Not wanted here, otters find peace in New Mexico

While most people were home with their families last Christmas, federal Wildlife Services biologist Darren Bruning was driving over the Rocky Mountains in an SUV full of otters.

The tailgate was open, the windows were down, the air conditioning was on and — in order not to stress the crated otters with the sound of human voices — Bruning and his passenger didn't talk or listen to the radio during the 30-hour trip to New Mexico. They stopped only for a few minutes to feed and check on the animals.

The goal: Delivering healthy river otters, unwanted at Puget Sound-area marinas and docks, to a small tributary of the Rio Grande where there has been a 10-year effort to restore the population.

After five interstate trips over three years, the last of 33 otters captured in Puget Sound was released into the stream late last month.

The last known otter on New Mexico's Gila River was killed in 1953, said Melissa Savage of Friends of the River Otter, the group that has worked to bring them back to the state. River otters once flourished there, but unregulated trapping for their fur, and the degradation of their habitat through water pollution linked to mining, brought them to extinction, Bruning said.

Bruning once worked for the Taos-Pueblo Tribe in New Mexico and knew of their interest in bringing back the otters. Since he's been in Seattle for a number of years, Bruning was aware of local residents' feelings about river otters marking their territory by defecating in boats and on docks and causing other problems. It became clear to him that where otters are concerned, one state's problem was another state's prize.

"River otters are abundant here and people are supportive of having them live somewhere else," Bruning said.

At Elliott Bay Marina, they were so problematic several months ago that someone set out poison, apparently for the otters, and killed a boat-owner's dog. Publicity about the case put the Wildlife Services biologists in touch with the marina manager.

Whether it's at a marina or a private residence, for $40 an hour, Bruning and fellow biologist Aaron Loucks set out traps.

They used a plain wire box, hidden under overturned boats or places on docks where otters go, and in some cases put a mirror in it. Other traps they baited with pheromones.

Loucks and Bruning checked the traps twice a day and when they caught an otter, it was anesthetized, given a complete medical examination and vaccinated.

After they'd caught a few, the journey south would begin, which for the otters is the most risky part.

Because otters are prone to stress over changes in temperature, they had to be transported in an air-conditioned environment, usually in winter. Some of the otters were shipped in crates, appropriately by a Bureau of Land Management Twin Otter plane.

Others went by SUV — a 30-hour winter drive to keep them cool. The longer the otters are caged, the more stress they will feel. So Bruning drives on "in order for us to deliver healthy otters in good condition."

"At that point, we've made such an investment we can't risk stopping," he said. "I usually get other people to do it once with me."

Along the way, the otters are fed fish and ice chips.

Once on the remote Taos-Pueblo Reservation, the otters are set out in their cages to get used to the atmosphere, a method biologists call a "soft release." After a time, the door to the cages are opened and the animals can wander out to explore the stream, where the lack of river otters has led to a surplus of carp and other fish that threaten native trout.

Not only are the otters comical and family-oriented, but they are sleek and efficient predators, Loucks said. They'll have easy fishing.

Nancy Bartley: 206-464-8522 or nbartley@seattletimes.com