Somewhere on Metro Vancouver’s North Shore a toilet is flushing.
The tainted water twists through a series of pipes, and as it heads downhill to the coast, mixes with the flushables of 200,000 other people — eventually sloshing onto a plot of land in the shadow of the city’s most iconic bridge.
Gazing over a metal railing at the Lions Gate Wastewater Treatment Plant, operations supervisor Nicholas Whyte points at a vertical conveyor belt meant to rake out wet wipes, feminine hygiene products and Q-tips from raw sewage.
Outside, pipes feed the sewage into bubbling then stagnant tanks where chemicals bind broken up bits of fecal matter and allow them to
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