written by Catherine Owen Koning from her graduate school memories
In graduate school I studied a 225-acre sedge meadow/marsh in Madison, WI. A highway ran through the wetland, resulting in several of the earliest in-kind restoration attempts, as well as a lot of noise and a lot of cars. In addition to being bisected by the 4-lane roadway, this urban wetland was bordered by a shopping mall, a channelized stream, a dredged river, and a railroad. There were no trees, and the vegetation consisted of a lumpy mix of sedges, bulrushes, cattails and reed canary grass. Walking was difficult, but visibility was excellent.
One day, as I was bending over fixing a water level recorder, I heard a rather unusual announcement: "Michael Miller (not his real name), we know you're in the marsh, come out with your hands up". More than a little surprised, I stood up, only to see several dozen police cars lining the roadway, and an impressive group of armed officers on the top of the parking garage next to the mall. The police were equally surprised to see me, a tall, blond woman with a white straw hat, suddenly pop up in the middle of their chase scene. The man with the loudspeaker jumped up and down, barking at me to come straight out of the marsh to them.
Now, there ain't no walking straight in any wetland, and this one was no exception. Tussocks, ditches, mounds and all manner of topography made the shortest distance all but impossible to navigate. Plus, as it had not been easy to get to the middle of the marsh, and it looked like I wasn't going to be allowed back out any time soon, I decided to lean over and finish what I'd been doing. Then, straightening up and shouldering my rather large backpack of equipment, I meandered as directly as I could to the blue-shirted crowd observing my slow progress.
As I walked my sinuous path, it occurred to me that perhaps this criminal was dangerous: What would I do if he appeared in my path? My weapons: A length of wire? Maybe I could strangle him? A measuring tape? Perhaps I could bash him over the head? My pocket knife! Of course! Saved by a 1.5 inch blade. I worried about my fellow researcher (and now co-author), Sharon, over in the eastern part of the wetland. Did she have a pocket knife? I hoped so.
By the time I got there, loudspeaker man, whose large mustache and short stature put me in mind of Looney Tunes' Yosemite Sam, was positively apoplectic. As I neared the fence that divided the wetland from the highway, he accused me of being the girlfriend of the escapee. I assured him that I was not a gun moll, but rather a humble graduate student, desperate only to get out of the marsh and be safe. After he allowed me to walk away from him to the gap in the fence, I was approached by a much more rational, plain clothes officer, who ascertained my innocence and allayed my fears - the missing man was not dangerous, and posed no threat to me or my friend. Sharon showed up then, and we called it a day and went out for ice cream, comparing notes on weapon choices.
Two weeks later, I inquired as to the outcome of the chase. Turns out, he got away. And his crime? Looking sheepish, an officer at the City Police HQ divulged the nature of the fugitive's offense: Multiple traffic violations.
In graduate school I studied a 225-acre sedge meadow/marsh in Madison, WI. A highway ran through the wetland, resulting in several of the earliest in-kind restoration attempts, as well as a lot of noise and a lot of cars. In addition to being bisected by the 4-lane roadway, this urban wetland was bordered by a shopping mall, a channelized stream, a dredged river, and a railroad. There were no trees, and the vegetation consisted of a lumpy mix of sedges, bulrushes, cattails and reed canary grass. Walking was difficult, but visibility was excellent.
One day, as I was bending over fixing a water level recorder, I heard a rather unusual announcement: "Michael Miller (not his real name), we know you're in the marsh, come out with your hands up". More than a little surprised, I stood up, only to see several dozen police cars lining the roadway, and an impressive group of armed officers on the top of the parking garage next to the mall. The police were equally surprised to see me, a tall, blond woman with a white straw hat, suddenly pop up in the middle of their chase scene. The man with the loudspeaker jumped up and down, barking at me to come straight out of the marsh to them.
Now, there ain't no walking straight in any wetland, and this one was no exception. Tussocks, ditches, mounds and all manner of topography made the shortest distance all but impossible to navigate. Plus, as it had not been easy to get to the middle of the marsh, and it looked like I wasn't going to be allowed back out any time soon, I decided to lean over and finish what I'd been doing. Then, straightening up and shouldering my rather large backpack of equipment, I meandered as directly as I could to the blue-shirted crowd observing my slow progress.
As I walked my sinuous path, it occurred to me that perhaps this criminal was dangerous: What would I do if he appeared in my path? My weapons: A length of wire? Maybe I could strangle him? A measuring tape? Perhaps I could bash him over the head? My pocket knife! Of course! Saved by a 1.5 inch blade. I worried about my fellow researcher (and now co-author), Sharon, over in the eastern part of the wetland. Did she have a pocket knife? I hoped so.
By the time I got there, loudspeaker man, whose large mustache and short stature put me in mind of Looney Tunes' Yosemite Sam, was positively apoplectic. As I neared the fence that divided the wetland from the highway, he accused me of being the girlfriend of the escapee. I assured him that I was not a gun moll, but rather a humble graduate student, desperate only to get out of the marsh and be safe. After he allowed me to walk away from him to the gap in the fence, I was approached by a much more rational, plain clothes officer, who ascertained my innocence and allayed my fears - the missing man was not dangerous, and posed no threat to me or my friend. Sharon showed up then, and we called it a day and went out for ice cream, comparing notes on weapon choices.
Two weeks later, I inquired as to the outcome of the chase. Turns out, he got away. And his crime? Looking sheepish, an officer at the City Police HQ divulged the nature of the fugitive's offense: Multiple traffic violations.