The entire relocation to Tsiigetchic was paid for by the Government of Northwest Territories Relocation Assistance. They paid for my flight, meals, and for six pieces of excess baggage (weighing up to 70lbs each). I packed all seven bags carefully the night before, and piled them even more carefully on the airport dolly when I arrived at Pearson the next morning

When I arrived at the WestJet check-in, an agent informed me I could only fly with 4 bags, no exceptions. They only way was to send them through a separate cargo shipment. She looked at her clock, said there were three hours before the departure, and said “you have time, you just need to make sure you’re ready by 11:30… and no later than 11:50.”

I sat down in the middle of the terminal, and started calling airlines, to see who could ship to Inuvik. Air Canada Cargo answered the call, and made an over-the-phone reservation. All they needed was to have my excess bags dropped at their cargo terminal on the far side of Pearson Airport. It was almost 10am. I had 90 minutes.

I hurried out of the terminal and got a cab to 2850 Brimely Road. The cab there was 12 minutes. The road goes right beside the airport perimeter, separated only by a chain-link fence. You can see aeroplanes right up close, parked on the tarmac, taking off, and landing. I was having a great time. It was a fun extra adventure. When we arrived, I asked the driver to wait, but he said his limit was 10 minutes. I’d have to call another cab. My first inkling of doubt crept in.

Air Canada Cargo

The Air Canada Cargo terminal looks like a large industrial warehouse. It has a concrete stairway, and two double doors at the main entrance. Beyond that are rows of loading bays for transport trucks, surrounded by large parking lot. I lugged by bags up the front steps. Inside, it looked like a regular airline check-in, except there was no one waiting in line.

One of the attendants pointed me towards a set of double doors labelled “Exports”. I hauled my bags through the doors, into the shipping warehouse. It smelled like sawdust, and wooden shipping palates. Sound echoed up the exposed steel girders to a high ceiling. Yellow forklifts parked against one wall. It felt cavernous. A couple yellow lines painted on the ground marked a pathway to follow into the warehouse. At the end of the path was another check-in counter. A woman asked for my booking number, and directed me to wait behind a safety gate, for a forklift operator to arrive.

A forklift arrived with two wooden palates, and positioned them on an in-floor weigh-scale. The operator asked me to place my bags, two bags per palate.

While I was lifting them into place, he commented on my cello:

“Is that a cello?”

“Yes”

“How long have you been playing”

“I studied music for a few years”

“Oh”

By this time he’d weighed my bags, and measured height length and width of them.

“Can the cello go on its side?”

“Yes”(the cello has two cases for flying, a regular case, and then an outer flight case that I jokingly call the sarcophagus).

“I’m asking becauase I shipped a piano from Vancouver, and it had ‘this side up’ labels all over it.

“Are you a musician?”

He climbed back into his forklift. Before driving he looked at me, leaned out the side window,

“I’m an opera singer”

He must have seen the expression on my face.

“Sometimes I had months of work and it was great. But it doesn’t pay the bills.”

He drove the forklift forward to pick up the first of my two palates, and took it over to a coneyor belt on the other end of the warehouse. While he was going that I walked back to the check-in counter, where the woman had calculated the final shipping charge. $250 dollars, for all four bags, the same as it cost for two pieces of extra baggage checked through the airline. I said thank you. I asked about the forklift operator,

“He said he’s an opera singer”

“Yes, and he’s good… and he’s working here”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Do you play any instruments?” I asked her.

She laughed, “No, but my father plays classical guitar. He opened for someone at Roy Thompson Hall”

I was wondering what this warehouse was, was it really Air Canada Cargo, or musical warehouse? I looked around at the concrete floors and high ceiling - same as the concrete floor and walls that used to adorn Roy Thompson Hall. Forklift motoers echoed through the space.

“What is your father’s name?”

She seemed amused by my question. She told me (and unfortunately I can’t remember now). She pulled out her phone, placed it on the counter, and played a video. It was her father playing guitar, a elderly black man, with grey beard and hair, sitting on a simple brown couch, in what appeared to be a small living room. I couldn’t tell what the music was, but it was classical guitar, and it was beautiful.

“He’s eighty years old” she said when the video stopped, “but he still likes to play around a bit.”

“Thank you. That was beautiful.”

By then, the palates with my bags had come back to the loading area. They were surrounded by two security guards. They gestured for me to come over. One of the bags was marked with two white stickers.

“There are a few concerting items in your bags, we need you to have a look.”

They pointed to the white stickers.

“Can you show us what’s in there?”

I dug through my packs. On the top of my pack was a frizbee.

The security guard asked “What is that?”

“A frizbee”

“Oh”

The security guards stood on either side of me while I searched the bag. There was no where to go if I uncovered something suspicious in my bag. I searched through the bag and pulled out a headlamp, an audio recorder, and a bluetooth speaker. They had me remove all the batteries, and then repack the bag.

“We’re all good now. I was very interested to see the frizbee.” said the security guard. He appeared South Indian, “I have not seen one in a long time, since I was a child. I don’t think people play with them as much as they used to. Good luck with your move.”

Within a few moments, a forklift had picked up my bags, and carried them off to some other part of the warehouse. I never got a chance to ask the operator for his name.

I collected my remaining carry on bags, waved goodbye, and said thank-you to the woman at the check-in counter, and walked back out to the entrance. Back out front the terminal, I called for a cab, and was told they’d arrive shortly.

Socks

While I waited, sitting on the front steps, a man walked up to me. “Are you a reader? He asked. My personal bag was open, exposing a book I‘d packed for the flight

“Oh, I’m reading Dune.” I smiled, and closed up my bag.

“Are you picking something up here?” he asked. He was very direct, and I felt uncomfortable with his questioning. He wore a lanyard and ID card, but he did not seem to work for Air Canada. I followed my gut, and flipped the question on him.

“So what are you doing here?” I asked

“I’m a business owner. Did you know camels are Canadian?”

I wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Oh?”

“I sell camel wool socks”

I still had no idea what a Canadian camel was, but I was interested.

He explained that he made camel socks, and was importing some to take to the Canadian National Exhibition. They were made from the wool that grows on Mongolian camels. I asked if they were warm, and mentioned I was moving up to the Northwest Territories. As soon as I mentioned Northwest Territories, he looked straight at me, and with full emphasis said:

“You have to find me a market up there,” he paused, “hang on.”

He walked over to his car, grabbed a large satchel bag, and came back. He opened the front compartment of the bag. It had four thick, brown, woolly, socks neatly tucked beside each other.

“Here, one for you. This is a business opportunity.”

I thanked him, and explained I was moving up north to a remote community, to teach. He pulled another sock from his bag, and handed it to me, with a bunch of marketing material.

I offered to pay him something, and started looking through my wallet.

“I’m sorry, I’d like to pay you something but I don’t have much cash”

“No don’t pay me anything”

I thanked him. I said I would try to get a picture of the socks next to a sign that said “Arctic Circle” or something. The socks he’d given me looked and felt like alpaca wool socks, which I’d actually been tying to find before leaving. I couldn’t believe the fortune of being handed wool socks, the day I was leaving for the Arctic. I felt very grateful, and tucked them in my bag.

The man insisted that I find a market. He said this is business, you look for opportunities wherever you can find them. He said he was glad we’d met, and asked if we could take a picture together. He went back into the warehouse, he said he was dealing with some paperwork issue to claim his cargo.

(I later found out that there were camels in Canada, during the Klondike gold rush, and even earlier, thousands of years ago during ancient migrations). The socks, by the way, are some of the warmest socks I’ve ever worn. As the unofficial Arctic ambassador for Camel Care Socks, I can assure you they’ll keep your feet warm, and very comfortable, on your next trip to Inuvik. You can find them here: www.camelcare.store)

Where is the taxi?

The taxi still had not arrived. I checked my phone, and it was almost 11:30. I called the taxi company to ask about the cab. They said it would be there in 5 minutes - I said my flight was leaving at noon – they replied the cab would be there in 5 minutes. This was going to be close. Just then my phone entered super power-saver mode. The screen went dark, and I couldn’t see the time, or screen, or open the phone to make calls. I was standing in an empty parking lot, waiting.

Minutes passed, and the cab arrived. I told the cab driver my flight was at 12. The time was 11:39. He made an understanding nod, and pulled out of the parking lot. Just as we pulled onto the road, a transport truck pulled directly infront. The drived tried to pass, but there were oncoming cars at every opportunity. We were travelling twenty-five and thirty, in a forty zone. Across the airfield, I could see the passenger terminal. We still we had to drive all the way around. 11:45, the truck turned off. We picked up speed. The cab driver told me, “when you get in, the first thing you do is go to an attendant, and tell them your situation. Even if they’re with someone, this is a time where you just have to butt in. They might get you through security.” While we were driving, he processed the fare payment. “I m going to find the best place to drop you off. I’ll put the van in park, and then you go.” We pulled into the entrance ramp, 11:49, he found a sport right outside WestJet check-in. Park. Doors opened.

“Good luck. Go. I’ll take care of closing the doors.”

“Thank you.”

I ran to the checkin. The Priority agent was busy. There was a huge line for the regular check-in. I skipped the whole line and walked up to an agent.

“I have a flight that leaves at 12.”

She looked grim. She made a call.

“It’s 10 minutes beofre departure. The doors are sealed”

“Who can I talk to?”

“You have to join the line.”

I joined the line for about two minutes. The line was enormous, and hardly moving. I ducked under the queue tape, and walked back to the priority boarding. I walked past the signs that said “Platinum, Gold, Silver Member Travellers”, and right up to the agent. It was 11:55.

“My flight leaves at 12.”

He was helping other customers.

“Just one minute” he said. He picked up a phone, and called someone. He was speaking Philippino, but I made out “connecting flight”, “priority”, “twelve o’clock.”

He looked at me, “someone will be here in a minute”. He went back to helping his customers.

The time went from 11:58 to 11:59.

Around 12:02, one of the team leaders arrived. I explained the situation.

“So you missed the flight?”

“yes”

“why?” He looked at me again, “I saw you here a few hours ago, why aren’t you on the flight?” I was wearing a bright orange t-shirt, and easy to notice with all the bags I’d brought in at 9am.

I explained the issue with baggage, my trip to the cargo terminal, and apologized that I didn’t realize the baggage limit, and should have checked before leaving.

“Come with me.” He lead me to another agent who was processing passengers in the general boarding line I’d skipped. He interrupted the agent, who was already helping other people, and explained they were going to try and find an alternate flight. The new agent started looking through flight manifests alternate flight times to Edmonton. The new agent looked at me, “Please have a seat behind me. I don’t see anything right now. We might get you on standby. I need to help other people at the moment.”

I waited in an area behind the check-in attendants. There were already people waiting there, like me. I saw another West Jet attendant, with passengers late for their flights, asking them “boarding pass, passport, do you have them ready?” and rushing them off to security. Back at the check-in counter, this new attendant was checking-in passengers, and simultaneously, helping other agents. Everyone else’s issue seemed just as urgent as my own missed flight. I took a seat.

After a while, the agent came over, and said the flights to Edmonton were booked out for the next three days. I could have sunk into the floor. “We will try our best. We’re seeing if there’s a connecting flight here to Calgary, and then to Edmonton.” He still had a huge line of customers waiting. Every time he cam to speak with me, his check-in counter was closed. I could imagine the customers in line thinking “why are there so many check-in counters, but so few agents checking us in.” He went back to his counter, and started checking people through.

I watched him, and the other working agents, for a few minutes. Delayed passengers behind them, regular passengers in front of them. Someone trying to take a large plant as their their carry on bag. A flight to LAX cancelled, and passengers to support. All the while the steady line of on-time passengers, waiting, for a regular, efficient, and friendly, check-in.

While waiting, I looked up alternate flights. Air Canada was booked. Porter airlines could fly me for $990, but limited seats. Flair Airlines could fly me for $750. I could fly to Calgary, but the connections were all booked. I could take an overnight bus from Calgary to Edmonton, but none of the Calgary flights would get there in time for the bus departure.

I was feeling so incompetent for not checking the baggage rules. Then I looked more closely at one of the connecting flight on Google. It was flying Toronto to Halifax, and then a direct flight from Halifax to Edmonton. A spark went off. We’d only been looking for flights leaving Pearson! I just needed to find a direct flight from somewhere to to Edmonton, and then find a way to get to somewhere.

Just then the agent came up to me. The check-in line had died down. All the other special case passengers were gone. He seemed exhausted. He sat down next to me.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been able to find anything. I’ve checked all the other airlines. I don’t think there’s anything I can do.” I felt an awful blur for all the hassle I’d caused for him and the other attendants. The mistake was mine, for not reviewing the baggage policy carefully. I didn’t want to just keep asking for more, but I showed him the flight I’d just found, connecting Edmonton from Halifax, and asked if there was any way to find a connecting flight.

His expression lit up, and he looked right at me. “Hang on,” he said. He got up, and I followed him over to the check-in counter. He searched through the computer system. While he was searching, an attendant came up to him with another urgent issue. He was holding two conversations. He commented “once I figure this out, I’m going to the washroom.” After a few minutes, still while helping the other agent, he clicked some keys on the computer, clicked his mouse, printed something, and handed me a boarding pass.

It said “Toronto-Halifax, Halifax-Edmonton, arrival, 11:30pm”

I couldn’t believe it.

“Thank you. This is amazing. What do I need to pay? I’ll pay whatever the difference is.”

He looked at me. “This has been sitting at the back of my head since you got here. I thought we wouldn’t find anything. I haven’t gone to the washroom all this time. I’ve been trying to find a solution. There’s no charge. I’m just glad we found a connection.”

Another agent walked by.

“Did you figure it out?”

“Well, he figured it out” he said, pointing at me.

“You figured out a lot before me.” I said.

The other attendant smiled, and looked at the agent who’d helped me “If there’s anything you can’t do, this is the guy who can do it. We’re not really allowed to book flights in the opposite direction to where you’re travelling, but in this case, we did it”. Then the agent who’d helped me, looked over at me, and said, “thank you for giving me time to think.”

I told him I was impressed watching how he managed all the customers they’d had. I didn’t feel I deserved much thanking, but I recognized that I’d done my best to stand back, and let them do their job. I could see they were trying to help me as best they could, but they were also helping dozens of other people at the same time.

They wished me a safe flight.

From there, the only unusual thing were a few glances I got at boarding, when the flight attendants reviewed my ticket. They didn’t say anything. Maybe this was just another crazy day at the airport for them. I stowed my bag, and relaxed into the seat of the airplane. While we taxied to the runway, and took off, I couldn’t help grinning. Here I was, on my way to Inuvik, flying off to Halifax, in the complete opposite direction.

At some point, while I was being passed from agent to agent at the airport, one of the team leaders put a hand on shoulders of the agent who was helping me, and said, (knowingly, or sarcastically),

“All you need to do is get him to Edmonton by tonight”

I don’t know if it was some inside joke, the check-in attendant’s version of “the show must go on”, couched in a way that the anxious passenger right next to them won’t get too upset.

All this day, I can’t express how grateful I was for the help of the people around me. Sometimes when you stand back and watch, you see how much people are trying to juggle. Sometimes you have to wait. Sometimes you have to butt in. Always, try to be understanding. And always, call the airline if you’re flying with more than 3 checked bags :)