"I've been to Hell, and it's cold" - Supporting Standing Rock - Part 2

We woke at 6:00a.m. Monday morning at our hotel in Mandan, North Dakota. Layers upon layers, and an hour's drive, we arrived back at the North Gate, Oceti Sakowin camp. As we pulled up, we were stopped and asked "...just arriving or returning?". I said "Returning.", and he replied "Welcome home.".

We drove over an icy, uneven lane decorated on either side with flying symbols of the 300+ tribes known as Flag Row. As turned in to center camp and made our way to Grandma's Kitchen. We unloaded the last of our food supplies. My friend Zosha was helping with breakfast and Kelli and I made our way to the press tent for passes and orientation. At the top of Facebook Hill [...the highest elevation available], I took a couple of panoramas of the camp just as the sun was coming up, the suddenly my phone died [...which was weird at 76% battery]. 

We stood in the press line for an hour as the snow began to fall. We planned on being out of camp by noon. Our orientation was brief, but thorough. We were there as guests, and the rules of camp were put in place by the elders. No ceremonies or prayers to be filmed or photographed unless explicit permission had been given. A chilling explanation of the likely outcomes of being on the front lines that detailed how press and media is targeted by law enforcement [...especially scary considering the ACOE's easement denial was announced a day prior]. Ten minutes or so dedicated how if you were arrested your gear will be confiscated, cards and media will be deleted and a phone number we were to write on our arms with permanent marker to call to be bailed out of jail. 

After getting my press pass, Kelli and I distributed our nonfood donations to opposing ends of the camp. Eyedrops and feminine products to the medical tent. Horse feed and blankets closest to the river by the horse stables, tooth brushes, lip balm, gloves, hats, hand warmers to the main tent at the Sacred Fire. While part of a massive circle around the fire, I witnessed veterans coming forward to tell their stories of how they served and why they made the journey to Standing Rock. 

I'd been hearing other people talk about their phones being shut off when trying to send or receive texts at the top of Facebook Hill. My phone wasn't able to turn back on until I stopped at my car and plugged it in. After rebooting at [...still at 76% charge], we made our way to the top of the hill. During an attempt to send a couple texts to family and friends, again my phone mysteriously turned off...as did Kelli's, moments later. The discussion made it to the nearby press and it was explained to us that, yes, this was in fact a well known phenomenon and has happened since the beginning of the water protector's protest. Eventually, I went to the car to get my DSLR and shot this video of my friend Kelli trying to make a video and send it from her phone, moments before it was turned off at 3/4's of a charge. This...above everything from my time at Oceti Sakowin camp, as the single most disturbing reality that impacted me. The implications of such unapologetic informational terrorism.

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Shortly thereafter, we packed up in the car and made our way through the camp's South gate to begin our journey home. By now, the snow had become a pummeling force of nature. Traffic slowed, and a white pickup motioned for me to roll down the window. I did, and he yelled "...they're turning every one around!". I tried not to overreact, but a growing pit in my stomach was present as we huddled around the heaters in my Subaru Impreza. We waited, and waited. Traffic hardly budged for almost three hours and word eventually made way back to us that several cars and trucks were off the embankments and a charter bus was across the road. Occasionally, we caught a glimpse of the scene ahead, and I'm still in awe of the work and coordination, entirely to the credit of the camp residents, for clearing such a massive debacle. 

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Finally, we started moving, passing nearly a dozen vehicles flashing their hazards on either side of the route out of camp. Snow and wind was pelting our car, but I was just happy to be on our way home. I clenched the wheel tightly navigating strong winds and slippery conditions and apparently missed our turn on to 1806, eventually coming to a gas station and casino in Cannon Ball. Little did I know at that point, it was the most fortunate mishap we could have asked for as we filled up our tank and backtracked to the main road home.

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It was slow going, and conditions were becoming increasingly treacherous despite one of the most beautiful sunsets I've seen in my 36 years. An hour in, we turned at an intersection as an SUV with Minnesota flagged us down. I slowed and backed up to a woman running in our direction screaming "You're never going to make it!". She informed us that up ahead, there was a turn with at least 15 cars off the road. She said they barely made it through themselves. I assured her we had AWD, but she firmly warned us, it wouldn't matter and we'd be taken off the road. Our group weighed our options, and and decided we didn't want to face one another as we froze to death at the bottom of an embankment with the words "...you're never going to make it!", echoing in our heads as we took that long good night.

We agreed on a route through South Dakota that would add an hour and a half to the drive, but it didn't matter. The weather intensified even more and we were now pushing through a full on blizzard as it was getting dark. Two hours later, we were close to the casino we'd originally left, attempting to make our way to Fort Yates. Two miles south and we the storm became something else entirely. It turned in a biblical cascade of 60mph winds and endless walls of snow. Cars were everywhere and we became desperate to get off the road. We came across a Family Dollar and carefully pulled in to the parking lot. In a Walking Dead-esk turn of events, the one employee had locked the doors leaving us stranded outside, idling the engine to stay warm for three hours before deciding to take our chances going back to the casino.

We did that, and a two mile escape back to the only known civilization too well over an hour. The rooms had been booked for weeks as thousands of veterans made the pilgrimage to aide the water protectors, but we were allowed to stay in the casino’s pavilion with hundreds of other stranded, wayward travelers. We slept on the cold cement. I remember the discomfort reminding me that this small sacrifice of our group was part of a much larger, much more meaningful sacrifice of all these honorable people since the movement that began in July. I barely slept, but that notion did comfort me; knowing this was a historic, meaningful cause.

The following morning, we joined some 500 - 700 waiting in line to the buffet. The casino was offering breakfast free of charge but with a warning that their truck did not show up last night and likely would not for 18 hours. Food was to be rationed. Nearly 4 1/2 hours later, we finally ate lunch. Highway closures were announced hour by hour on a giant touch screen map in the lobby, including 94E from Bismarck to Fargo, which was our only way home.

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Of the growing hardships and inconveniences, we witnessed prayer ceremonies, which we were welcomed to record and photograph. This was a silver lining and I’m so glad I’m able to share them with you all here on Steemit. It’s extremely rare that permission is granted to film these sacred ceremonies. Also, we were present for the forgiveness ceremonies. Veterans asking forgiveness for the injustices the tribes and natives have suffered at the hands of generations of oppressors. Powerful and historic.

The storm subsided ever so slightly by Tuesday afternoon. By no means "safe", but what was previously impossible now only seemed improbable. My friends and I decided to take our chances and we rolled out of the casino around 2:00p.m. It ended up being the right choice as we made a slow, cautious drive 60 miles to Bismarck. We even saw the grim scene we were warned "...you're never going to make it!" the previous day, and I tend to believe we probably wouldn't have made it. 

We arrived in Bismarck and attempted to check in at the Ramada we booked that morning. Conveniently, our reservation was "lost" [...I later learned that same hotel was reserved by many of the petroleum executives meeting to address the very cause we were there to support], and we began problem solving where we were going to stay since 94E was still closed. Zosha, through a friend of a friend, made a connection with someone involved in a Unitarian church email group for helping wayward travelers, and our generous host to be lived only 2 miles from the sad Pizza Hut where we were currently eating our feelings.

I pulled up and knocked on the door of a nondescript apartment and a tall, awkward guy opened, starring at me without saying a word. After a pause I asked "...are you Anthony?", and after a longer pause he replied "Yes.". There were jokes about him being a serial killer, but as we piled in to the guest bedroom, there was a giant chest freezer [...I eventually checked and it was filled with vegetables]. It was tense for a while, but when I snuck out to take a shower, I saw Anthony playing WOW and breathed a sigh of relief. He was just a nerd, much like us [...just a slightly different brand].

The following morning, we left at 8:00a.m. anticipating countless detours on our route home, but after a quick breakfast stop and Target run to get road snacks, we got word that 94 was finally open! The drive was long, and the winds and snow were at times as bad as the conditions that stranded us in the casino, but a slow and steady determination did get us back to Minneapolis some 8 hours later.

Since being back, I've had a chance to reflect the unexpected journey and how it's impacted me. Increasingly less confident in the illusions of our democracy and more confident in my personal growth as a compassionate human being [...and of others moved to this cause and ones like it]. Even with the blizzard scares and minor inconveniences, I'm grateful to have participated in this historic movement. 

Donations of propane, firewood, extreme winter gear, composting toilets and cash are still welcomed and appreciated.

Thanks for staying with this long telling of my trip to Standing Rock. I still post often and I'm excited to have a relatively open schedule for the next few weeks to publish blogs daily again. If you're not already, you can follow me at @kommienezuspadt.