approximately 25% of the district’s diversion was consumed by crops was "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 remarked. In the same meeting, Horrell contended that the district not only avoids over-delivering water but also acknowledges that some properties receive insufficient amounts. COID does not directly measure individual landowner water usage, focusing instead on the extent of irrigated land.

In its water management conservation plan, covering 2015 to 2020, COID estimated crop water requirements based on landowner surveys about their crops—primarily pastures—and federal weather data. These average estimates indicated that crops required approximately 27% of the water the district diverted from the river annually, a figure that closely aligns with the analysis of actual crop water consumption derived from state satellite data. Horrell and other district officials did not respond to multiple inquiries regarding the figures presented in COID’s own conservation plan.

"They have all the cards."

State leaders have long grappled with the challenge of allocating the Deschutes Basin’s water resources amid increasing drought, population growth, and escalating demand. Bend and Redmond, the basin’s two largest cities, face uncertain future water supplies; during the 2022 drought, COID diverted more than 12 times the water used by both cities combined, which then served approximately 132,000 residents. While agriculture remains the nation’s largest water consumer, COID’s contribution to Oregon’s agricultural economy is among the lowest in the state, with the region ranking higher only in horse sales compared to other Oregon counties.

Republican state Rep. Mark Owens, a hay farmer from Eastern Oregon and a prominent voice on water management issues, asserts that the district’s "hobby farmers" are receiving excessive 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 re-evaluation of its water management practices. Owens explained that the beneficial use rule was originally intended to foster rural economies and "it’s what allowed some of our communities to prosper." However, he questioned the current utility of this principle, asking, "now, 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 question, "how do you get the most crop per drop?"

Rather than imposing mandates, the Legislature has pursued incentives, such as authorizing programs that compensate individuals for leaving water in the river without forfeiting their rights. Baumann and Truax eventually participated in such a program, opting to forgo a 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 a very small number of properties. Horrell explained 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.

After the Central Oregon Irrigation District delivered water to landowners near Redmond, Oregon, in July 2025, what’s left pooled in a silty pond where it eventually drained away or evaporated. The district said it has 24 ponds that catch water at the ends of its system.

The district’s extensive network of hundreds of miles of open, unlined canals relies on gravity to channel substantial volumes of water from the river and deliver it to fields located more than 30 miles away. Horrell stated that in the past, instances where COID reduced the volume of this "carry water" too significantly led to hardships for farms at the system’s extremities. However, the district has acknowledged in public forums and interviews that the considerable water loss through leakage and evaporation along the canals constitutes waste. To address this, COID is seeking over $700 million in public funding to replace the canals with new, pressurized pipelines, having already secured more than $65 million for piping projects since 2015. "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 stated, adding, "How we get there is what we argue about." He emphasized that COID operates as a business that must adapt to changing climate conditions to become more sustainable.

Horrell pointed out that COID’s water rights permit it to divert even more water from the Deschutes than it currently does. Despite this, he noted that the district has voluntarily reduced its diversions over the past decade of droughts. Thanks to piping initiatives, he stated, it now supplies some water to downstream farmers, even when not legally obligated to do so. However, he maintained, "that doesn’t mean that it is not ours." The Deschutes River, like rivers nationwide, is considered public property, and taxpayers are investing heavily in its conservation. Yet, environmental advocate Yancy Lind, who participates in a state-supported water planning group involving districts, cities, and state managers, argues that irrigation districts retain significant control. "We live in the West and in the West, water is power and the irrigators have the water. It’s that simple," he said. "They have all the cards. We’re just trying to pull little crumbs out from them."

"We live in the West and in the West, water is power."

"It doesn’t have to be this way."

After seven years of leasing land within COID, Casad relocated north to Jefferson County and the North Unit Irrigation District, where he now resides. He made the move because he could afford to purchase land there, and the soil proved more fertile, producing over half of the world’s carrot seed supply. Furthermore, he desired to live among individuals who shared his passion for farming, such as Jos Poland, a resilient lifelong dairy farmer who became his neighbor. This move came with a significant compromise: Casad transitioned from a district with ample water to one that has historically operated with less. North Unit is the first to face water cutbacks during droughts. Even in a wet year, North Unit provides half the water per acre compared to COID, and it experiences an even greater percentage of loss through leaky delivery canals. However, its crops still consume a substantially higher proportion of the water diverted from the river, according to the analysis.

Farmers in North Unit take pride in their efficiency. Driving through Casad’s neighborhood reveals rows of water-saving sprinklers and pumps actively recycling and reapplying runoff captured by specialized ponds. "It’s the only way we’ve been able to survive," said Gary Harris, an 80-year-old longtime farmer in the district. Casad understood this dynamic, calculating that half the water on fertile land would be sufficient. This held true until the drought began in 2020. To sustain his farm, he was forced to let two acres lie fallow for every acre of potatoes he planted. Nearby, Poland’s organic cow pastures withered, compelling him to sell half his herd. "I was losing money so fast that I couldn’t afford to feed my animals," Poland recalled, adding, "That threw me in a big depression." He struggled to leave his bed, while Casad began assisting him with the dairy, working late into the night on his own farm.

"I was losing money so fast that I couldn’t afford to feed my animals."

"I remember watching the lights of the tractor out the window," recounted Cate Havstad-Casad. She was pregnant with their first child, experiencing contractions while sitting in the bathtub, but she delayed calling her husband inside for hours "because I understood the pressure on his shoulders." Casad became emotional recalling the drought, admitting, "Some of this stuff you just bury. You bury it down deep." During those drought 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, the suicide rate in Jefferson County nearly doubled. "Our farmers and ranchers face immense pressure," he 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 difficult news while she was out of town.

Cate Havstad-Casad reacts to the news that state water cutbacks mean her family will need to dry up most of their farm in this excerpt from a March 2022 video diary.

After hanging up, she sat alone in her hotel room and broke down. "It doesn’t have to be this way," she said tearfully 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 where he 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, impacting the crucial percolation that feeds the mountain springs powering the river. More than half of Oregon counties have already declared drought emergencies. The Casad farm is still burdened by debts incurred during 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 impressive potato harvester has become merely a slide, a playground for their imaginations.

A potato harvester in the barn at the Casad family farm has been idle for four years. The children now use it as a slide (left). Empty bins that once stored potatoes (right).

About the Data:
The Oregon Water Resources Department utilized stream gauges to provide estimates of the volume of Deschutes River water diverted by six irrigation districts in Bend. OWRD’s diversion estimates, based on stream gauges from May to September when diversion flows are most consistent, do not encompass the entire April to October irrigation season. Estimates regarding water lost to 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 incorporating weather, satellite, and crop data, alongside irrigation district and county property records. The state data is publicly accessible in a 2025 study co-authored by OWRD and the Nevada-based Desert Research Institute. Reporters collaborated with Virga Labs, an Arizona-based consultant, to integrate statewide irrigated field-level data with irrigation district maps and county property records, thereby isolating fields within the service areas of COID and North Unit.

To contextualize the water use 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 estimations of irrigation water consumption are based on evapotranspiration data from OpenET, which combines satellite and weather data to measure water evaporated from crops. While OWRD acknowledges uncertainty in OpenET data in a 2025 memo, several experts indicated that remotely sensed evapotranspiration represents the most reliable method for estimating water use in the absence of direct measurement. Efforts were made to minimize uncertainty factors outlined in OWRD’s memo by focusing on results and trends for a 70-square-mile area from 2015 to 2022, the most recent period for which state data is available. Both county records and irrigation district billing statements were used to verify water delivery by COID to the acreage included in the analysis, excluding properties identified by the state as using groundwater rights or irrigating less than an acre to account for potential domestic well water sources. The inclusion of such properties did not significantly alter the findings. Information regarding individual properties was cross-checked using irrigation district records, aerial imagery, and landowner interviews.

The analysis did not aim to quantify the precise destination of all water diverted by COID that was not consumed by crops. COID allocates approximately 1% of its water rights for purposes other than irrigation, according to state records. These uses were not factored into the analysis.