A lesson learned

A few months ago, a friend of mine (who I met in Mexico) asked me if I would shoot her wedding in Idaho. I said I would love to and was excited to see her again. I had it all planned out: Drive down early, shoot the wedding, party with her, and then drive out to the coast and up to Vancouver to visit my brother and his wife. I packed the car, booked a hotel for the night in Spokane, and then drove off to the border.

I arrived at the border at dusk and turned off my music in the car. I straightened up my shirt, put my hands on the steering wheel, rolled down my window and then shut off the engine as I reached the guard. I handed over my passport, and he asked me where I was coming from, going to, and how long I would be in the USA. Firearms? No. Alcohol? No. Any fruits or vegetables? No. So far, so good. Then he asked me why I was going to the USA. "A wedding" I replied. He asked "..and what will you do at the wedding?" I told him I was the photographer. "So this trip is business? or pleasure? Will you be getting paid?" I said "... I guess business, because I am getting paid." His reply was calm, but quick: "Are you aware you cannot work in the USA?" My stomach dropped.

He asked me to pull into a bay, and then come inside. I sat in a corner and waited for information. Was I going to jail? Was I here for the next 24 hours? Eventually a guard explained that they were going to have to turn me around and send me back to Canada. For 72 hours, I would not be allowed to enter the USA with any cameras. Again, my stomach dropped as I realized that with 36 hours to go to the wedding in Idaho, I was going to have to explain to my friend that I wasn't coming, and that she needed to find a new photographer.

Sadly... this was not the end of my night.

He asked me "how badly do you want to go to this wedding?" I said "very." He said he simply couldn't let me go into the USA with all my camera gear on my word that I wouldn't take money from my friend, but that he could give me two options. First, turn around and go back to Canada. This option would entail a mountain of paperwork, and a 7-A1 form would follow me around for the rest of my life. Basically, every time I enter the USA, I would be searched and my travel there would be highly scrutinized. The second option, was a little more complicated.

The guard told me that if I turned around and went back to Canada, found a place to drop my camera gear, and then came back to the border with a "camera-free" car I would be allowed into the USA and then I could attend the wedding. This option would also remove the 7-A1 form. I could enter the USA with camera gear next time, as long as I was not going there to work.

The time now was close to 11pm, and I asked him where could I find a storage unit at this time of night. He called Canadian customs, and they said I could put my gear there. I jumped in my car, drove to the border, and talked to the guard. Once he knew the cost of my gear, he quickly backed away from the offer. "Sorry, but there is no way that we can take that much liability." He suggested I drive to Creston, and find a hotel there to take my stuff. I mentioned that the USA guard was expecting me back in five minutes so he said to park my car, and run back to the border.

I parked my car, and tried to see where the road was back to the USA. There was construction at the Kingsgate border, and so by scrambling up a hill of loose gravel, and feeling like I was sneaking into America I emerged onto black asphalt. There is nothing like the feeling of being in darkness, walking towards a border guard with lights shining at you, waving a passport. All those old films of people escaping East Germany came flooding back, and I was sure I was about to be yelled at by a man with a gun drawn.

Eventually back inside the office of the USA border guard, I explained I was going to drive to Creston and come back in an hour to show I had no cameras in the car. I then walked back to my car, past the Canadian guard who simply waved me through as confused drivers watched me just saunter on by.

I drove to Creston as fast as I could. By now it's pitch black and I can see deer walking next to the road. I am sick with the knowledge I have to call my friend, and I am also watching my gas gauge as it slowly makes its way to empty. After 20 minutes, I arrived and pulled into the first motel I could see with lights on. I talked to the owner who was an ex-military and he took my camera gear and said I could still make the border before it closes if I hurried. I drove off, thinking I had just given away a substantial amount of money to a complete stranger. I didn't have his card, or a phone number, I just had the name of the motel.

Filled with panic, I drove south to the border arriving at 11:53pm. I explained my situation, and they opened my car up for inspection. I missed taking out my tripod and immediately they said that this was camera related and so I could not go into the USA. The guards started talking to me sternly, asking "Do you want us to confiscate this equipment?? Cuz, we will." "No sir, Yes sir, I misunderstood sir" were my only replies. Eventually another guard showed up and said "what do you want to do?" I said I was only trying to show I had no cameras in the car, so I wouldn't have a 7-A1 form follow me around, and that I wanted to go back to Canada. He looks at the time, 11:59pm, "Ok. Done." and with that he threw my passport back to me, and told me to hurry before the border closed.

If you have ever had to drive fast while under the watchful eye of law enforcement, it's really hard to do. I drove as fast as I could, while not driving fast at all, and made it to the Canadian side just as they turned off the lights. "Just in time" the friendly Canadian guard greeted me with a huge smile, and I almost broke down in tears. I was so relived to be back in Canada I can't even explain it.

I then drove back to Creston, woke up the manager of the hotel, grabbed my gear and drove to Cranbrook for gas. At this time it was 12:30am, and I just wanted to go home. I had wasted money on a hotel in Spokane, and I had wasted my time and gas to drive to the border only to be turned around. I got to Cranbrook on fumes, and filled up. I gulped down a Red Bull, and started to drive, figuring I would drive till I got tired. Deer were everywhere, and I had my eyes peeled for them as I passed by truckers doing the sensible thing, sleeping in their cabs on the side of the road.

I go to Fernie, 2am, Sparwood, 3am, Pincher Creek, 4am, by now the stars were starting to fade and the sky was becoming brighter in the East. I kept on driving. By the time I got to Nanton my brain was begging me to stop drinking Red Bull, and sent out pulses of pain to remind me to put the can down. At 5am, I was past High River and on my way home.

I walked into my house at 5:30am, and like an angry wife my cat was there to yell at me. For 10 minutes all I heard were "meows" before he calmed down and I fell into my bed. He lay down quickly with me and I was dead to the world.

A valuable lesson learned.