Pierre and the Gravel Road Agents

           After the trip to Duluth in May, it seemed best for Pierre to keep a low profile.  That is part of the reason no reports have been sent for over a month.  Another reason is Pierre and I, Eagle Watcher, have been on a road trip much of the time.  Hopefully we can now fill you in on what has been happening.  If you really are interested in the life of eagles, I will tell you right now that you are wasting your time reading this series of stories.   Nothing will be said of eagles for some time.  There is more to Pierre’s life than watching eagles.  If you, the reader, are reading these stories to find out about eagles, I suggest you get a life and another source for your information.  Most of these tales are bull stories, not eagle stories.

            After hanging around the island for a week or two, Pierre got restless and decided to take a road trip south.  He said I could go with but had to ride in the trunk most of the time.  Unfortunately Pierre’s Porsche is a hatchback and has no trunk so Pierre had me ride back there with a blanket over me.

           It should be stated here for the record that the Porsche does not actually belong entirely to Pierre.    Pierre was part owner with a guy named Jessie that he met during the Vietnam War.  They shared the car.  Jessie used to live in California, but now had some hotshot job in Minnesota.  Neither Jessie nor Pierre drove the car that much so they stored it at Pierre’s mother’s garage for safekeeping.   Jesse figured he was getting a good deal since Pierre’s mom didn’t know how to drive and Pierre lived on an island where there were no roads.  We all make mistakes.

           We got a late start leaving the island because Pierre wanted to plant a couple of gardens on the island and he also got a request from Jim Dingle to plant a garden at his place. Pierre realizes that a person needs more than sting weed, road kill, and walleye to live so he took the time to dig and plant the gardens.   With storm clouds hanging over us, we finally drove Pierre’s boat to Young’s Bay, tied it near Jim Dingle’s boat, got into the car, and headed south down the Angle road.

          Pierre planned to drive to Glynco, Georgia to see the graduation of the newest United States Border Patrol class from the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center.  There were suppose to be some real top shelf people in this class and Pierre wanted to check it out for himself.  A former Laketrails guide by the name of Forrest “Hurricane” Lee was part of that class.  Pierre sleeps well at night if he knows there are good people watching the borders.  He sleeps even better if he personally knows the people patrolling the border.  Pierre feels most secure if he knows all those good Border Patrol people are sleeping while he is crossing the border.

               Things went smoothly on the way out of Young’s Bay Resort and down the road.  Traffic was light for a Sunday afternoon.  Actually we didn’t even see any other cars, but there were fresh tracks in the mud.   We made the turn at Jim’s Corner and headed towards the big world.  About five miles from Jim’s Corner, Pierre remembered that he had not called from Jim’s Corner to notify Canada that he would be entering Canada on the way to Warroad.  After much soul searching, Pierre decided that it would be a waste of gasoline and time to drive back to the electronic device at Jim’s Corner.  Most of the time the machine does not work.  A person punches a button, waits, a message flashes on the screen for a short time and then the original message flashes up again.  It would be interesting to know which company designed that machine.  I am sure they are out of business today if the intent of the company was to actually have people check in and out of Canada.  A can tied to a string would work just as well most of the time.

          Pierre was driving well and would have set a personal best time for a trip from Young’s Bay to U.S. Customs near Warroad , if there would not have been a road block at the Vickaryous Electric Substation near the border into Canada.  The place was swarming with Canadian and American government agents and it did not look like they were on a picnic.  I ducked my head under the blanket and listened as Pierre tried to talk his way out of the situation.

              In my opinion, Pierre should have asked, “Sprecken se Deutch? to go with the German car theme with the hope no one there spoke German.  He could have claimed that he made a wrong turn off the Autobaun last winter and ended up on the Angle.  Instead Pierre tried to pass as a Canadian by saying,  “Nice day, eh.”  Unfortunately, the Minnesota plates on the car blew that attempt out of the water.

          When a Canadian agent asked Pierre for his number, Pierre said it was normally against his principles to give out his number to a stranger, but since the man had a gun, he would give him his phone number. 

          There was no smile on the agent’s face.  Humor would not work either

          Then the agent asked Pierre for the number that he was given over the phone when he called from Jim’s Corner to check into Canada.   If Pierre had not called from Jim’s Corner, the agent needed to see a copy of his Remote Border Crossing Permit.  Pierre could not give an answer.  He should have phoned a friend at this point, a lawyer friend.  Instead Pierre then made the mistake that gets him and most criminals into jail.  He told the truth.  A little white lie and a little purgatory time could have saved him.  I was proud of him from my professional point of view, but my gut told me it was a stupid thing to do.  Jim Dingle would have agreed.

Instead of stretching the truth, Pierre told the agent that he never even stopped at Jim’s Corner to push the little button that seldom works.  Then he went so far as to say,  “I thought of it five miles down the road, but decided not to go back because the little button does not work most of the time.  I planned to check through at Canadian Customs in Sprague as I have always done since the road was built in the early 70’s. 

No lawyers could help Pierre now, not even OJ’s Dream team.  With those two sentences, Pierre screwed himself.  He could not claim that he did not know the law.  He could not claim that he forgot the law.    He insulted all of Canada by stating that they had a machine to guard their border and it didn’t work.  It was like saying, “It is a good thing you don’t use nuclear weapons to guard your country.   You can not even build a button that works.”  He also admitted that he had gone into the highly sensitive Crown land between Vickaryous Substation and Sprague, Manitoba numerous times without having the magic number.

Next Pierre told the agent that he was not in Canada and decided that he would not cross into Canada.  There was no line in the gravel road marking Canada from United States.  Actually it could be argued that the Northwest Angle should stretch a little further west.  When the boundary was set in the late 1700’s, a line was suppose to be drawn straight south from the most northwesterly corner of Lake of the Woods.   It has always been Pierre’s opinion that the line should have been drawn from a part of Shoal Lake instead of Angle Inlet.   A person can take a boat straight into Shoal Lake from the rest of Lake of the Woods.  The current at Ash Rapids goes both north and south depending on the wind direction.   Indian Bay is actually the most westerly corner of Lake of the Woods.  The border check station was actually on United States’ land.    Since Pierre did not have his charts with him, he could not point out this mistake.  Rather than argue this fine point of law at this time, Pierre said he would just forgive the Canadian agents for setting up their check station in the wrong spot and let their mistake slide for now.  It was a common mistake that people made and no one had pressed the issue up until this time.  He would drive back to Young’s Bay and take his boat back to his island home.

The Canadian agent demanded Pierre’s car key.  All sets.

Pierre did mention that he had once had a Remote Border Crossing permit, but could not remember when it expired.  The agent checked on a computer and found this to be true.  The permit had expired 11 months earlier. 

 Then Pierre said with a shrug,  “What is 11 months between friends?”

 The Canadian agent said without a smile, “ In some cases, it is a two month old baby.”  He probably had to pay child support for at least 18 years.

It was time to try a new approach.  Pierre tried the think-of-me-like-your-dad approach.  With a soft look on his face, Pierre claimed he was going to Glynco, Georgia to see his son graduate from the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center so he could be like the men who guard the Canadian border to keep the aliens from crossing.  Forrest had admired Border Patrol agents since he was a little kid and wanted to be like these men.  That little speech did wonders for the US agents who had now gathered around to hear Pierre’s story, but it did not help him with the Canadian agents.  Maybe some of their family had been aliens that had been turned back at the border. 

It was time to bail out.  Pierre should have taken a nap before he started the trip. He was not at his sharpest.    Pierre asked the agent,   “How much is the fine?”

“$100,” replied the agent.

“Will you take a check from the Sprague Credit Union?” asked Pierre.

 “No.  I will take Visa or American Express.”

Pierre asked if the Sprague Credit Union was in financial trouble, but didn’t push for an answer.  He realized he probably did not have $100 in that account anyway so it was best that the agent would not take a check.  Canadians might have laws against bouncing checks too.  At times they are so picky.

To save a little face, Pierre asked, “Is that $100 U. S. funds or Canadian?”

 The agent said, “Canadian!”

  With a slight smirk in his voice, Pierre said, “ Oh, the fine is not so bad then.

Pierre can be a wise guy at times.  At least he didn’t ask the agent if he could pay the fine in sting weed.

While one agent was running the Visa card through the money grabbing machine, another more gentle agent starting asking Pierre many personal questions.

“Do you have any felonies?”

“If parking tickets and speeding tickets are felonies, I do.”

“Are you carrying any weapons?”

 “My entire body is a weapon.  Keep your distance.  I have no control when it goes off.  Don’t take any sudden hits personally.”

“I’ll take my chances.  Do you have any scars?”

 “I have a lot of emotional scars when my girlfriend in third grade broke up with me.”

“Any physical scars.

“How about this scar by my right eye?”

“ That little thing doesn’t count.  Any others?”

“ I’ve been told I have one on my right cheek from scratching myself after sitting down in some poison ivy, but I don’t know for sure if it is there.  I’ve never really have seen it.”

“I’ll take the other person’s word,” she said with a smile.

To cover this rejection a little, Pierre then pointed to a spot on his face below his eye scar.

When the first agent brought back the Visa card and the sets of car keys, Pierre announced that he was too drained emotionally to continue his journey.  After he signed another document that stated he would not be entering Canada, Pierre turned around and headed back to Jim’s Corner.

 I was so thankful that the agent didn’t look under the blanket.  I didn’t have a Remote Border Crossing Permit either.  Pierre had realized he was transporting an illegal alien into Canada and didn’t want to commit another crime.  “One can never me too legal” is my motto.   Pierre seems to be slowly learning that himself.

Pierre was steamed.  The car was getting covered with gravel and mud.  He would not get his personal best time on this run to Canadian Customs.  He was out about $65.00 in U.S. funds.   He was not leading a “charmed life”.   He thought about driving back to Young’s Bay, parking the car and taking his boat to Warroad, and skipping the entire border problem.  Then he could hitch a ride to International Falls and catch a Greyhound to Georgia.  He could skip the whole trip.  He was too tired to think clearly.

Suddenly Pierre got a blast of energy and a direction.  When he saw a van coming down the road, he stopped the car and flagged the van down.  He told the people in the van about the road agents near the border.   If they had neither called from Jim’s Corner nor had Remote Border Crossing Permits, Pierre suggested they return to Jim’s Corner and call for the magic number.  They all had permits so Pierre gave them his blessing and let them go.

 Pierre did this to all the cars, trucks, and vans that he met on the way to Jim’s Corner.  Almost everyone had the proper permits.   A few had called in and had the magic numbers.   One woman said she waited twenty minutes to get through at Jim’s Corner, but finally she got through.  Was Pierre the only criminal on the Angle? 

When Pierre got to Jim’s Corner, he punched the button for U.S. Customs so he would be legally back in the United States.  It didn’t work.  Again and again he tried.  It never worked.  He was a man without a country.  No matter which way he went, he would not be legal.

Finally he tried to check into Canada.  That button didn’t work either.  After several pushes, Pierre realized the telephone was not working as usual.  The Canadian Custom’s agent had told him, the machine was working that day, but it wasn’t.  Then Pierre got out his video camera and filmed himself trying the button and the message that flashed on the screen.  With around 15 minutes proof that the telephone was not working, Pierre got back in the car and raced back to the check station with his evidence.

When we got close to the station, I got out and walked through the woods since I still did not have a magic number.  I wanted to watch what was happening, but not be a part of the action.  Since I am a dual citizen, I was probably covered for crossing the border, but I did not have my papers with me.   Who knows for sure about Canadian law?  This was Pierre’s problem.  I stayed out of sight as usual.

When he pulled up to the check station, most of the agents got into their cars and left.  An agent talked to Pierre and heard his story how the telephone didn’t work, but did not look at the video that Pierre had taken.  He did say that Pierre could plead his case, but didn’t say where he could appeal. The agents had his money and he had admitted that he had not stopped the first time through.  Pierre had told the truth, and the truth had bit him in the billfold.

  What could he do?  He could ask Jesse for help.  He could tell his story to other elected officials in Canada and Minnesota.  He could run for office himself.  He could spend the rest of his life pushing the button at Jim’s Corner Border Station.  He could become the poster child for Remote Border Crossing Permits.

 Pierre picked the poster child vocation.  Hopefully he would be well paid for his efforts. 

Knowing his new role in life, Pierre picked me up down the road and we drove to the Piney Border Crossing Station in the province formerly know as Friendly, and reported that the phone was not working at Jim’s Corner again.

Pierre had skipped his usual trip through Warroad because he feared the agents there would rip the Porsche apart looking for sting weed, pot, or illegal aliens.  Neither Pierre nor I wanted that to happen.  Jesse probably wouldn’t want the car checked for pot either.  He and Pierre had bought the Porsche used from some teacher and maybe the previous owner or one of his students may have lit up a few.  There might still be traces of pot in the car.   The press would have made a big deal out of it at Jessie’s political expense.

We had had enough adventure for one day.   After checking through with the agent on duty at Roseau, we headed toward Duluth as the sun sank below the storm clouds in the west.