We knew the paper could not afford another flight on the second day, so Kurt and I hit the road at 4 a.m. in order to be at the lake by dawn. We felt good about our coverage, but didn't expect the greeting we got in Whitefish; the locals were very grateful at the coverage. But we also knew that the blowout first-day coverage would attract competitors and we were determined to keep control of the story.
The speedboat we rented yesterday wasn't available, and the best we could do was a pontoon boat. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise because the authorities were going nuts about the speedboats that were cutting through the oil and dispersing it further. The old patio boat was so slow that we could see and avoid the oil before we were into it.
By the afternoon, the authorities shut down the lake, so Kurt and I hoofed it three miles up the railroad grade to the crash scene. In case you've never had the pleasure of a similar hike -- it's trespassing, and it's dirty; trains dump trash as they fly along the grade. But the hike was worth it for some of the great photos and detail we got.
In order to get film processed for the next day's paper, we had to leave the scene by 4 p.m.; I wrote in the car as Kurt drove the winding road back to Missoula. (This was in pre-digital photography, pre-cell phone and pre-laptop days -- at least for our newspaper.)
From the Missoulian, Aug. 2, 1989
