David Jasper / The BulletinMount Bachelor looms large over homes along this bend in the Deschutes River.

There’s plenty of wildlife to see in, above and around the Deschutes River. Depending where you put your boat in, a few hours on the river might afford you sightings of fish drifting by, snakes slithering across your path, ducks waddling and quacking, hawks or osprey gliding overhead or small herds of deer calmly chomping on grass, yet never taking their eyes off you.

But sometimes your eyes can deceive you. It can happen easily in the outdoors — just consider how many otherwise reasonable people you’ve met in the Northwest believe Bigfoot is real, then trot out some story of a Bigfoot sighting. (Note: Do NOT call me with your Bigfoot stories. Just email them to me.)

I did not see Bigfoot. No, I saw, and misidentified, a much smaller critter when I was out canoeing above Sunriver a couple of weeks ago with Map Guy. Regular readers know Map Guy as my frequent outing companion, a person who’s more critical of me than anyone I’m not married or otherwise related to has any right to be.

Point being, considering the company I was keeping, I shouldn’t have set myself up as I did. He is definitely the wrong person to misidentify wildlife or domesticated pets around.

We’d picked a great day for paddling on the Deschutes: a warmish, sunny, mid-April weekday. We were a bit rusty at handling my 17-foot aluminum canoe, but we managed to load it without incident.

We drove south to Sunriver and put in without incident at Spring River Road. The current was strong, but with a steady breeze at our backs, making our way upstream wasn’t too difficult.

We chose to go upstream first so we could drift leisurely back, a wise suggestion from Map Guy, who likes to sit in the back of the boat and pretend he’s captain. What this translates to is, while I’m paddling away up front, he’ll stop, sans warning, and make a big show of using his paddle as a rudder. We can turn on a dime, but it takes forever to get anywhere.

Though much of the riverbank is occupied by homes — views for the homeowners include assorted wildlife as well as dudes going by in beat-up canoes — most of them are located on one side or the other. So, if you’re development-averse, just turn your head away from the offending edifices and gaze upon the still-wild portions containing no houses.

After passing through the fairly developed section upstream of Spring River Road, we reached the confluence of the Little Deschutes River, which Map Guy and I paddled up together a few years back. At my insistence, we stuck to the Deschutes River this time.

We rounded a right turn in the river, and what did I spy with my little eye but a dark patch of fur nestled in the tall reeds a few feet from the water’s edge.

We were too far away to judge accurately, but I nonetheless assumed right away it was an otter.

Of course, outside the High Desert Museum, I’d seen otters only in the water. But this critter, holding stock-still and peeking shyly toward us, wasn’t very far from the river.

I often run a recorder during our outings so I don’t have to take notes. It’s often hard to hear, though, because I carry it in my pocket for safekeeping. For your pleasure, an embarrassing transcription:

(Rustling clothing, splashing water sounds, paddle hitting metal.)

“Dude, what the hell’s that, an otter?”

“It’s a dog.”

A dog a quarter of a mile or so from the nearest house? That didn’t stand to reason. “No it’s not. It’s an otter,” I said.

“That is a dog,” Map Guy calmly said.

“Dude, it’s not a dog,” I said, adding a moment later, “It IS a dog. I thought it was an otter in the grass.”

“You didn’t believe me,” Map Guy said, ignoring my honesty. Indecipherable mocking noises followed, then, “Hey look, there’s a submarine going across the river!”

That Map Guy. Even worse for me, he identified the small, dark-furred, not-an-otter as a Portuguese water dog. I later did a Google image search, and the photos I saw do indeed bear a resemblance to the dog we saw, or put another way, bear a resemblance to the otter I thought I saw and that Map Guy will never stop talking about now.

I tried to play along with his ribbing, saying, “Look, an alligator,” when a stick floated by, but my heart wasn’t really in it.

I had wanted it to be an otter, because how cool would it be to see more of one than just its back and face protruding from the water?

The dog, meanwhile, which wore a collar, tore down the riverbank far faster than we could paddle. We saw it briefly reappear by a boat ramp, but it darted off again as we neared.

Wildlife we really did see included deer, ducks and a red-tailed hawk.

As for the dog, don’t worry, it probably belonged to one of the nearby homes. This calm stretch of river is great for canoeists, kayakers and stand-up paddlers, but if it’s solitude you’re looking for, there are more pristine stretches of the Deschutes where you’d be less likely to mistake a dog for an otter.

Speaking of which, I think I need to make an eye doctor appointment.

— Reporter: 541-383-0349, djasper@bendbulletin.com