The small blessings of a small airport

Though some Flathead Valley residents have become alarmed at the pace of building and the increase in traffic and the fact that large and box-shaped is becoming an architectural standard, they can look to the local airport for comfort.

A few weeks ago, I had to pick up my sister and her husband as they were arriving at Glacier Park International on an afternoon flight.

The plane was due to arrive at 1:35, or maybe 1:40. My sister couldn't seem to make up her mind.

But the lovely thing about the airport here is that, in most cases, pinpoint specifics are unnecessary.

You just don't need the raft of information that you scribble on the back of an envelope before you pick someone up in a big city - airline, flight number, seat number, time of departure from originating airport, time of arrival to the exact minute, gate, concourse, the color of their traveling wardrobe so you can find them among the hundreds of people milling around the multiple baggage pickup carousels.

So, with nothing more than a rough guess to go on, I played it safe and swung into the airport parking lot a little before 1:30. I was lucky enough to find a spot near the "C" sign, a marker lest I should be lost and confused during the 50 yards or so I had to navigate between my car and the airport entrance.

I wasn't happy that I hadn't brought a book to pass the time, assuming by the time the plane lands - at 1:35 or 1:40 - and the passengers disembark, that I would be undoubtedly spending a good 20 minutes doing nothing productive.

But as I headed over to the lone gate where people looked as if they were there for the purpose of greeting new arrivals, people were already passing through the gate, minutes before their scheduled arrival.

And soon enough, there were my family members. My sister, fresh from the rigors of Denver International Airport and the eternal work-in-progress that is the Salt Lake City airport, immediately made a smart remark asking if I had checked what gate they would be at.

Not that she was complaining about our small informal setup.

We made the arduous walk of maybe 20 feet over to the baggage pick-up area, and less than 10 minutes later, their bag was coming around on the conveyor.

Steeling ourselves for the demanding journey ahead, we headed toward the parking lot.

We located that "C" sign on the pole, and with that sign and the help of a GPS navigational system and an old-fashioned compass, were able to locate my car.

Rushing to outrun the traffic that was sure to follow, we made it out to the parking-lot attendant's booth in time to beat the half-hour mark on the ticket. My brother-in-law was ready and willing to pitch in on the parking-lot fee, but I was able to dig deep enough to give the friendly parking-lot attendant the unseemly 50-cent fee.

With an investment of about 15 minutes from deplaning to pulling out of the airport parking lot, my brother-in-law, who hates to fly, was practically giddy with the experience.

The Denver end of things hadn't been such a cakewalk. Just to get from their home to Denver International, located conveniently close to Kansas, had cost them $5 in toll-road fees and probably another $20 in gas. (And they can be assured they'll be reciprocating the huge favor by the family member who was kind enough to spend half the day driving them to the airport and picking them up on the return journey.)

One day at Glacier International there might be a four-level parking garage, an underground transportation shuttle between concourses and a mile-long series of switchbacks taking travelers through an hours-long security line.

But until then, there's much to appreciate.

Reporter Heidi Gaiser may be reached at 758-4431 or by e-mail at hgaiser@dailyinterlake.com.