By David Douglas
Staff Writer

As Dallas Morning News columnist Rod Dreher once said, "There are three kinds of people who run toward disaster, not away: cops, firemen and reporters."

On Thursday night, WISC-TV photojournalist Jess Omdahl and I came face to face with the truth behind that statement.

Our day started simply. We were asked to do a story on basement flooding and how so many people had been inundated with so much water. I made a few phone calls and waited to hear back as I watched a developing weather story begin to unfold.

Soon enough, we were in the car and headed into the storm, damage reports were coming in, and roads were flooded and were being closed. It's one of the ironies of TV news: We're the first place people turn for information, and we're the first to tell them to stay inside while we rush toward the trouble. Remember Rod Dreher?

We found no damage and no flooding. Everything we'd expected to see we hadn't. Getting information was tough, and finding a story as the clock ticked toward deadline was becoming even tougher. The whole week of weather stories had been a jam. Long drives coupled with time-consuming assignments forcing us into a race against time daily. And we were there again. It's called TV news.

After several phone calls to the newsroom, the mandate was made clear -- get to Baraboo, that's the worst of it. What wasn't clear was how to do that. Road after road after road was blocked by rising water. At one point, Route 60 seemed to be what we needed to pass safety, after I overzealously egged Jess to drive through water that didn't look that deep, we soon realized how quickly it was going to get deep. They say the proof is in the pudding, I'll say, lesson learned. Though I must say, the thought wouldn't have ever crossed my mind if it didn't seem like getting there somehow was part of my job.

Several blocked roads and a dozen detours later, we made it into Baraboo as a roaring thunderstorm pounded its way right along with us. Video of the raging Baraboo River was the first thing we shot, when an Original Wisconsin Duck rolled up to the roadblock. I didn't walk, but ran to the side, calling up to its driver asking if he could take us on board and on a rescue mission. We wanted to see what people were up against, and what they were being forced to leave behind. Jess and I had known that was our story all day, we were there now and just had to make it happen.

The Duck drivers accepted our invitation so we climbed up and began a waiting game. Before we could go in to get others out, we needed our rescue crew -- two firefighters and a medic -- to arrive. As we waited, we watched the Baraboo River rise, and suck anything it could downstream. The fact that we were going to go anywhere near the rushing water was a scary thought. I tried hard not to think about it.

Our crew arrived and off we went, the rain coming down harder and harder as the duck entered the first area of deep water, sending the waves made by its wake into the windowsills of roadside homes. Only a short time after our trip began, we passed a Duck, stuck in the mud. The amazing amphibious vehicle apparently had its limits.

Having been on board just ten minutes, we entered an area along Route 113, where the damage was something I'm still trying to wrap my head around. The firefighters on board tell me what looked like a roadside river had been a babbling brook on Monday; the kind of peaceful stream that you enjoy having meander through your yard.

Between it and the Baraboo, there was more silt and sand in the yards of homes than you'd imagine at the river's delta. Pipes were uprooted and snapped off, entire sections of Route 113 were chewed up, driveways washed away, cars smashed into each other, tress down, lawn furniture buried, and what seemed like endless downed trees and assorted debris.

What faced us forced us to turn back. Where the river ripped up the road, Route 113 was impassable. Water rushed over it more quickly than the duck could handle.

For the next two hours, we tried to find routes that weren't blocked to reach people firefighters thought should evacuate. When we did arrive, they didn't want to come with us, and laws allowing mandatory evacuations didn’t apply to adults and to people not in imminent danger of flash flooding. Crews can only hope they stay in their homes and don’t venture out into the danger zone.

Exhausting? Yes. Cold? You better believe it. Wet? Don’t even ask. But Jess and I had the easy job of the day. Be there to witness the hard work of heroes.