LIKE Conrad, nearby Glacier National Park was poised to face its biggest challenge for survival. Twenty miles north of the Canadian border, a coal-mining company was looking to blast the MacDonald Mountains, which could affect the waters of Glacier and, thereby, damage the park’s ecosystem and natural formations. If allowed to mine, the company, in a matter of a few decades, might turn the park, a national treasure, into nothing but a swamp, rampaged by gook, fallen trees, and debris.
Aiden’s concept for the article had come to him last summer while he and Daniel, taking a relaxing break after a weekend of backpacking Piegan Pass in the eastern edge of the park, attended a ranger-led outdoor seminar on the park’s ecosystem. The ranger mentioned that the park’s future lay in the hands of the company mining for bituminous coal and gas. With a familiar sarcastic lilt to his voice, the ranger said few politicians on either side of the border seemed to care.
Curious, Aiden did more research at home and happened upon an obscure blog from an ecologist at the University of Montana. But his was the only mention of the strip mining near Glacier Park that Aiden found.
Months later, Aiden was surprised no one had yet to leap on the story. Even his and Daniel’s former progressive church across from Conrad’s cancer clinic had failed to act, or had been unaware of the problem. Outside the ecologist’s rather far-out blog and the park ranger’s mocking of government indifference, the story did not exist.
When he decided to take on the story, Aiden contacted the ecologist and compiled ten pages of notes from their hour-long telephone interview. Dr. Christopher Vernal seemed grateful for a chance to vent, and Aiden could barely keep up with the environmental jargon he used to describe the strip mining’s possible impact on the park.
The editor of the Flathead Valley’s largest newspaper, the Valley Courant, expressed interest in the story. Norman Schooner said he’d pay Aiden sixteen cents per word. Not a mint, but at least it was enough to keep Aiden focused on a meaningful writing assignment while Conrad convalesced under foot.
With the horrible images of Conrad’s radiation treatments behind him, Aiden cleared the heart of Kalispell and passed the airport where the landscape opened with expansive subdivisions and green pastures, until he reached the town of Columbia Falls, Flathead Valley’s third-largest city.
Columbia Falls, the gateway to Glacier National Park, was famous for its log cabin stores and lodges, many of which were made of false facades and showcased schmaltzy plastic elk racks hanging above doors. The lush hills rose higher here, and the soaring snow-streaked mountains reappeared as fixtures to the landscape.
Round the first significant bend of Route 2, he turned left and drove past the park’s welcome sign. The park was a few months from in-season and he entered without needing to wait in line. He proceeded easily along the Going-to-the-Sun Road and recalled the first time he drove that road alone and beheld the park.
It had been a dream come true, to experience the wild frontier, managed by a system that kept the land untamed and dangerous, yet approachable to the public. Among the towering red cedars, Aiden realized he could never turn back for Maryland or Illinois again.
The farther he drove into the park, the higher the snow drifts collected on the side of the road and along the north side of the trees. Farther up at ten thousand feet, officials would not clear Logan Pass until June or July.
Wildlife was scarce, save for magpies scrounging for fallen pinecones uncovered by snowmelt. Bears were probably still snoozing in their dens higher up in the mountains, away from danger. The short stretch of warmer weather might have rustled awake the boars, but they were unlikely to have made it down near the park’s lodge and the campgrounds.
He glanced to his left at Sprague Creek Campground on the banks of Lake MacDonald. Two tents and an RV were set up. Soon, the weather would warm enough that he and Daniel could go backpacking and camping again.
Would it be proper to bring Conrad to what had become Aiden and Daniel’s sacred ground?
At Lake MacDonald Lodge, he parked beside a snow pile as big as a hill and walked to the ranger station in the hill’s long shadow. The air was nippy. He zipped his jacket and headed inside.
He remembered the ranger behind the reception desk from his first trip to Glacier. Handsome and youthful, he had greeted Aiden with a wide grin and solicitous manner, like he did now. Aiden was certain the ranger did not recognize him since he saw tens of thousands of people each season.
“What can I do for you?” the ranger said, leaning into the counter.
Fighting a sudden bout of bashfulness, Aiden said, “I’m Aiden Cermak, a freelance journalist living in the Flathead Valley. I wanted to ask a few questions about the strip-mining operation opening up across the border.”
The ranger kept his smile, but shook his head rigorously. “You’ll have to speak to our public relations officer or the superintendent, and I don’t think either will be in until later in the day. Mornings are slow starts for us this time of year.”
Another ranger, interested in Aiden by the arch of his eyebrows, rounded a corner and stood by the counter. “What’s going on, Brad?”
“This man wants to interview someone about the mountaintop mining in British Columbia.”
The ranger stood taller with his chin raised and bald head reflecting the lights above. “I’ll speak with you.” He extended his large hand for a shake. “I’m Ranger Craig Ellis. I work in the education division at the park. You want to step back here where we can talk?”
Giddy with expectancy, Aiden nodded a thanks to the shrugging ranger named Brad and followed Ranger Ellis into his office. Ranger Ellis kept his door open, and the atmosphere was relaxed, if not typical of a government agency knotted in red tape. Aiden glanced at the mounds of paperwork. Little resembled the solitude and rustic feel of a national park. It was a cold, heartless administrative office with concrete slab walls and a single grimy window that prevented a good view of the surrounding beauty. Aiden might as well have been in an office in Washington, DC, or Chicago.
Ranger Ellis shoved aside a column of files and clasped his hands under his chin. Even before meeting his eyes, Aiden sensed his displeasure. Not at Aiden, but at the turn Ellis’s job had taken. At the governmental overload that came with civil service.
Right away, Aiden understood he’d learn more about the burden of an increasingly thankless job than strip mining. Like the ranger whom Aiden had first heard raise the issue of strip mining, Ranger Ellis scoffed at the pressure of political pandering.
At the ranger’s suggestion, Aiden sat across from him. He folded his hands in his lap, providing the ranger his full attention. Aiden never took notes when interviewing people for his articles. He feared it might create a wall. When finished he’d type a quick synopsis of the interview in his truck, while still fresh in his mind.
From his experience, people on the street were easier to interview than blurry-eyed officials used to being misquoted. The public loved the attention. And Aiden learned early that many interviewees said what they thought the interviewer wanted to hear. The longer he worked at his job, the more he realized they were more desperate for approval than to express their true thoughts.
Eyebrows still arched high, Ranger Ellis’s gaze roamed from the workload on his desk to Aiden. He continued to smile, accentuating his high cheekbones, which were already glossy with a thin veil of sweat. He needed a shave, and his oily day-old beard that traced his firm jawline glistened under the harsh overhead lights.
“What publication do you work for?” Ellis asked with a showy sigh.
“I’m a freelancer actually, but my story will appear in the Valley Courant. I’m writing about the strip mining of bituminous coal near Glacier Park, perhaps a series if I can get enough feedback.”
“Go right ahead. Ask away.”
“Can you tell me more about the mining? Do you feel it actually poses a risk to the park’s future?”
“Coal was mined in and around the park before the national park system came into existence,” Ellis said. “The Blackfoot mined it for baking their pottery and then the French fur traders came in and mined scant amounts, followed by the pioneers. Little could be attained by hand. Now we have massive machines that can rip a mountain of five thousand feet down to sea level in a matter of a few years. But how much of a threat? I can’t answer that. It might even affect the entire Flathead Valley. The watershed could be threatened and ranchers would have to move out.”
“What has the park done to try to stop it?”
Ellis leaned back in his chair. “We’ve filed the requisite paperwork with the appropriate government agencies on both sides of the border, stating our concerns. It’s out of our hands at this point.”
“Which agencies are those?”
“National Park Service, Parks Canada, EPA, the British Columbia Environmental Assessment Office, Montana’s DEQ.”
“DEQ?”
“Department of Environmental Quality. The usual gang of suspects. Hey, don’t you want to write any of this down?”
“I have a keen memory. Don’t worry. I won’t misquote you. Can I call you if I need to verify anything?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I won’t mention anything that you’d prefer remain between you and me,” he said to reassure him.
“Go right ahead. Write what you want,” Ellis said with a downturn of his mouth. “The power guys are used to our complaints anyway.”
Aiden appreciated the ranger’s sarcastic candor. He noticed park rangers had become more and more cynical when speaking about Uncle Sam and the peripheral governmental agencies. Bitter sentiments aside, Aiden needed more frank words.
“Do you think you’ve done enough?”
“Sure, we’ve done what we can.”
The ranger’s eyes, sparkling blue, told another story, one in which he feared his days at the park would soon expire. Not for speaking bluntly to a reporter, but because there might be no park in which to work. Aiden massaged his knuckles. “What responses have you received?”
“Nothing substantial thus far. Just a lot of promises. Political posturing.” He stared directly into Aiden’s eyes. “Go ahead and quote me on that too.”
Aiden repositioned himself. “There’re no politicians taking up the park’s plight?”
“Not really. Those on Capitol Hill are too far from the action to care. The premier of British Columbia and the Montana governor seem to have shrugged off the issue.” He peered toward the ceiling and rubbed his scalp. “There is one state senator in Helena who started to take on the strip miners as a kind of pet project, but I haven’t heard from her since last spring. We’ve appreciated her work prior to that. She probably burned out. She was fighting a bigger machine than the state of Montana. Hold on a minute.” Ellis shouted for his colleague and asked if he could remember the senator’s name who worked to end the strip mining.
“Gloria Klamsa,” Brad from out front replied.
“That’s right. Gloria Klamsa. She’s in the state legislature.”
Aiden recalled coming across the name during his research. He was unsure how involved Senator Klamsa was or had been. He made a mental note to interview her next. “Can you tell me what’s being done on the Canadian side of the border?”
“Same rigmarole. Lots of talking, little action.”
“As the park’s education officer, what do you tell visitors so that they might help?”
“We tell them the environmental facts. It’s in our pamphlets and brochures. All about wildlife preservation and ecology. Nothing too controversial. We don’t want to play alarmists and bum out their trips. For some, coming to Glacier Park is a lifetime dream fulfilled.”
Aiden swallowed, tightening the fist in his lap. Venturing to Glacier National Park had been a lifetime dream for him as well. He left Maryland and Illinois behind, and found something special living with Daniel in the shadow of Montana’s mountain ranges. He hated that they might become endangered.
“Has there been a large outcry from environmental groups?” he asked.
Ellis shrugged. “Some fringe radical groups make themselves seen and heard on college campuses or in Helena now and then, but they’ve been fairly quiet on this issue.”
“What about Canada?”
“Environmental groups in Canada are less organized than in the United States. They don’t have the same power in the courts as they do here. But like I said, the American groups haven’t voiced much opposition either. At least not yet.”
“Do you have any ideas why that might be?”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair with the screech of fake leather. He carried on his back a job that often came with more burden than any other department: the need to educate the public without coming across as a pessimist. “I wish I could tell you more. I guess bigger environmental activists are focused on global warming or climate change, or whatever they’re calling it today. The stuff that gets big press. Ironically, compared with the strip mining, the melting glaciers are hardly a problem, especially if the worldwide climate shifts to colder as some scientists are predicting.”
“I’d like to quote you on that, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. I’ve been in the park department for twelve years. There’s a hiring freeze so I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere unless the park goes first.”
Drama upon drama. Controversy layered upon controversy, like the sedimentary rocks that had shaped the mountains of Glacier Park, much of which contained the bituminous coal sought by large corporate miners. Seemed everywhere one looked, contention was ready to jump out, even inside a pristine national park.
They talked at length about the science behind strip mining, which the rangers had referred to by the more scientific term, mountaintop mining, and Aiden listened to Ranger Ellis complain about government bureaucracy, an aspect of the job Ellis had never envisioned when he dreamed of being a park ranger as a boy. A half hour later, Aiden stood and left a business card with Ranger Ellis.
“Thanks for all your input,” he said.
“My pleasure,” Ellis said, pumping Aiden’s hand. “Hope you get a big reaction with your story.”
Back at his truck, Aiden took out his laptop and typed eight quick pages of notes from their interview while still clear in his head. After rereading the rough draft, he realized he needed to do much more preliminary interviewing. The Montana senator, Gloria Klamsa, might provide him with an entirely new angle. He considered a trip across the border to speak with the company officials. He found their address on the Internet, and they seemed to have offices all over the world, with headquarters in Alberta.
His cell phone dinged with an incoming text message. Conrad. Ready for pick up.
Aiden quickly packed his laptop and headed out of the park for the Valley. Twenty-five minutes later, he found Conrad waiting for him on a bench outside the clinic.
“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” he said after Conrad climbed in.
“I told you I wouldn’t mind waiting. Did you go to Glacier Park?”
“I spoke with the education officer there.” Aiden studied Conrad for sign of change. “What was it like?”
“No big deal.” Conrad shrugged. “I laid on a table and it was over before I knew it. Here.” Conrad handed Aiden a bundle of pamphlets and brochures. Aiden eyed them before laying them aside and noticed the National Cancer Institute logo in the corners.
Feigning a smile, he remembered promising to show Conrad gyms, but figured he’d be in no mood to work out after his first bout of radiation. Besides, with the excitement of leaving for his first treatment, neither had remembered to pack a bag. Instead, he pulled onto Route 2 and, without knowing what else to say, headed back into the hills.