I've booked an alarm call for 5.20 am, and within an hour I'm waiting for my plane to take off from Yellowknife airport. From here I go to Edmonton, Canada, where I will change and catch one going to Denver. After Denver I'll have one more change and then I'll arrive in Billings, Montana.
In accordance with my travel arrangements, the man at the First Air desk, the company I'm using to leave Yellowknife, checks in all my baggage to my final destination, Billings. This means I won't have to chase after it during the next two changes, but will be reunited with it at my journey's end. This is normal procedure for trips involving several changes, so that travellers don't need to worry about collecting their bags and re-checking them in at each stage of the journey.
It's also convenient for the airlines, as they don't have to keep taking the cases to baggage reclaim, which simplifies all the logistics.
My situation is slightly complicated by the fact that I am entering US territory once more, meaning that, yet again, I must register the entry of my gun into the US. None of this can be done at Billings, my final destination, because I will go through US Immigration in Edmonton. The US
maintains a desk there, which means that one can technically enter the US while actually in Edmonton, and then not have to go through these formalities at the other end. Because of this, the First Air representative suggested I collect my gun in Edmonton, declare it there to the US
Customs, and then check it in again.
From the very beginning I didn't quite understand this plan, but I let them persuade me. I would have thought that if I checked my bags in to go straight to Billings, I would not be able to collect my gun at Edmonton. At no point in my journey will I be able to get my hands on my luggage again. I didn't want to push the point, as I assumed the airline representative knew how to deal with my case. A further twist in the story was that, in Yellowknife, they could not give me boarding-passes for my flights to Denver and Billings, meaning that I could not get on these flights, even though I had a ticket. Apparently, I will be given them in Edmonton.
Come what may, I set off.
If you've been reading this diary so far, you'll know that I've become rather good at coping with any situation that comes up in these madhouse airports; I only need to remind you of what happened previously with my Fairbanks - Deadhorse flight. I only mention it because I don't want
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anyone to think that the following nightmare was the result of any foolishness or incompetence on my part.
I arrived in Edmonton after a journey of nearly 1000 mi. At that point I I was still unaware that my trip was in any danger or that I was coming close to violating US laws on the importation of firearms.
In Edmonton I began to sort things out by approaching the first person I saw wearing a United Airlines badge - this was the airline that was to take me on, first to Denver and then to Billings -
and asked him what to do. He looked at his computer, called over a colleague, and they stared at the monitor together. That's when they found out that, though they both worked for United Airlines, neither of them could answer my question. I should go to the Denver flight check-in desk where the young lady will certainly know what to do. So that is what I did.
The young woman, however, hadn't got the faintest idea what I was supposed to do. Much telephoning and radioing ensued: more and more United Airlines personnel came to the desk: and the line behind me grew longer and longer. The airline staff then formed into three parties: the first explained that I had to get my boarding pass before I could collect my gun; the second said that was impossible as, once I had the boarding-pass, the computer would not let me collect the gun. And the third said that I didn't have to collect the gun at all, because if the Americans wanted to see the gun, they'd ask. I thought the third solution sounded a bit suspect, as I couldn't imagine US Customs not being interested in someone bringing a gun on to US territory. For over an hour they sent me round and round the airport, from one place to another, dragging my hand-baggage, which weighed over 20 lbs., with me, before they finally realised that it wasn't their responsibility: it was First Air's, as it was they who originally checked-in my bags. But First Air thought differently: they had only undertaken to carry my bags as far as Edmonton: having done this it was no longer their responsibility.
Time is running out.
The departure of the Denver flight is getting very near.
I'm looking at their faces, listening to their voices, and I realize that nobody understands what's going on. I'm beginning to lose my patience. I've done everything required by the law and regulations; all my documents are in order; and now these two damned airline companies have, between them, lost my luggage, and in such a way that, even if it could be found, they don't know what I should do with it. This is the worst moment I've had today.
I've just realized that I am surrounded by idiots.
Finally, they come to a decision: I must appear before a US Customs officer, who will decide whether he wants to see the gun, or not. I approach the desk with a heavy heart...
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Unsurprisingly, he would like to see the gun, and is amazed that, despite all the passenger-control systems in place, I have managed to reach his desk still without the gun that I am supposed to show him. Of course, he won't let me go any further, and he strongly disapproves of what has happened so far. He takes my passport, the gun documents, and all my official papers, and shows me to the Customs Office waiting room. I'm not actually in custody, but he asks me not to leave the room. Briefly, he explains the state of affairs.
These are unbelievably difficult moments.
I could easily be accused of trying to smuggle a gun into the US. On the wall right in front of me is a poster stating that, under US Federal Law, such an attempt is punishable by 10 years imprisonment, or a fine of $1million, or both. This means that even the attempt is a crime, and, what's more, a serious one. Surely the customs officer realizes that I didn't do it deliberately, that I have only been following the airline company's instructions. But the law is the law. If he's feeling generous, I might just get away with being banned from entering the US.
I can't even begin to describe my state of mind. My thoughts are completely dominated by feelings of hopelessness and despair, as well as an overwhelming anger towards the two damned airline companies. I can only put my trust in the American Customs officers.
My fate is now in their hands.
There's no phone here, so I can't contact the airline companies, and so the customs officers do it for me. The one in charge of my case is very interested in what has happened.
Time is running out.
The departure time of the Denver flight is getting very near.
The customs officers come up and try to console me; they're just doing their job. They have checked all my papers, but it hasn't helped. I've turned up at Customs and tried to enter US
territory without actually having my gun on me. That is a fact.
The chief officer asks to see the senior local representatives of the two airlines. They're very lucky that I can't leave this room, and can only see them from a distance. I'm generally a placid kind of guy, but even my patience has its limits, and these two men, and their teams, have definitely exceeded those limits. I can see there is a chance that I could get into serious trouble because of them. First of all, the officer tries to find out exactly where my gun is right now. If he can locate it, it will be brought here, and it will be as if I had just turned up and declared it to him.
He tells the airline companies to produce the gun.
Time is running out.
The departure time of the Denver flight is getting very near.
I've never been in such a predicament in my life.
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I am staring at the airline executives, these two so-called leaders of the pack, as they blunder about, hopelessly pressing the buttons on their cell phones and radios. Occasionally they shrug. I hate them. I have very evil thoughts about them.
Time is running out.
The departure time of the Denver flight is getting very near.
I have been in this room for 1 1/2 hrs. Finally, we learn that the gun has been loaded into the hold of the Denver plane. These two miserable idiots have just spent the last 1 1/2 hrs. trying to prevent that from happening. I have absolutely had it.
And now even the customs chief loses his temper. Now he can see that, out of the whole damned airport at Edmonton, the only people capable of thinking clearly are the US Customs Officers, and the only people he can rely on are his own colleagues. He calls me over.
His position is this: from the documents he already has, and the computer records and plane tickets, he can see that I originally brought the gun into America quite legally when I arrived at Chicago. He can find no trace of my having returned home in the meantime, or having used a different gun to hunt with in Canada. And, as he can't find any evidence of me buying a new gun in Canada, he comes to the conclusion that the gun I want to bring in is the same one that I was permitted to bring in before. Because of all this, he can't see any reason for not letting me and my gun back into the US.
I can go!
From now on, if I ever hear someone bad-mouthing US Customs and Immigration, they'll catch it from me!
As I rush to the plane I see the hated United Airlines executive. I go up to him, show him my passport and tell him I'm ready to board. He ignores me, goes to the tannoy, and makes an announcement demanding that I board immediately. What an impertinent, insolent man! I jump on to the plane at the last possible moment and they close the door behind me at once.
With huge relief I fall into my seat.
At Denver, United Airlines, which I have re-named "The Most Stupid Airline In the World", has yet another trick up its sleeve. To reassure myself, just for safety's sake, I want to be absolutely certain that my two bags, one of which is the gun, were really put on the plane, and have arrived in Denver. I go to the information desk and ask.
They have no idea at all where my bags are!!!
Once again, more blank faces and helpless looks; more phone calls; more people with stupid expressions, all bent over the computer, pressing the keys and talking on radios ... Honestly, I just can't understand how a company can function like this. It is a fact, and one of the risks of flying,
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that luggage occasionally gets lost. Mistakes can occur in every system, and they can't be prevented. But if United Airlines logistics are incapable of tracking the journey of a piece of luggage, then exactly what are they there for? - and then, if the employees in charge cannot use an inefficient computer register ... then it is all too much. I swear loudly, but only in Hungarian, as I don't want to get into more trouble for abusing a bunch of lunatics.
I board the plane to Billings hoping for the best. (The final straw was that the damned airline company issued me a boarding-pass with no seat number, so that it was only after some energetic elbowing that I managed to get myself a seat. Some passengers, who had similar passes, got stuck in Denver.)
It is going to be a tough 1 1/2 hrs.until we get to Denver.
And at Billings airport ... there are my bags! I've never been so pleased to see my Peli case ... but what's happened? Three of the four straps are undone, and only the padlocks are keeping the case closed.
I peer through the gap in the case; how easy is it to reach the gun ... it's virtually impossible.
Without doubt, this case has been very well designed. Even without the straps the gun is still well protected.
I have been waiting for 20 minutes in front of the airport for the Hilton minibus, listening to the Montana night. The crickets chirp so loudly, it sounds as if they are using an amplifier. It's very hot; they're having a heatwave. After just spending five weeks in the north, I am not used to this climate. At last the bus arrives. We drive for 1/2 hr. to the hotel, where, thanks to Jennifer's efficiency, my room is waiting for me. I don't even unpack; the first thing I do is open the Peli ...
everything seems fine, there's no sign of any damage to the gun. I'll try a test shot anyway, and if anyone has managed to tamper with the sight through that small gap it will be obvious immediately. I'm just about to replace the gun when I notice a piece of paper in the case. It is the TSA certificate. (The Transportation Security Administration, the organization in charge of flight security, who screen all checked-in bags, including guns.) It seems that the customs officers asked the TSA to insert this certificate into the case to make it completely legal. That must be why three of the four straps are undone. The TSA officers probably didn't do them up properly.
The customs officers at Edmonton will have my eternal gratitude. They were so helplful! I would never have expected it. They worked for hours to find a way to let me enter their country legally.
I splash into the jacuzzi and open a can of beer.
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After this exhausting, anxious, nerve-racking day it feels good to finally relax. I think back over the last few weeks, and of my adventures yet to come, as the bubbles and hot jets of water gently massage my body. I decide that, in this universe, the third planet from the sun is quite a good place to be. Actually, out of all planets, this must be the best one. It has many types of game on it, which adventurous sportsmen can hunt as they learn more and more about this lonely blue planet, before they eventually return to their distant countries with all their new experiences.
Room 322
Hilton Garden Inn
Billings