Goats, Boats, and Killer Cutthroats

by David F. Berens

  With the hustle and bustle of exiting, Jack woke quickly and was his usual chipper self. But a couple of slow passengers made us about ten minutes late deplaning, and they usually start boarding planes thirty minutes before takeoff. So we had exactly zero time to get to our next gate. Fortunately, our next flight was with the same airline so we only had a short distance to run.

  I really needed to pee, but we didn’t have time. Jack pointed to a restroom sign and told me he’d wait for me and hold my carry-ons. I didn’t think I’d have time, but he insisted that I would if I quit arguing, so I did.

  I returned to find him standing at the gate with the gate agent wearing a tight-lipped smile and tapping her fingers on her podium. We handed her our boarding passes and thanked her for her patience. We were the last two on the plane and I’m pretty sure I heard some of the passenger’s grumbling about our tardiness.

  “I told you I didn’t have time,” I muttered, once we got buckled in.

  “Where are we right now?” Jack replied.

  “We’re in our seats, but that’s not the point.”

  “Seems like that’s exactly the point to me. Now, don’t you feel better?”

  “I would if I’d had the chance to pee.”

  “Well, what did you do in there?”

  “I had to fix my hair!”

  He smacked his forehead, but I didn’t care. I looked and felt better already.

  Thankfully, we landed in Great Falls, Montana, without further incident. We were both famished, but also eager to get to our destination, so we just grabbed a couple of sandwiches at a kiosk and got our rental car.

  Two and a half hours later, we climbed out of our car and stretched, both grateful that we would not have to sit for thirteen straight hours again for a whole week.

  Glacier Park Lodge was our first stop on this journey. Naturally, I had looked at pictures of it online when I was scheduling the trip, but seeing it in person was a different experience altogether. This place is huge! I thought and tried not to let my mouth hang open.

  Four stories high and really long, all made out of logs, with a green roof. It looked just like a giant Lincoln Logs building. In a completely random aside thought, I wondered if Jack had played with the wooden toys as a kid… I wondered if our kids would like playing with them too. Good grief, Alison, I told myself. We’re not even talking marriage yet, let alone kids. Easy girl. My mother would have been so proud.

  Jack wanted to take some pictures of it before the sun set, so he grabbed his backpack full of cameras and lenses and things I don't recognize, and we started walking around.

  He took some pictures from far back to show the big green lawn in front of the lodge and the snow-capped mountains in the background. Then he took some from down low behind some flowers with the lodge more in the background. Even though it’s true I don’t know much about how he does his work, I can tell by the images he gets that he’s really, really good at it.

  The sun was going down, and I was starting to get chilly and hungry. My stomach was beginning to protest this long break without food. I pointed out to Jack that he didn’t want to start out this trip with a cold, starving woman. He wisely decided that he was satisfied with the pictures he had already taken, and we went inside.

  Wow. And I thought I was impressed by the outside. This lodge has a big giant open central room that's completely built out of the world's biggest logs. Exposed balconies wrap all the way around the two floors above with a giant dining room and sitting area underneath. It's like the Teddy Roosevelt version of the Great Hall in Harry Potter's Castle.

  We went up to the registration desk and checked in. I introduced myself to the man at the counter and told him that I was doing an article on the lodges in Glacier National Park.

  “Oh, you're the young lady I spoke with several weeks ago,” he said, offering his hand. “I'm Samuel. It's so nice to meet you in person.”

  “Is the manager in? I’d like to schedule an interview with him,” I said.

  “Hmm. Let me check,” he said, clicking his keyboard. “Oh, I'm afraid that won’t be possible. He’s already left for the day.”

  “Shoot. That’s a shame.” I pulled out my phone and opened the calendar. “What time does he get here in the morning?”

  “He usually arrives by eight o'clock, but he does have some meetings tomorrow. He may be difficult to reach.”

  “But I thought we talked about this on the phone,” I said. “I explained that I was writing this article, and you promised me that I would be able to interview the manager.”

  “Yes, that won’t be a problem. You can do your interview with me. I’m in charge of all outside communication, anyway, so the manager asked that I help you with whatever you need.”

  “Are you the guy that takes care of this place over the winter?”Jack asked with a little too much enthusiasm. “Like that guy in The Shining?”

  I tried my best to pretend that he hadn’t just said that out loud. But it was obvious Samuel had heard it. By the flat look of his eyes, he’d obviously heard it before today.

  He hesitated a moment; then said to me, “I can meet with you tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Will that be sufficient?”

  I took a deep breath and counted to three. Grandma taught me to do that when things weren’t going my way.

  “I guess it will have to do. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at ten.”

  After we left the desk, I grabbed Jack’s arm and said, “What were you doing back there? I have to work with that guy.”

  “I didn’t like how he blew off your agreement. I thought it only fair to throw him off as much as he did you.”

  “Can you believe that? He promised me an interview with the manager. I fly—we fly—all the way out here from North Carolina for this appointment, and he goes and pulls this on me.”

  “It’s okay. I got his pen for you.” Jack stuck his hand into his pocket and brought it back out with a beautiful blue and gold fountain pen.”

  “Jack!” I whispered through a sly grin, looking around for anyone who might have seen the pilfered pen. “How … why did you get that?”

  “He laid it down on the counter when he said you could interview him instead of the manager. I thought it was a peace offering. But that’s not important right now, the guy said that the manager will be here at eight o’clock in the morning. What’s stopping you from being downstairs at five till?”

  You know, I just wanted to vent. I was mad. I didn’t want Jack trying to fix this for me, but darn if he didn’t have just the perfect thing to say. Now I was mad that I couldn’t be mad anymore.

  And it was a nice pen.

  We dumped our bags in our room and headed down to the dining room: notebook and pen in hand for me; camera around neck for Jack. We were both tired, hungry, and not particularly interested in the foodie side of eating dinner. So, we ordered our food without saying anything to our server about the article.

  Jack took pictures of both our plates, as he always does when I’m writing a food article. I used to be embarrassed by that, but I’ve gotten totally used to it now. His pictures are way better than any I had taken for previous articles with my iPhone. They’ve become an important part of my portfolio—not that I’d ever tell him that.

  When our server came back to ask us about dessert, I told her why we were here and asked to speak with the chef. The chef came out and gave brief answers to a couple questions, but I couldn’t get him to elaborate on anything. Typical man. I’d have to get what I needed for my article in the morning.

  A crackling fire was burning in a fireplace that was literally tall enough to walk into. Jack and I sat down in some stick-framed chairs and relaxed and talked. Some more people joined us: an older couple, and two guys who had just spent a week hiking through the trails in the park. They said that a lot of the trails were closed because of recent grizzly activity. Jack asked them what kind of activity, but they said they only knew what was on the signs. They hadn’t seen any bears al
l week, but they did see some tracks.

  The old couple were retired and were trying to see all of the national parks. The man showed us his Golden Eagle card that got them in for free. He was as proud of that as an athlete holding an olympic medal. They seemed to be having a great time and said that this was their twelfth national park so far. I hope that I’m having that much fun when I reach their age.

  In the morning, we were both cold and a little stiff from the beds. They were softer than I was used to. I didn’t know that could cause me to be so sore, but it did. Jack did some pushups and situps to warm himself up and recommended them to me, but I’m more of a warm bath girl. But to my shock, there was no bathtub here—just a shower. I put on some warm clothes, and we went downstairs for breakfast.

  “What are you going to say about the room in your article?” Jack asked me while we waited for a breakfast table.

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll probably focus on how fabulous the building looks, and the big fireplace, and all the moose heads on the wall. The aura in this place really takes you back. But you don’t come here to stay in your room.”

  “Or to eat breakfast, either, apparently,” Jack replied, since we were still waiting to be seated. But the hostess eventually sauntered out, and we got to our table.

  They had a basic breakfast buffet—nothing fancy, but I got Jack to take some pictures of it anyway. Eggs, bacon, waffles, pancakes, sausage, biscuits, and gravy. No fruit, no yogurt, and surprisingly, no cereal.

  “My kind of breakfast.” Jack rubbed his hands together vigorously. “Lots of volume.”

  He piled his plate up three times and I sipped a reasonable cup of coffee while I waited for him.

  After we ate, I realized I had left my notebook in the room.

  “I’m gonna run up and grab it so I can stake out the front door to pin down the manager for an interview as soon as he comes in.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to head out and try to shoot some wildlife,” Jack said.

  A woman passing by looked shocked and gave Jack a horrible look. Jack gave her his best toothy smile and pointed a finger pistol at her.

  “Jack!” I whispered at him.

  “Hey,” he said. “I had a camera around my neck when I said that. If she’s going to judge me, she should be more observant.”

  “You’re such a guy.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try to be back before noon, so wait for me for lunch?”

  I left Alison and the lodge and headed in a Westerly direction with my photo gear on my back and wildlife on my mind. I was especially hoping to see a moose. I walked fast, wanting to put some distance between myself and civilization. When the lodge finally disappeared from view, I slowed my pace and tried to be as quiet as possible in the crunchy snow. It wouldn’t do to scare away the animals if I was going to be a wildlife photographer.

  I found myself walking along the side of a hill and thought I heard a stream at the bottom, which could be a place to attract some animals. I had been hiking for an hour, easily covering more than a couple of miles. I could no longer tell which direction I was heading from the landmarks and there was no real trail to follow. I was just trekking through the wildnerness like a wanderer. I could easily get lost out here if I wasn’t careful. I didn’t even have a compass with me, but I did have my phone, which has a compass app. I took a bearing with that and made a mental note to check it more frequently. Just for good measure, I took a screenshot of my present position, since the app shows my latitude, longitude, and elevation, too.

  Shortly after that, I did find a stream at the bottom of the hill. I stayed above it and moved farther along the hillside until I found a good vantage point. I set up my travel tripod and a telephoto lens with a 2x teleconverter. It wasn’t the most stable setup, but with a remote shutter release, I thought I could get a good, steady shot of Bullwinkle if he happened by.

  I sat there for over an hour waiting for my moose. I had read many times that long waits without being able to move are a large part of a wildlife photographer’s life. A chipmunk hopped over to my setup and I watched him for a while. I wanted to get some shots of him, but I couldn’t get to my other camera without scaring him away.

  There was a lesson in here. I usually carry two cameras with different lenses so I’m prepared for anything, but that second camera doesn’t do me any good if I can’t reach it.

  I slowly pulled out my phone and took some photos of the chipmunk with that. He scurried up my tripod, and I got a great shot of him investigating my camera. It would make a nice addition to my website. Jack Taylor, Wildlife Photographer.

  This was clearly not a prime spot to see the park animals, and I was about to give up and head back to the lodge when a deer walked into view. She went down to the stream to get a drink while I carefully aimed my camera. A smaller deer followed her to the stream. A mother and her fawn. It had outgrown its spots, but the smaller one was clearly the offspring of the larger.

  I took a photo, and the mother looked up at me. She might have heard the mirror inside my camera when I tripped the shutter. I stayed perfectly still until she tilted her head back down to drink some more. The fawn seemed oblivious to me or whatever else had gotten her mother’s attention.

  The mother deer looked up and to her right, then nudged her fawn, and the pair bounded away together. I looked in the same direction she had and didn’t see anything. I swung my telephoto that direction and searched around. I found what appeared to be a little-used road. It was just two tire paths. Probably an ATV trail. This looked like a good place for off-roading.

  While I was focusing on a tire track, my viewfinder was suddenly filled with something big and dark moving by. I pulled my head back and caught a glimpse of two vehicles moving beneath the tree branches. I could hear them now, too. They stopped at the edge of a clearing. A blue Jeep and a black pickup with a cap over the bed.

  Four men got out—two from each vehicle. One of them pulled a pick out of the back of the Jeep and started digging in the ground. Two of the others got shovels and started helping. They got into a rhythm of taking turns: one guy with the pick, then he’d take a break and the two with shovels would toss out what the pick guy had just broken up.

  Though it was strange behavior, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but they kept looking around… like they were worried about being seen. I took photos of each of the four men and both vehicles. I couldn’t see the license plates, but of the men, I got one good face shot and two good profiles.

  The fourth guy kept his back to me most of the time and I couldn’t get a good shot of him. He must have been in charge because he wasn’t doing any of the work.

  Their hole was long and narrow, and they got it down to about mid-thigh depth when they tossed their shovels onto the ground. The two shovel guys went to the back of the pickup and pulled out a man’s body. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  They carried it over to the hole, and the guy holding the arms seemed to be having a hard time trying to not touch the head, which strangely stuck straight out from the otherwise limp body. The guy holding the feet tried to get his partner to swing the body into the hole, but the arm guy just dropped his end, resulting in the body bouncing clumsily onto the near edge of the hole and flipping down inside.

  Well, well, Jack, I thought. Here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten into.

  3

  A View To A Kill

  My attempt to ambush the manager as he came in to work was a total flop. I asked for him at the front desk and was told that he hadn’t come in yet, so I thanked the woman and pointed out where I would be waiting for him. But after a half hour with nobody entering the front door besides obvious guests, I approached the receptionist again.

  “Hi, I’m still waiting for the manager. Can you please check to see if maybe he came in through another door or something?”

  “The manager called and said that he would be in later today. He had other business to attend to this morning.”

&nbs
p; “And it never occurred to you to tell me that?”

  “No, ma’am, why would it?”

  “Because I was waiting for him!”

  “You looked like you were busy, and I had other guests.”

  “But I told you—” I stopped myself and took a deep breath. “Did he say what time he would come in?”

  “No, ma’am. You might want to check back this afternoon.”

  Aargh. I had just wasted a half hour for nothing. I stomped away telling myself to focus on my breathing.

  I put on a fresh attitude for my interview with Samuel. So far the score was Kismet 1—Alison 0, and I was determined to turn that around.

  Samuel walked toward me wearing a dark blue jacket, casual brown pants and big shoes. He introduced himself, and I could see now that his pants were a very rough material like canvas, and his big shoes were actually hiking boots. I guess that was appropriate for this territory. His jacket, I noticed, too, had a lot of scratches on it like he spent a lot of time hiking through the woods.

  I asked him if we could sit out in the Great Hall, as this place would forever remind me of Harry Potter, so I could soak in the aura as we spoke. He graciously agreed and gave me a brief history as we made our way to some chairs.

  “This lodge was built by the Great Northern Railway in 1912 and 1913 to build ridership on their passenger rail line. And it worked. So well, in fact, that they added a second building the following year. You’ll notice that the train station is right across our front yard. That’s no accident.”

  “Is the train station still used?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. Every day. A lot of our guests arrive by train. I like to think of Glacier Park Lodge as the gateway to Glacier National Park because of the train depot, and I feel a responsibility that comes with that. Guests arrive here, and this lodge transports them out of their hectic lives to an experience a hundred years old. I think it makes a great transition to visiting the park itself and immersing yourself in the experience.”