A Wet Well, a Ladder, and the Permit Nobody Pulled
By Ray Whitfield, ADCI-certified commercial dive supervisor. Reviewed by Dana Whitcombe, technical reviewer.
Wastewater & Sewer Diving | Potable Water Tank Inspection & Cleaning August 14, 2019, Millbrook, Ohio. I was standing on a steel catwalk above the number-two lift station wet well, listening to the superintendent tell me his crew had been down that ladder twice that week. The wet well was eight feet of raw sewage sitting in a concrete cylinder. The ladder he pointed at had been welded to the wall sometime around the Ford administration. It was missing two rungs, and the bottom one was bent outward. I didn't say anything about the ladder yet. We were there to inspect the pump impellers — a routine call from a municipality that didn't have its own dive team. The super handed me a clipboard. "I got your permit right here," he said. It was a work order, not a confined space entry permit. Not even close. Let me be clear: nobody had pulled the permit. There was no permit for this space. The superintendent had pulled a maintenance order from the office and thought that would cover us. In a wet well, that kind of thinking can kill you. I know — I've been doing this for 28 years, and I've seen what happens when paper gets skipped.
The Wet Well
A wet well is just a sump—a concrete pit that collects wastewater and holds it until the pumps can push it down the line. This one was about 12 feet deep, with 8 feet of water that looked like strong coffee with chunks. The atmosphere above the water is the real danger. Raw sewage gives off hydrogen sulfide, methane, and other gases that can knock you out in seconds. Even if you don't smell it—and the nose fires quickly—the gas is still there. That's why the OSHA definition of a confined space exists: it's not designed for people, it has limited entry/exit, and it may contain hazards. A wet well hits all three. A permit-required confined space has to be tested before entry, and that test has to be written down. Without that, you're working blind. The super swore they'd been in there earlier that week, no problem. But 'no problem' isn't a procedure.
The Ladder
The fixed steel ladder was the only way in or out of that wet well. It was welded to the concrete wall in sections, and the welds were more rust than metal. Two rungs were missing entirely, maybe 6 feet down. The bottom rung was a bent piece of rebar that didn't reach the floor. If you were dropping into that water, you'd have to hang and drop. But the ladder isn't just for climbing in. In a permit space, it's your access for rescue. If a diver goes down and something goes wrong, an attendant has to be able to get a retrieval line on him and pull him out without going in. A ladder with holes in it defeats all of that. We set up a tripod over the opening with a winch line, but the tripod won't help if the entrant can't get out under his own power. And in a wet well, even with a mask, you're in a hazardous atmosphere. The ladder should have been a solid, continuous path. It wasn't.
The Permit Nobody Pulled
The permit is the piece of paper that says you did the homework. It lists the air readings, the isolation steps, the attendant, the rescue plan, the time window. The superintendent's clipboard had a work order, which is just a 'go do this' note. Nobody had tested the air. Nobody had locked out the pumps. Nobody had assigned a standby person. We told the super we couldn't enter without it. He pushed back—'We do this all the time.' That's exactly the problem. The reason a permit is required is that 'all the time' habits hide the one time something changes: a gas pocket, a level sensor failure, a ladder that gives way. We walked back to the truck and sat. We called the county safety officer, who had to be paged on a Sunday. He pulled the permit, we tested the atmosphere, and the monitor read hydrogen sulfide at a level that would have been fatal without ventilation. The super went quiet. We spent the next hour venting the well with a blower. The ladder was still broken, so we used a tripod and a harness for the solo entry. The job got done, but it was twice as slow and cost the town overtime. That's the cost of a piece of paper—nothing compared to a funeral or a federal citation.
The Bottom Line
Three things in that title: the wet well, the ladder, the permit. Each one was a separate failure waiting to happen. The wet well was a classic confined space; the ladder was a means of egress in bad repair; the permit was missing because the person in charge didn't understand what it was for. If you're a municipal operator, look at your own lift stations. Go to the last entry you did. Was there a permit? Are the ladders solid? Do you have an attendant who tests the air? Don't wait for a dive team to call you out. The permit isn't a suggestion; it's a checklist of the things that would kill you otherwise. And the ladder—that's your honest way out. Make sure both are in place before you go in.
Frequently Asked Questions
Why is a wet well considered a confined space? A wet well has limited entry and exit, isn't designed for people, and can contain deadly gases like hydrogen sulfide and methane. That combination makes it a permit-required confined space under OSHA. What should I do if I find out there's no entry permit? Stop the job. Don't go in. Have a qualified person test the atmosphere, lock out hazardous energy, set up rescue equipment, and write out the permit before anyone sets foot in the space. How often should a fixed ladder in a wet well be inspected? At least annually, and before every entry. Look for rusted welds, missing rungs, or anything that would slow an escape. If there's any doubt, use a tripod and harness instead.