Learning a lesson in cross-border relations

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It must have been the Christmas wreath. But it could have been the “Vanceboro turnaround” or even that damned fishing pole.

Whatever it was, it brought the Border Patrol to Loafer’s Lodge on Saturday afternoon. There is nothing like a surprise visit from an armed law enforcement agent to get your attention.

It is never an official summer for the Upsidedown Canoe Club without an annual visit to the mighty St. Croix River, which forms the border with Canada. We love the river for the eagles and the moose, the spectacular scenery, and the Canadian girls in the kayaks are not bad either.

After defying death and destruction in the Allagash and St. John rivers, we wisely retreated to the St. Croix, a river that is no more than hip-deep. People take their children and dogs on the river. You don’t see many children at Big Black Rapids on the St. John.

Some of us are getting old and creaky, and sleeping on the ground in the wilderness has lost its romance. This time we actually rented a riverside cabin called Loafer’s Lodge. It just sounded right. Plus, we had stopped there for lunch every river trip, because it was so perfect.

This was a treat. Since it was a truck trip and we didn’t have to carry everything in canoes, we could load up all our gear. I took the remnants of my firewood stash, because you never know. I even took the Guaranteed Cobb Manor Firestarter, a discarded Christmas wreath. I collect wreaths from other people’s houses, since my old wood is so balky. We took deck chairs, tents, sleeping bags, everything in the barn, even though we were renting a cabin.

We also bought the usual $100 worth of food, enough to feed everyone twice over for the weekend. You don’t want to die of starvation in the woods, you know?

Naturally, when we woke up in the cabin on Saturday morning, no one (me) wanted to cook. Since we had the luxury of the truck nearby, we (I) decided to go out for breakfast.

I don’t know if you know Vanceboro. It is a charming, picturesque, unspoiled village. It is also unsoiled by any diners. We had to drive across the Canadian border into McAdam, New Brunswick, for breakfast (with $100 in groceries at the cabin).

The Canadians waved us through, over and back. The U.S. customs wanted to know where we had been. We told them we went out for breakfast.

They looked us over pretty good, noting the wreath. “Celebrating the holidays, boys?” the agent asked. I laughed and tried to explain about the fire starter business. He did not laugh.

“Doing some fishing, boys?’ Another asked. I said “No. We don’t fish much. Just canoeing and kayaking.” Then I looked back to see that someone took a fishing rod on the trip. That was a surprise.

They let us pass, finally, with some suitably raised eyebrows.

It might have been all right, until we stopped for gas at Hardwicke’s, about 100 feet away. Eleanor and the girls told us that we should take advantage of the duty-free shop, as long as we were in Vanceboro. Just to be neighborly, we both grabbed a couple of bottles, which were substantially discounted.

There was a catch.

In order to complete the purchase, we had to enter Canada, drive around the customs building, then return across the U.S. border. This, naturally, is called the “Vanceboro turnaround.”

We complied and went through Canadian customs again, no sweat. When we got back to our new friends at U.S. Customs, they invited us inside to pay a small duty. During this brief transaction, they informed us that if we crossed into Canada on the left side of the river, then returned to the U.S. shore, which we had done on every single trip (Canada has much better camping sites), we could be fined $5,000 for “entering the country illegally.”

Apparently, Sept. 11 and the drug flow across the border had everyone’s attention and changed the attitude on the St. Croix River.

Again, they eyeballed the truck – and that Christmas wreath.

Once again they let us pass, and we headed for the dirt road to Loafer’s Lodge.

We realized only then that that it was Saturday and we had no lottery tickets. Vanceboro was a likely place for a winning ticket, we all agreed, so we made another U-turn and went back to Hardwicke’s.

Now, Vanceboro is a very small, sleepy town. We must have looked like a carnival making three trips through town in an hour with a canoe and bright yellow kayak on the roof.

Someone noticed.

Someone called the Border Patrol.

The BP truck rumbled into Loafer’s Lodge a few hours later. He asked about the Christmas wreath, too. He asked about a lot of things.

Next time, I will leave the holiday decorations at home. I will bring lighter fluid instead.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara

@msn.com.