Someone had slipped a copy of our bill under our door sometime during the night, so we left the keys on the desk and headed out.
We left the lodge taking the same route that we had used to come up the day before. Jack pulled over at one point to run down below a bridge that we had just crossed and take some pictures. It was a beautiful scene. He's going to have some great pictures for my article, and he'll probably have a lot more that he can post on his website or print enlargements to sell.
We made it to the Customs station at the border, and the guard asked us the same questions as on the way up. When we handed him our passports, he asked us to wait a minute and went inside the building. He came back out without our passports and asked us to pull over into a parking spot.
“Is there a problem?” Jack asked.
“No problem,” the agent said, “but I need you to come inside with me.”
That seemed very strange, but we parked and followed the guard into the building. My mind played a harrowing scene of the local police locking us up in the dungeon for all that we had seen and done and not reported properly.
The border station had one big waiting area and a hallway that led back to individual offices. The guard walked us back to one of the offices, directed us inside, then closed the door without following us in.
There was one desk in the small room, and the man behind it stood up and asked us if we were Jack Taylor and Alison Meyers. Jack said ‘yes,’ and the man told us to sit down.
I saw that he had two passports on his desk in front of him.
He picked up the top one, flipped through a couple pages, and said very slowly, “So you crossed this border just yesterday.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “But I swear I didn’t know it was illegal to bring those oranges across.”
The man ignored this remark and my elbow into Jack’s ribs. He picked up the other passport, again flipped a couple pages, then put it back on his desk.
“What was the purpose of your trip to Canada?”
I answered this one. “I'm writing an article about the four lodges in Glacier National Park. One of them is in Canada, and we stayed there last night.”
“If you’re writing an article,” he said, “then why are there two of you?”
“He’s my photographer,” I said.
He paused again, looking from Jack to me and back to Jack.
“So, if you’re writing an article,” he shifted his gaze to Jack, “and you’re her photographer, I suppose we would find some writing and photographs if we searched your car.”
“What’s this all about?” Jack asked. “Of course we have writing and photographs, and we’ll be glad to show them to you if you want, but why this interrogation session? What do you want?”
“It's not about what I want. It's about what the Bureau of Indian Affairs wants. Why would the Bureau of Indian Affairs be after you?”
“They're not after us,” Jack said “I'm working with them on a case. I witnessed a crime.”
“What sort of crime?”
“What difference does it make?” Jack said. “Do they want to see me? We stopped by their office yesterday morning, but they weren’t there.”
The man glared at Jack for several seconds, then slid his chair back and opened his center desk drawer and scooped our passports into it.
“We’ve been asked to hold you here and notify the Bureau when we have you in our custody.”
“So, have you notified them?” Jack asked.
“Not yet. I wanted to find out first why they were after you.”
Jack already had his phone out of his pocket and looked like he was waiting for a signal. He tapped the screen a few times then held his phone up to his ear.
“Put your phone down,” the customs agent said. “I'm not through with you.”
“Agent Burd?” Jack said into his phone. “This is Jack Taylor. I’m at the border crossing station, and the guy here says you wanted to see us. Yeah, he took our passports and said he’s supposed to hold us and tell you that we’re in custody. Are we in some kind of trouble? Then, why the third degree? Why didn't you just call me?”
There was a pause as Agent Burd said something to Jack.
“Well, we're here now. Do you want us to come to your office, or do you want to come up here?”
More pause.
“Okay. How long do you think you’ll be? Okay. See you then.” Jack put his phone back into his pocket and said, “He’ll be here in an hour and a half.”
“I was supposed to call him,” the customs agent said. “Not you.”
“It’s okay,” Jack said. “He got the message, and he’s on his way.”
I couldn’t read the look on the agent’s face, but it was obvious he wasn’t pleased.
Jack stood up. “Is there a restroom here I can use?”
“You need to wait here in this office,” the agent said, standing up.
“Are we under arrest?” Jack said.
“Not yet,” the agent said. He was clearly getting angry at Jack.
“Then I’m going to go find a restroom,” Jack said as he turned away and walked to the door.
“Now wait a minute—”
I quickly stood up, pushing my chair into the path of the agent.
“I have to go too,” I said, and ran to catch up with Jack.
An hour and a half later, Jack tapped my arm and stood up from his chair in the main waiting area. “There he is.”
Agent Burd had just walked in the front door and headed toward us when he saw Jack. They shook hands, and Jack re-introduced me, “You remember my girlfriend Alison.”
It felt so good to hear him say that. I think I blushed.
He nodded to me and said to Jack, “Let’s go sit down.”
“Let’s go in there,” Jack said, pointing to the office that we were taken to initially. “Dick Tracy still has our passports in there.”
Agent Burd retrieved our passports and asked the customs agent if we could use his office for a while. The customs guy gave Jack a dirty look on the way out. I’m sure I rolled my eyes at this testosterone filled pissing contest. Men.
“I got a call from a National Parks Police agent who spoke with you,” Agent Burd said. “He told me about the remains he found, and your story that you told me.”
“What remains?” I asked.
“A grizzly bear mauled a man on a park trail.”
“And you saw this?” I said to Jack.
“Yeah,” Jack replied, “I didn't want to worry you.”
He saw my dropped jaw and patted my thigh. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
I started to express my concern over this apparent secret, but Agent Burd spoke before I could.
“He also told me that one of their agents has been missing for over a week. He thought the remains they found might be him, but they weren’t. I think that the body you saw being buried might be him, though.
“His name is Scott Runyan. He’s been investigating a poaching operation inside the park. He didn’t report in and didn’t respond to phone calls or emails. Apparently that’s not unusual for somebody working undercover, but they went to his home and he wasn't there. They found his notebook, and he had made plans for an undercover hunting trip. He should have returned before now. Apparently this guy is a real pro. He’s a twenty-year veteran.”
“Do they have his contact on the inside?” Jack asked. “The guy he made his hunting plans with.”
“Sort of. They have a first name, but Runyan even said in his notes it’s probably an alias. The phone number he had was a temporary cell phone. It's not any good anymore. I wanted to know if you’d witnessed any other incidents, or knew anything else that might seem relevant, given this new information.”
Jack and I looked at each other. “Where do we start?” he said to me.
An hour later, Burd dropped his pencil onto the desk and leaned back in his chair.
“Jesus. I can’t believe what you two have gone through. There are
some other people who are going to want to talk to you, but I’m thinking that you two need to go home for your own safety.”
“We can’t go home,” I said. “I still have to finish my article. Without that, I don’t get paid.”
“And I don’t get my expenses reimbursed,” Jack added.
“Plus, I just paid a hundred dollars this morning to move out our return flights.”
Burd raised his hands in self-defense.
“I can't force you to go home,” he said, “but I want you two to stay in constant contact with me. Where will you be staying?”
“We have to go back to Lake McDonald,” I said, “but we don’t have reservations.”
“Most of the lodges are booked solid during the season,” Burd said.
“I know, but—”
“Why don’t we just stay at that same Holiday Inn Express in Browning?”Jack said.
We looked at each other, and I said, “That probably makes the most sense.”
“Good,” Burd said, “I can always get hold of you there.”
He gave us both his cell number and told us to call him day or night. He got my phone number and wished us good luck.
11
Charging Marmots
We were starving by the time we got out of the Customs office, and half the day was already gone. I called the Holiday Inn from the car to book a room for two nights, and then I started to call Lake McDonald Lodge.
“Hang on a minute,”Jack said. “Why do we need to call them?”
“To set up an interview with the manager.”
“What if he’s not there?”
“Then I’ll have to find somebody else.”
“So, why bother calling?”
“Because you can’t just show up and expect to get an interview. People won’t see you unless you’ve gotten on their schedule.”
“Which also gives them time to call their thugs.”
“What do you mean?”
“The last time we were there, they were waiting for us. The manager, that Matt guy, and the two guys that chased us out the front door.”
“So, what are you suggesting?”
“First, is it absolutely necessary that you get this interview?”
“Yes. I can’t complete my article without it. We won’t be staying there, so this interview is all I get.”
“Then let’s at least not give them any advance notice that we’re coming. Let’s just show up. The manager will probably be there, and you can probably get an interview with him. Then we get out of there. Sound like a plan?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Do you mind if we stop at the next overlook so I can get some photos? The views here are awesome.”
We pulled into the parking lot at the lodge and hiked to the building. This park is not a vacation spot for weaklings. I approached the registration desk with a winning attitude.
“Hi. My name is Alison Meyers, and I had an interview scheduled with the manager. Is he available?”
“I’ll have to see—”
“Great, thank you. I’ll wait right here.”
The girl at the desk hesitated. She looked younger than me, and I rarely have the opportunity to exert my age, but hey, use what ya got. That’s what my grandma told me.
The girl disappeared through a door behind her. Jack was fiddling with his cameras.
“You seem to have things under control here,” he said. “I’m going look around and try to get some pictures.”
I thought he must have a half a million shots by now, but then again, the more he could take, the better his chances of getting a hidden gem. I smiled at the reminder of my last article and all that we’d been through to get it.
The desk clerk reappeared and stood just inside the door with her hands clasped in front of her. The manager followed her out and approached me.
“Miss Meyers,” he said, “I’m surprised to see you here.”
I bet you are, I was thinking. “Yes, unfortunately, our scheduled interview got interrupted. That’s a long story that I’d rather not go into, but it’s all taken care of now. I’m sorry to mess up your schedule, but I promise I’ll be as efficient as possible with my questions so it won’t take up too much of your time. Can you tell me how long you’ve been the manager here?”
Two couples walked up to the desk to register. They seemed to be together. I smiled at the manager.
He hesitated a second, then said, “Just a minute. I’ll come around.”
He walked me over to a couple chairs, and we sat down.
It was a very stilted back-and-forth at first, but gradually I got him to open up a little and have an actual conversation with me. It turns out that this lodge was not built by the Great Northern Railway, as one of my earlier interviews had told me. Lake McDonald Lodge was built by a real estate investor at the same time as the first two lodges we stayed at. It wasn’t until 1930 that the railroad bought it to operate it with the other lodges.
When I got enough information to get by, I thanked him for his time and reminded him of the magazine that this would be in so he could watch for the article. He shook my hand and thanked me in response and walked back behind his closed door.
I set out to find Jack and walked past a couple animal heads mounted to the wall. They must have been elk or caribou or something like that. They had huge antlers. Hardly a reason to shoot them. It gave me a whole new take on when guys say a woman has a big rack. I shuddered and kept walking.
I saw Jack at the same time as he saw me, and we headed toward each other.
“Did you get all the pictures you wanted?” I asked him.
“Inside I did. I need some better shots of the outside of the building, but I didn’t want to leave you alone with that guy. The sun’s starting to drop, so I need to get moving.”
We stepped out onto the front porch, and Jack took some pictures of the lake with the mountains in the background and an orange sky overhead.
He turned to me and said, “I’m not crazy about hanging around this place any longer than we have to, but this looks like a beautiful sunset coming. What do you think about sticking around long enough for me to get some shots of it?”
“That’s fine,” I said. “The sun’s going to be behind that mountain pretty quick.”
I stood at the rail and kept a wary lookout while Jack ran down to the lake to get a picture looking back at the hotel. By the time he got back, the sky was turning orange and he set up his tripod for some more spectacular pictures.
The next morning, we woke up at the Holiday Inn well rested and with no agenda other than enjoying ourselves. No deadlines, nobody chasing us, and no reason to get out of bed any quicker than we had to.
It seemed ironic to me that after running behind all week and missing interviews, we got caught up with everything I needed so quickly yesterday. I could have gotten away without extending our return flights after all, but I wasn’t about to pay another hundred dollars to change them back again. Plus, I still wanted a day or two to just enjoy the park and do some sightseeing.
Jack asked me to drive while he studied his map of the park. We had already been on the Going-to-the-Sun Highway several times, but he said it was still the best route to see things in the park that we hadn’t yet.
Our first destination was the visitor center at Logan Pass, which is right on the continental divide. Jack said that means if you spit on the west side, it would end up in the Pacific Ocean, and if you spit on the east side, it would end up in the Atlantic. I’d be sure to stand somewhere away from him when he was ready to make that mark on the world.
I got the last parking space available, and we went inside to see the exhibits. I learned the names of some of the different types of deer heads I had seen hanging on the lodge walls. Outside, we listened to a volunteer talk about all the wildflowers in the park. I made a few notes, even though I was considering myself off-duty today. You never know when you can insert a tidbit of information into an article to brighten it up.
>
We both wanted to get away from the road and experience the park, but I wasn’t feeling real great about going into the woods again. I don’t know which I was scared of more, the grizzly bears or some of the people around here. There was a trail called Hidden Lake Trail that was all open because it’s on top of the mountain. No trees for bears or people to hide in. Perfect.
This was less of a trail and almost more of a sidewalk. It’s paved for a ways; then it turns into a boardwalk. This is my kind of hiking—no dirty shoes!
The views were pretty. There were a lot of yellow flowers all around and certainly more mountains to see. One of them had snow all the way from the peak down the side to the base. I’m not sure if that qualifies as a glacier or not, but either way, it was impressive.
It was really windy on top of the mountain, and that made it extra cold. The ranger had warned us about that at the visitor center, so I had a sweater on underneath my jacket, and I’m glad I did, but there were a lot of people in shorts on the trail, too.
The weather was weird here. When the wind was blowing, it was cold, but when it stopped, the sun was actually pretty warm. I guess that’s why people were dressed in everything from parkas to shorts. Then it got even weirder when we came across a field of snow. Of course, the first thing Jack did was run off the trail to make a snowball and throw it at me. Everyone around me thought that was just hilarious, so they joined in on the fun. We had about ten people in a snowball free-for-all. I joined in, too, and I have to admit it was a lot of fun.
After we got past the snow, more flowers appeared. I recognized some of these from the volunteer’s talk. Trillium was easy to remember because it only has three petals. It’s a pretty, white bloom with a yellow center. And the bright red alpine paintbrush, which looks exactly like the Indian paintbrush I’m used to in the Smokies. It’s probably the same flower with two different local names. Jack got some pictures of both of these and a couple others I didn’t remember the names of. I could look them up in my notes later if I wanted to mention them in my article.
Goats, Boats, and Killer Cutthroats Page 8
