Crude: A Western North Dakota Oilfield Story. (Part 1)

My oilfield story started in the fall of 2006.

A job loss in the tanking aircraft industry, break up with my girlfriend, and advice from my father "go west, young man" was all the prompting needed to pack up the car and migrate to what later became known as the Mondak, aka the Montana north Dakota border of the Bakken shale basin. A oil and gas rich geological gold mine.

Back in 2006, Williston ND, and it's adjoining areas were quiet. At that time, I may have been one of the few transplants in the entire region.

The most exciting thing to do was to visit the local Wal-Mart, which at the time, hadn't even moved to it's new location, Super Wal-mart, still in its early building phases.

Within a week of putting in applications, I had received a few dozen call backs and simply took the job paying the highest, a job as a general oilfield hand with Hurley's oilfield service. I met with Vess after finding his house, my interview went something like this.

Vess "You a good hand?"

Me "I guess so."

Vess "Smoke meth?"

Me: " No, sir."

Vess " Alright then."

At that point, meth use was at epidemic levels, there were billboards dotting every stretch of highway with PSAs. Every gas station was covered in them that had any space left on their windows, PSAs on urinals, you name it.

The "interview" took place in his truck, while we were on the way to his shop. At the time it was just his garage. Half the company consisted of his own family members. About 8 of us in total.

It was an unseasonably warm November, and I remember running phone line to moving oil rigs, and setting up impromptu toilet facilities all over that god forsaken patch.

It was disgusting. No one even mentioned a hepatitis shot, and there we were, rolling barrels and holding tanks with human waste still inside that would on occasion fall out of an opening in one of them and cover your boot.

"just pretend it's chili" I often told myself. Unfortunately, no amount of mental trickery would allow you to pretend it wasn't what it actually was when the company septic drivers emptied their tanks all over farmer's fields. A crime they later were caught for, but not until about 4 years ago. And finally they were caught, thank god. I never informed, but with the treatment I had by Vess, I had every excuse.

The hours were long, the drives were longer. The conversations always crude. I was as green and "wormy" as they came back then. I didn't know much, other than I hated that place. The smell of every kind of manure, made by man or beast. The smell of fly ash, the smell of crude oil and diesel fumes. I hated every waking moment.

Like many 21-22 year old kids I spent a good amount of time bellied up to a bar stool. But unlike many of them, I was not drinking for fun, just to escape my failings, love loss, and family deaths. I had lost my mother only a year before, and it's toll still weighed on me heavily. Knowing without a shadow of a doubt that the girl I loved was warm in what used to be "our" apartment, in bed with another man.

My first stint didn't last long, I returned to my native MN that spring.

All the while the pump jacks and flare pits, churning and burning, day in day out out, lighting the night.