For too long, the Cuyahoga ferried factory oil and debris. The river caught fire in the sixties. Today, she’s healed enough to nurture young sturgeon again. Hundreds of Clevelanders line the winding waterway, wait for a bucket holding a single juvenile. My husband and I stare at ours—seven inches long, striped with ancient ridges, fins finely etched. Sweating in the heat, we descend a ramp, loose her into the water. With luck, she’ll outwit predators like catfish and migrate to Lake Erie—where sturgeon once grew enormous and outlived humans. Eighteenth-century sailors reported a fearsome, fifty-foot, flippered snake roiling her the lake. They named her Bessie.

our small fry
the next Lake Erie Monster
watch her wriggle away