The time I almost got arrested for scientific sampling

Le résumé fourni par la source

The year was 2003. I’d gotten a new grant to study American Eels Anguilla rostrata in Hudson River tributaries, and I was out with my new MS student Len to scout some potential sampling sites. We needed to be able to get in and electrofish without too much difficulty, so were looking for sites with reasonably easy access. This day, we were checking out the Hannacroix Creek, a lovely tributary that today serves as one of the cardinal sites for the Hudson River Eel Program. Our aim was to find and sample sites moving upward from tributaries’ confluences with the tidal Hudson, up past dams, and determine abundances, sizes, and other characteristics of eels. This study built out upon a previous study of eels in the main stem of the estuary by Dave Secor and his student, Wendy Morrison. Finding sites was routine until we got to the outflow of the Alcove Reservoir, about a dozen miles upstream. We knew that this was a water supply for the city of Albany; and sure enough, there was a guard booth a few yards in from a parking area, with a path leading toward the booth. I told Len to wait by the car while I went to see if there was anyone I could speak to, to ask permission to sample the outflow. As soon as I took a few steps on the path, the door flung open and a very rotund guard emerged, walking toward me as quickly as his mass allowed. He asked me for my driver’s license, and started writing things down on a pad. “What are you doing, sir?” I asked. “You’re under arrest for trespassing” he said. “But I was just walking over to speak to you, sir!” was my reply. “The sign says NO TRESPASSING!” I looked back, and then noticed the sign, hanging on a low chain that I’d crossed over without thinking too much about it. At this point, I started explaining to the guard that I was a professor at SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry in Syracuse, that we had a grant to study eels in Hudson River tributaries, and that we wanted to ask for permission to sample the outflow of the reservoir. I explained that Len was my MS student. Len, meanwhile, was standing aside quietly. I could see he was suppressing giggles; he thought this was pretty funny. Not long after this exchange, the local sheriff and his officers arrived in a few vehicles—I don’t recall how many now, but I do recall quite a lot of swirling, flashing lights, and maybe the sound of a siren. I introduced myself all over again to the sheriff and explained what we were trying to do. It was at this point I learned that since the 9/11 terrorist attack on the World Trade Center in 2001, all sites considered security risks were off limits. This included public water supplies like the Alcove Reservoir. I understood and apologized profusely, After a few minutes of additional checking, the sheriff decided to let us go with a warning. We returned to my car and drove off. Len remarked that our “visit” was probably the most excitement they’d had in a while! As we headed off, I asked Len to check the map (paper, back in 2003) to see if there were any roads that accessed the Hannacroix above the reservoir. We drove a few miles on some back roads, and eventually found one that crossed the stream. We got out to look around; it was wooded and quiet, no sign of any guards at all. We discussed whether it would be worth sampling up here in the future (we decided not to). Both Len and I learned some lessons from this experience. First, Len saw the importance of keeping a cool head and showing respect. I always kept in mind that we were ambassadors for our college when out in the field. This is true for all of us in our profession, regardless of where we work. Second, we saw that security measures were not always perfect, but we had to respect the need for protection. Of course, I learned to read signs more carefully! And maybe, just maybe, I modeled good behavior in a tense situation for my student. As a coda, I can say that we eventually did gain permission to sample at the outflow of the reservoir. I recall that at the area we electrofished, just below the 18-ft dam at the outfall, we balanced atop large rocks that had been place in the stream—probably some kind of stream stabilization method. It was a bit tricky to sample, but there were quite a number of large eels hiding in the crevasses! This was a bit surprising to us, because to get this far, eels had to traverse past a massive, natural waterfall that must have been two or three times as high as the dam. So the final lesson, a point made by Len in his thesis and subsequent publication, was that craggy natural barriers are easier for eels to navigate than the smooth, vertical walls of artificial dams. You never know what scientific discoveries you’ll make if you just avoid getting arrested for trespassing…until next month.

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