Elizabeth Jaeger's "Apgar Grab"

 

“My work has been published in various print and online journals, including Margate Bookie, The Blue Nib, Capsule Stories, Watchung Review, Peacock Journal, Boston Accent Lit, and Italian Americana. Newtown Literary published an excerpt from my novel-in-progress. I can be found at: https://jaegerwrites13.wordpress.com and on Instagram @jaegerwrites.”

Apgar Grab

    Who knew that trying to get a campsite could be such an adrenaline inducing experience? But Glacier National Park is so insanely popular and camping so wildly in demand, that the process of trying to secure a place to sleep at Apgar Campground could make for a reality TV show. At Apgar there are no reservations. It’s a first come first serve campground with nearly 200 sites. Not bad. Looking at the numbers one might guess there’d be plenty of room. Guess again.

    We — my spouse, my eleven-year-old son, and I —  had done plenty of first come first serve campgrounds in Michigan the year before and we never had a problem. As long as we arrived sometime before noon, we always got a spot. The process was easy: arrive early, drive around until you find a vacant spot (or a spot about to be vacated), fill out a form staking your claim, and pay at the self-service station. Simple. It made for a carefree experience. We could go wherever we wanted, whenever we wanted. No plans necessary, and for someone who likes to go where the wind blows them it worked perfectly. So perfectly that perhaps we got a little too comfortable with it. 

    Montana was not Michigan. Glacier was not the Upper Peninsula. We looked online and saw that the campground often filled up by 7:30 am, sometimes even earlier. In order to secure a spot we knew we had to get there early. To complicate matters, in order to access the Going-to-the-Sun Road which bisected the park you needed a reservation. Reservations were virtually impossible to nail down. We tried the online system a few times but despite logging in at the time reservations tickets went on sale, they always disappeared before we could claim one. Frustrating. But there was a loophole. Between the hours of 5 pm and 6 am reservations were not required. Since the campground was on that road, we knew we had to be there before 6. That’s damn early to be up on vacation. But we did it.

    The night before we were camping at Two Medicine Campground all the way on the other side of Glacier National Park. Knowing that we needed to break camp in the dark then drive for at least an hour and a half, I set my alarm for 3 am.  The waking up, breaking down, and driving process took slightly less time than we expected and so we arrived at Apgar by 5 am, way before the sun began to rise. But we couldn’t enter the camp. A wooden barrier was placed at the entry point. Pinned to it was a sign that stated entry was forbidden until 8. If we wanted a campsite we needed to queue up on foot — no cars permitted. Cars would need to be parked elsewhere. Later, we learned the rule was an attempt to level the playing field — cars obviously move faster than feet — and to prevent accidents.

    Despite the crazy hour, we were not the first ones on line. We were third — close enough to the front that we weren’t too anxious. Remember there were nearly 200 sites. Playing the odds, three were sure to be vacated at some point that day. But as we stood on the line, it grew longer until it wrapped around the corner and down along the main road. We passed the time chatting with other tourists, people as shocked as we were about the long line, and the fact that the rangers had barred us from entering. Around 7 am, one ranger came to scope out the crowd. He told us that at 8 am he’d hand out pay envelopes, pull back the barrier, and allow us to hunt for a site — all of us. It didn’t matter who had gotten their first. We’d all be admitted at the same time and then there would be a race to see who could get lucky. My spouse and I worried about safety. Humans were prone toward violence and the crush of the crowd troubled us, especially when one of the men in line commented that a fight seemed likely. This concerned my spouse, prompting her to announce — just in case anyone thought we might be easy targets — as she pointed at me, “She has a black belt in Taekwondo.” I laughed nervously, hoping I wouldn’t need to resort to sidekicks and elbow strikes. 

    There seemed to be a general consensus among those of us lined-up that allowing everyone in at once was supremely unfair. And so the woman behind me — a Maryland native — suggested to the ranger that he allow ten parties in at a time. Surprisingly, he agreed. In the meantime, another ranger came out with a whiteboard on which he wrote down the soon-to-be-vacant sites. We took note, studied a map of the campground, and made a plan. Our son was fast and scrappy. We trusted that if we sent him to the A-Loop he’d beat out the competition and secure a site. But we preferred the sites on the B-Loop which were slightly further away. Therefore, we told him to grab something so that we were guaranteed a place to sleep and we would attempt to snatch one of what we perceived to be the better sites.

    A few minutes before 8 am the ranger gave us our envelopes, pulled back the barrier, and dozens of bodies pressed forward simultaneously. The race was on. I couldn’t remember the last time I ran an all out sprint but as I accelerated past the men in front of me I looked down at my feet and wished I was wearing better shoes. My sandals were closed-toe and far better for running than flip-flops, but I couldn’t help wishing I had sneakers. My old bones and damaged ankles would have benefitted from better support — oh well. I kept running.

    At the intersection, the crowd — including my son — turned left heading for the A-Loop. My spouse and I were the only ones who turned right aiming for the B-loop. While she and I started together, I quickly pulled ahead. I’m in better shape and could keep a faster pace. My spouse, however, had cunning on her side. Since we were the only ones heading in our direction, I foolishly assumed we’d have our choice of sites without any competition. Feeling confident, I started to slow down, but as soon as I settled into a comfortable jog, I heard my spouse shout, “Kids on bikes.” Turning, I saw two young kids racing down the road on their bicycles. Damn! Cars weren’t allowed but bikes were. That seemed exceptionally unfair. Not one to be beat without a fight, I started running serpentine. I knew I couldn’t hold them off forever, but I could slow them down. It worked. The young girl slowed and tried to pass me, I wasn’t allowing it. Her brother, however, smashed into my arm and pulled ahead. But their sights were on the same site as my spouse’s, only she had taken a shortcut through the bathroom. The kids, jacked up on adrenaline, raced right past the site just as my spouse reached it. By the time they doubled back it was too late, my spouse had gotten it. As for me, with the kids gone there was no further competition and so I too succeeded in grabbing the spot I wanted. The kids — doubling back to me after they lost the site to my spouse — were fuming when they realized they had been beat twice. But we didn’t need two spots. The one my spouse claimed was a bit bigger and so we opted for that one. I handed mine over, not to the kids on bikes, but to one of the couples that had been ahead of us on line. 

    As for our son, he too secured a spot, one we didn’t need but we were proud of him for helping out. If those kids or someone else had beaten us, we would have needed the site he snagged. When we found him, he was sitting on a rock, elbows propped up on knees, and his chin cupped in his hands. He looked up at us, excitement still flickering in his eyes as he asked, “Do you remember the Cornucopia scene in Hunger Games?” How could I not, he and I had only finished reading it a few months ago. I nodded, and he smiled, “That’s what this felt like.” He gave me his hand and I helped him up. At least we didn’t have to spend the next several days fighting for our lives. 

    Securing a site meant we were now entitled to a drive on the Going-to-the-Sun Road without a reservation. A double win. It was only 8:30 and already we were exhausted. After all, we had been up for 5 and a half hours. But vacation is no time to sleep — not on my watch — and so we headed up to the Logan Pass Visitor’s Center where we hiked the Hidden Lake Overlook Trail. As for the other campers, the chaos of the morning hunt had not yet subsided. People were still frantically jogging around looking for vacant sites while others, still on line were growing increasingly anxious that they might get turned away. Forget about Survivor and the Amazing Race, if you are looking for adventure and a first class adrenaline rush head on over to Montana and participate in your very own episode of the Apgar Grab.

© 2022 Elizabeth Jaeger