On a recent Friday night — with only a photographer and I on duy — I experienced a day of breaking news coverage that colleagues in our newsroom said hadn’t been matched in years. It was yet another “first” for me in my journalism career.

The shift started with a big enough story — a sickening child abuse case against a couple in a city one hour away. But at 4 p.m., right as I was shaking the detective’s hand in the police station, the phone rings. A tanker truck has exploded in Whitewater — an hour and a half south of where we were.

Brian, our WISC-TV photographer, and I took off toward Whitewater. The satellite truck would meet us there, we were told.

We got to the scene around 5:30 p.m., just enough time to navigate the police barricade, track down the sheriff’s department spokesman and do an interview. Feed back the first usable sound bite, I hurriedly told our other photographer who was operating the satellite truck.

So, at 6 p.m., with some hastily scribbled words on my notepad, we were live. By that time, the fire was out, but it was still an active scene because firefighters were watching for flare-ups. (At risk of delaying the rest of the frenzied day, my critique of that live shot is at the end of this blog post.)

After a live recap at the end of that show, I found a nearby resident who captured the mushroom cloud explosion on his cellphone. After downloading it to my phone, it was time to head back to the station.

Arriving in the newsroom at 7:45 p.m., I began writing for our late newscasts (Fox 47 at 9, News 3 at 10). But, only a half-hour later, the scanner began humming with the first reports of a shooting on Madison’s north side.

So, I handed off the half-written explosion story to my producers and ran out the door. On the 30-minute drive to the scene, I had an ear on my Android scanner app for updates and found out some information about the suspect.

We got to the scene at 9. Brian tuned in the microwave truck and I began gathering details from neighbors (cops appeared hurried, unusually frustrated that I was there, and not saying anything about what had happened). After a live hit later in the 9 p.m. show, we tore down the equipment and booked it to the police department’s north precinct, where we had been promised a spokesman would provide updates.

The spokesman, Joel DeSpain, arrived at 9:55 p.m. and said he needed time to be briefed. Meanwhile, I’m going through the list of scenarios with my producer.

No time to feed back sound, I said. If DeSpain doesn’t come out with updates, I repeat what little information I know. If he does, we take him live off the top at 10 p.m. The other two stations, I figured, would do the same.

Still no sign of DeSpain as the show begins. But as the anchors begin pitching to me, I see him come out of the building.

It was decision time.

I could play it safe and fill time by myself, assuming he wasn’t ready yet. Or I could take charge of the situation and assert that a news conference was beginning, and start asking questions.

I chose the later.

It was a good decision.

Police had updates — the suspected shooter had taken off and a manhunt was underway. DeSpain wasn’t able to confirm that the victim was dead — although confirmation came around 11:30 p.m. that night, something we updated the next day. The live shot went smoothly, and we were first with the information.

On the way back to the station later, I asked Brian, who worked in Cincinnati before returning to his home state of Wisconsin, whether the hectic pace was typical in bigger markets. Yep, he said — except this is how almost every night was.

Luckily for me, it was the most fun I’ve ever had on a reporting shift. Here’s the video from the live news conference:

I learned quite a bit from both breaking news events that Friday night. Here’s how I can best sum them up:

1. During breaking news, go for it! What’s the worst DeSpain could’ve told me on the air? That he didn’t have an update? I could’ve simply filled as much time as needed what what we already knew. Instead, initiating the news conference gave my station a head-start on the competition.

2. Don’t forget context at the scene. This was lacking from my tanker truck explosion live shot, which you can watch below. I said where we were, but neglected to say why authorities kept us a mile from the active scene. (The reason was that highly flammable propane posed a danger to the surrounding area.) Starting the live shot with that information would’ve added urgency.

It all went well — but even from good experiences, there are lessons.

Now, it’s time to get back to learning on the job.