From Disappearance to Revival: Oregon's Second Chance with Sea Otters
The morning air off Oregon’s south coast in early September feels different. Hidden within the golden dawn sky there is a sharp, salt-rich bite that seems to permeate everything. Out beyond the last curl of whitewater, the Pacific stretches toward the horizon in shifting bands of gray and silver. Swells roll in from storms far to the west, carrying the steady rhythm that surfers like myself and others in this isolated area daydream about. I came to this corner of the Oregon coast unsure of what I was looking for but stayed for what I found: the way the ocean draws you in, sets your mind adrift, and roots you in place.
The communities here—scattered fishing towns, working ports, and pockets of artists and families—are bound together by that same pull. But there’s a piece of this ecosystem, and of this coastline’s identity, that has been missing for generations. For more than a century, Oregon’s nearshore waters have been without a creature so vital to the coastal web of life that scientists call it a “keystone species”: the sea otter.
Before European ships ever sighted these shores, sea otters thrived along nearly the entire rim of the North Pacific from Baja, California, up through Alaska, and across the Bering Sea to into Russia and northern Japan. In Oregon, they were a familiar presence to coastal Tribes, who valued them for their luxurious pelts and understood their ecological role. The word Elakha, meaning “sea otter” in the Chinook trade language, reflects that deep cultural connection.
Sea otters are unlike any other marine mammal in our waters. Small compared to sea lions and harbor seals, they are agile divers, wrapped in a coat so dense (up to a million hairs per square inch) that it traps a layer of insulating air next to their skin. Without blubber, they rely entirely on this fur and a voracious appetite to stay warm in frigid waters. A single sea otter can consume a quarter of its body weight in food each day: sea urchins, crabs, clams, mussels, and more.
It’s that appetite that makes them a cornerstone of coastal ecosystems. In healthy balance, sea otters keep sea urchin populations in check, preventing the overgrazing of kelp forests. Those kelp forests, in turn, shelter fish, buffer shorelines, and absorb carbon from the atmosphere. Where sea otters thrive, the entire nearshore web of life flourishes.
Sea Otters. Photo courtesy of the Elakha Alliance
By the late 1700s, European and American ships had begun scouring the Pacific for sea otter pelts. Fueled by demand in China, the maritime fur trade rapidly depleted populations. Russian traders moved eastward from Siberia, while British and American vessels worked south from Alaska and north from California. By the mid-1800s, sea otters had been hunted to local extinction along the Oregon coast.
The loss was more than environmental. For many coastal Tribes, the disappearance of sea otters severed a cultural relationship that had existed for millennia. Ecologically, the nearshore environment shifted as unchecked urchin populations devoured kelp beds. By the early 20th century, only scattered remnant populations of sea otters survived in remote parts of Alaska, California, and a few other locations. Oregon’s waters remained empty.
In the early 1970s, with the Marine Mammal Protection Act freshly passed, wildlife managers began to see a new opportunity: if Oregon no longer had sea otters, perhaps they could be brought back.
From 1970 to 1971, biologists captured more than 90 sea otters in Alaska and transported them to Port Orford and Coos Bay. The release sites were chosen for what seemed like ideal habitat—rocky reefs, abundant food, and limited human disturbance. At first, there was optimism. Reports from the time describe otters resting in kelp beds, and diving for food within days of release.
Similar translocations were also carried out in Southeast Alaska, British Columbia, and Washington, where the animals took hold and populations steadily grew. In Oregon, however, the outcome was different. Even though several females with pups were spotted over the next few years, the population of transplanted otters dwindled. The reasons remain debated: some combination of terrible weather conditions during release, difficulty adapting to new foraging grounds, human disturbance, or even shark predation.
Whatever the ultimate cause, by the mid-1980s, Oregon was once again without sea otters. The effort left a lasting mark on conservationists. It highlighted both the risks of moving a species and the importance of careful, community-driven planning.
Nearly fifty years later, a coalition of Tribal leaders, conservationists, scientists, and community members formed the Elakha Alliance. The name honors the deep Indigenous connection to sea otters and signals the group’s vision: bringing them home to Oregon in a way that benefits both the environment and coastal communities. The Alliance’s work is multifaceted. It begins with science: commissioning a comprehensive feasibility study to examine where sea otters could live, what they would eat, and how they might affect existing fisheries and ecosystems. But it also recognizes that this is not purely a biological question.
Members of the Elakha Alliance tabling an event. Photo courtesy of the Elakha Alliance
From the start, the Elakha Alliance has engaged coastal communities, listening to the views of fishermen, tourism operators, and residents. They’ve worked closely with Tribal governments to ensure that cultural perspectives shape the effort. They’ve reached out to scientists in Alaska, Washington, and California to learn from their successes and setbacks.
Restoring sea otters to Oregon is about more than nostalgia. Ecologically, their presence could help reverse the spread of “urchin barrens”—areas where unchecked sea urchins have devoured kelp forests down to bare rock. In turn, healthier kelp forests support fish populations, shelter juvenile salmonids, and buffer coastlines from wave erosion.
Economically, reintroduction could boost tourism in the state. In California and Alaska, sea otters are a reliable draw for wildlife watchers. On Oregon’s south coast, where tourism dollars are especially important, seeing an otter raft in the kelp could become a signature experience. There’s also a climate dimension. Kelp forests are highly effective at sequestering carbon, and sea otters’ role in protecting those forests links them to broader climate resilience strategies. And culturally, bringing sea otters back would help heal a historical wound by restoring an animal that once held a central place in the traditions of Oregon’s coastal Tribes.
When I moved to Coos Bay eight years ago, I didn’t know what to expect from this isolated stretch of the Pacific, but I found a home in the people who make up the south coast community. As a surfer, I experience the ocean in an intimate way. I’ve seen how storms reshape sandbars overnight, how kelp beds pulse with seasonal changes, and how certain spots feel alive in a way you can’t quite explain until you’ve been immersed in them.
Over the years, I’ve also seen signs of imbalance. In places where kelp used to be thick, it’s now patchy or gone. I’ve watched purple sea urchins carpet rocky bottoms. Those observations aren’t just anecdotal, they match what scientists have been documenting.
That’s why I work with the Elakha Alliance. My role connects me with other coastal residents—fishermen, Tribal members, small business owners—to talk about what reintroduction could mean here. It’s not about imposing a solution from outside, but about building something that works for the people who live and work along this coast.
One of the most important differences between the 1970s attempt and the Elakha Alliance’s approach is pacing and preparation. Back then, sea otters were brought in quickly, with limited public engagement and less understanding of their habitat needs. Today, planning is deliberate and informed by decades of research and real-world reintroduction successes elsewhere. In Washington, for example, a small group of sea otters reintroduced in the late 1960s has grown into a thriving population along the Olympic Peninsula. In California, careful management has allowed sea otters to recover to healthy numbers. These examples offer both hope and guidance.
The Elakha Alliance envisions starting with a science-based approach: introducing a healthy number of otters to carefully chosen sites, monitoring their health and behavior, and adapting the plan as new information emerges. This adaptive management approach means that reintroduction is not a one-time event but an ongoing relationship between people, wildlife, and place.
Of course, not everyone sees sea otter reintroduction as an unqualified good. Some commercial and recreational shellfish harvesters worry about competition for resources. In Alaska, sea otters have been known to consume large numbers of crabs and shellfish, which have impacted fisheries on a local level.
That’s why open, honest, and transparent engagement is critical. By engaging directly with stakeholders, the Elakha Alliance can listen to concerns, share scientific projections, and explore ways to mitigate potential conflicts. The goal is not to recreate the 1970s’ top-down approach, but to help stakeholders and communities be a part of the process.
If reintroduction moves forward, it could be years before we see sea otters established along the Oregon coast. But I often imagine what it would be like.
Picture this: a foggy morning on the Oregon Coast, the tide just turning. Out past the rocks, the surface of the water breaks, not from a wave, but from a sea otter rolling in the kelp, paws in the air. A few more heads pop up nearby, whiskers wet, eyes bright. Below them, the kelp forest sways, dense and healthy, sheltering fish and crabs. Along the shore, a small group of visitors look out of the ocean, cameras out, their breath rising in the cool air. A surfer heading to the beach slows his truck to watch for a moment before moving on.
That scene is more than just charming. It’s a sign of an ecosystem finding its balance again, of a coast that remembers its past and chooses to restore what was lost.
For me, as a surfer, conservationist, and member of this community, that future is worth working for. The ocean gives us so much: waves, food, beauty, and connection. Bringing sea otters home is one way we can give something back.
The future home of sea otters. Photo courtesy of the Elakha Alliance
Kyle Motley is the Coastal Community Coordinator for the Elakha Alliance, and has an extensive background working with endangered species, threatened ecosystems, stakeholder engagement, and much more. To learn more about Elakha and how you can connect with Kyle, visit elakhaalliance.org