New Years 2016
On January 31, 2015, I received a message asking me what my plans were if the Bundys planned to move forward in Oregon and take action after Dwight and Steven Hammond returned to prison. Not knowing fully what was going on, I gave no answer. Instead, I spent the next 16 hours researching the topic and decided that if I could find a way to Oregon, I wanted to witness the event. Having missed out on the Battle of Bunkerville I was already fired up and waiting for an excuse to enter the next level of activism. However, I am not a fool and am exteremely wary, to say the least, of almost all around me. In a situation involving the federal government, it is already a given that I do not in any way trust the employees of that institution and to a certain extent, anyone involved in any activity involving them. That night, while I acted as a designated driver, I continued to study the events and developments, including the imprisonment of Schuyler Barbeau, and discussed the possibility of going with the man who employed me as his driver. He had made the decision not to go and encouraged me to be cautious with everyone and trust no one if I did go. The topic died out and I sat on my hands and waited for an opportunity, which arose just a few days later.
Heading West
The militia I was a member of at that time had a post appear in the general chat room of our website asking simply for volunteers and not opinions, in an expected trip to Burns, Oregon, to assess and possibly assist the operation at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge. I was excited at the possibility, and responded privately relaying that I had nothing but my rifle and my life to lay down and that I was willing to go if it wasn't going to be a burden on the others. There were only two that wanted to go. We were leaving in a week. I approached the topic carefully with my family and was told flat out that it was not going to be allowed and that if I went to not return. It was a touchy subject and the next week was a long and tense, but quiet argument. I quietly prepared my gear and packed my bags and got ready for the trip. On the morning of departure, I got up an hour early, drank an entire pot of coffee and sent my kids off to school. I hugged them both for a few minutes before they went to school and told them that if I didn't come home to not spend too much time crying over me and protect their mother. They stared at me like I was from another planet. I do not know if my wife heard any of it but she was up unusually early and ready for work a half hour before the usual time, which I found odd. As she was leaving, my wife stood at the door and stared at me for a few minutes before saying, “You're going to be here when I get back?” I didn't answer and instead gave her the usual kiss goodbye. She kept looking back at me as she walked to the car and stared at me for a long time from the driver's seat before pulling away from the curb. Knowing that the kiss at the door was possibly the last, I distracted myself with final equipment checks and opened the laptop and recorded a goodbye video in the kitchen. I left the laptop logged in on the bed with instructions on where to find the file and play it. I left at 10:30 am with my guys and the three of us headed south to pick up donations and additional supplies and then went west. 1400 miles and 27 hours later we were pulling into Burns, Oregon and were met Bruce Doucette who introduced us to Joe Oshaugnessy (Captain O). After meeting with Captain O, we were introduced to Brandon Curtiss and Brooke Aggresta at the Silver Spur Motel. While at the Silver Spur, we witnessed firsthand, Idaho III% intercepting people bringing in donations for the militia at the MNWR, and promising to bring these supplies to them on what they called “daily supply runs” to the refuge, which they then brought into a rented room and sent back to Idaho in trailers once the people delivering donations had left. Aggresta and Curtiss had no real interest in assisting or protecting those at the refuge and were tricking naive supporters into letting them “vet” them, which I strongly suspect was an operation aimed at giving identifying information of supporters and militia to the FBI and BLM. At one point later, I actually witnessed a member of Idaho III% talking on his phone with the FBI, reading names and license plates from a notepad to the agent on the other end. When asked about this activity, he readily admitted that he was giving the info of supporters to Federal Agents and claimed that since these people were doing nothing wrong that they had nothing to fear. I decided at that time that we were in a dangerous situation and worked hard to ensure our physical and operational safety.
The Sundowner
We were directed to a room at the Sundowner by Brooke Aggresta, who claimed that her cousin owned and operated the motel, as well as claiming that her family owned and operated many of the other businesses in Burns, and claimed that Curtiss' family also owned and operated many establishments including a bar and restaurant. She told us that we would receive a 20% discount, but upon arriving, were charged an additional 20%, as we found that others that checked in at the same time were paying less. Brandon Curtiss told us that we were now under his command and that we were not “authorized to go to the refuge or anywhere near it.” We decided to explore Burns and talk to some of the locals as we did not trust Curtiss and Aggresta and were tailed by members of Idaho III%. We noticed this same vehicle later on tailing a local and were told a story in a “meeting” that night about how this lady claimed that the FBI was following her and intimidating her and that Idaho III% had to put a stop to it. This event is one of the many that proved to me that Idaho III% was not on the level and was possibly a government operation. That night, we had to play music from portable HAM radios to have discussions about what we were going to do, as two incompetents from Idaho III% were assigned to stand outside the windows to our room and were not very good about hiding it. Wherever we went, they went, unless I stepped outside the door with a loaded rifle. That night, I witnessed several major issues with the group, one including the handling of weapons, blatant and open antagonizing of Oregon State Police and FBI Agents and an interaction with Pete Santilli that proved to me that Idaho III% was not our friend. Curtiss and Aggresta kept approaching us and asking us whether we were going to the refuge or not and repeatedly asserted that we were under their command and “not authorized” and declared that we would “go to prison” if we went. The next day, we went to a Safeway and bought supplies to donate to the local food pantries, as Burns was quite possibly the most run down town we had ever seen.
Standoff at Safeway
As we went about our business at Safeway, our CO loaded the grocery cart and I kept watch over the entrance to the store and positioned myself between the doorway and him, and in the middle of doing so, I was approached by an elderly hippie woman who asked if I was militia. In the conversation that followed, I learned two things.
The situation the town faces was much worse than anyone was saying. The Bureau of Land Management ruled over the town and it's inhabitants. Many people had died in suspicious car accidents after running afoul of Judge Grasty, unelected sheriff, David Ward, and the Bureau of Land Management. The bodies still continue to pile up to this day!
An honest to god hippie, non-violent, non-conforming and non-aggressive, told me that if we stayed with Idaho III% that the other militias would as well and that nothing would change for the people there.
At that time, a Harney County Deputy walked between us and knocked the lady back. She immediately jumped in his face and jabbed her finger in his chest and told him “You better stop fucking with us! The militias are here!” and pointed at me. He looked me in the eyes and immediately dropped his head and looked at his feet. He checked out very quietly and I very publicly admonished the woman for making physical contact with another and told her what she did could have gotten someone killed. I had a bad feeling about the encounter but nothing happened until after we exited the building.
When we exited the building, there was a man who appeared to be homeless, sitting on the bench to our left, pointing at us. I then noticed how clean he was for a supposedly homeless man and then saw the vast number of police vehicles in the lot. There were unmarked vehicles of every kind parked in the center row and men with many different state and county uniforms exited these vehicles and began to surround us. More government vehicles pulled into the streets around the grocery store. For some reason, our CO decided the correct thing to do was to approach them and ID. The game of cat and mouse that we played until that conversation ended still shocks me to this day, because it did not end in bloodshed. While the two of us posted up at the vehicle and kept long guns at the ready, the “police” began trying to casually flank us and we directed our attention accordingly, flanking and maneuvering with them while covering our other man, who put himself in a very dangerous position. After about 10 minutes, they stopped trying to flank us. I believe still that they intended to lure us out of line of sight, and therefore get themselves out of the line of fire, so they could abduct our naive colleague. Another 10 minutes passed before we were able to get him to return to the vehicle and we continued our tour of Burns. The next stop was the courthouse, which was fortified and manned by what was quite obviously mercenaries. These men did not answer questions and played the fool when asked why they were posted outside a courthouse that was not in session and a school, which was closed for the next few months. They had snipers lying prone on top of the building and vehicles, pointing their rifles at everyone, even tan elderly man shoveling his sidewalk. After leaving the courthouse, we drove downtown and observed men in jeans with poorly concealed pistols coming out of abandoned buildings and entering UPS delivery trucks, that they then drove around aimlessly for hours on end. We went to the Sundowner and were told that there was a meeting at the restaurant next to it, and others were having breakfast there.
The Meeting
At this meeting, Brooke Aggresta loudly proclaimed that Idaho III% was shifting it's focus to Idaho and was preparing for a violent religious conflict with “radical islamists” who she claimed assaulted a member and stole an arm patch from a 5.11 jacket. There were many locals who at this time got up and left the restaurant, obviously frightened by the things coming out of this squirrel sized idiot. A quick google search revealed that there was never an incident as described and rather that the group had been harassing and threatening people they viewed as “Muslim” at a Walmart in Idaho Falls. I believe it was at this time that we decided that we would not be hanging around Idaho III% anymore, as they are tyrants who would oppress others and deny them their 1st Amendment Right to Freedom of Religion. Nothing was said, but rather felt, on this subject. A few hours later, we packed the vehicle and gave the room to some members of Idaho III% saying we were going home. I guess they bought it because they didn't follow us and seemed shocked, and quite possibly afraid, when they saw me at the refuge 2 weeks later.
Harney County Resource Center
We arrived at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge just in time for a militia meeting. The first thing I saw was the tower. That tall, narrow behemoth towered above the rest of the high desert and had supremacy over all around it. There was nothing that could move without being seen, as it was on the only hill in the valley. The sign in the entrance was painted over in blue and white and said “Harney County Resource Center. Lake Malheur, a massive shallow lake, was miles away, to the north, and mountains could be seen on all sides, all of them between 20-200 miles away. The feeling of how small one actually is hit me at that time, but not in full effect, as it did later. During the meeting, we introduced ourselves and why were were there. We decided to come back and spend the night performing guard duty and work detail before leaving in the morning, as the other two needed to get home for work.
My first shift was at what was called “front gate.” I was accompanied by Corey Lequieu, a retired Army Ranger and former paramedic. I do not know where the other two were, but have always assumed they were at “back gate.” It was during this shift that I felt a strong feeling deep inside me that I must stay. The thought of going home terrified me, as I was sure these men were going to die. After my first shift, we went down to the Bunkhouse, where it appeared that a party was in full effect. There was live music, many people coming and going, plenty of hot, fresh cooked food, including elk burgers, and plenty of conversation. I met nearly everyone there. Ammon and Ryan Bundy, LaVoy Finnicum, Neil Wampler, Jouaqim, Blaine Cooper, David Fry, Brandon Dowd, Pete Santilli, Lee Rice and many more were there to greet any and all newcomers. I have never felt so welcome anywhere else in my life! A few hours of conversation later, I was told that we were leaving early to get ahead of a blizzard and told them I wasn't coming. It nearly came to blows before extra gear and supplies were unloaded and I settled into my spot in the firehouse.
The first few days were rough. I was nervous and realizing the gravity of my situation quickly and could not sleep. To make up for the lack of sleep I covered for the other 15 militia and at one point, was up for 76 hours and on my 5th consecutive guard shift before it was noticed that I hadn't slept. Scotty Willingham came up the tower and removed me and escorted me to my bunk. When I laid my kit out, I had put the pictures of my daughters I kept in my wallet out on top of my mag pouches and as I laid down, they came into my view. Emotions and the gravity of the situation came rushing in and I think I passed out from fatigue before any tears could form. I must have slept for a full 24 hours because I woke up to Geoff Stanek, a former Army medic, checking my vitals and nearly drowning me in water. I was told by him and Ryan Payne that my heart could have stopped after being up and active that long and not to do it again. Unfortunately, that was not possible.
The next few weeks had many stressful events. We squared off with Idaho III%, which at that time I was in the tower with Eric Flores and we provided a hot overwatch. It was a confrontation that could very well have ended in bloodshed had Curtiss drawn the pistol he had tucked behind his back. Several times, men in an ATV zipped by front gate pointing long guns in our directions and QRF was called to run off the threat. We had bogeys inside the perimeter whispering threats to a man at back gate. The tower was buzzed and nearly hit by a prop driven aircraft. The psyops game was in full swing. Some nights they would fly their observation plane above us and switch the light patterns on the bottom of the fuselage, or turn the props on and off repeatedly, make low, slow passes, in an attempt to convince us they were dropping men on us, and draw fire, to push the issue to a bloody conclusion. A Blackhawk helicopter at one point swung very near to front gate and then retreated up and over a mountain to the south and hovered there for hours. Some were more effected than others. Fatigue played the biggest role in reactions to psychological operations.
An event called Declaration Day was held. Hundreds of people of all kinds came to witness this event. Reporters, Liberals, Conservatives, Militia, Canadians, ranchers, farmers, grocery store clerks, doctors...you name it, they were there. On this date, ranchers were coming to sign a Declaration of Independence from the Bureau of Land Management. This declaration signaled their refusal to pay any more fees to the federal government, and instead allocate those funds to the State of Oregon, per the 9th and 10th Amendments and Article 1 Section 8 Clause 17 of the United States Constitution, which forbids the federal government from owning land outside the 10 miles square of Washington D.C., army forts, ports, and any allocation voted on and approved by the voters of such districts where these facilities would be placed, which is referered to as 'needful buildings.' One rancher showed and signed. Another failed to show and I heard nothing more of this. During the meeting, a heckler, disguised as a protestor, was outed by Pete Santilli as a federal agent. Pete recognized him from a protest a few years before, where he had gotten the man on camera identifying himself as a federal agent. This man and his accomplices initially attempted to deny the allegation, but opted to run away as soon as the crowd began interrogating them. I was not assigned to a security detail at this time but was assisting at front gate as the crowd became too thick for the man assigned, and when the call came to escort this man to his vehicle, I jumped in an ATV to intercept and tailed him all the way to his Land Cruiser on foot. The entire time, he was fumbling in his waistband for what I assume was a weapon or perhaps an audio recorder that had come loose and thus assumed a defensive posture and had already drawn my pistol, keeping it at my side and under my jacket, waiting for him to try to shoot me. He and his accomplices got into 3 separate vehicles and quickly departed, one vehicle headed out the back. I still have his license plate written down in my notepad.
The next few nights were hell on earth. The No Fly Zone above the refuge was suddenly filled with commercial traffic and the entire sky was covered in chemtrails. At one point, my skin began to burn and I opted to cover all my extremities but the damage was done. My skin began to peel, particularly around my eyes and forehead where the skin was most often exposed and the situation did not clear up until weeks after I returned home. Everyone suddenly got ill and when I returned, I had a nasty lung infection that, left untreated another week, could have cost me my life. Every night between Declaration Day and the 24th was filled with men inside the wire, moving around. From sentries reporting hearing wheels crunching on gravel, to the sound of a man slipping and falling in the darkness of the high desert to the north, we had our hands full. Two nights in a row, I was sent on perimeter patrols and grid searches and ended up in pursuit of an armed man who jumped the fence and disappeared into the ranch opposite the refuge. On one night, a man pointed a rifle out the window of his truck at the guard on post at front gate and prompted a QRF. Jon Ritzheimer, backed by the QRF team, made contact and brought this supposedly “drunk” rancher to front gate, where he pulled his truck up close to the truck we used as a gate, stepped out and let off the parking brake and nearly sandwiched me between 14,000 pounds of metal. I was saved by Jon Ritzheimer and Thomas Lacovera, who reached out and pulled me to safety just as the truck slammed into the utility box of the vehicle I was walking around, as I attempted to get close to chaperone the driver as he stepped out. He never actually stepped out of the vehicle, but rode the rolling vehicle, making eye contact with me as the vehicles collided and I was yanked to safety. He immediately took off and didn't come back. The next day, the press was all over the vehicle damage. I did not answer the questions about it, choosing to ignore the reporters completely, and to my knowledge everyone else did the same. I have seen vague mention of this event several times in the press and on social media, but to my knowledge, it is only a mere mention of a man almost being crushed between two vehicles and my name has not been mentioned.
LaVoy Finnicum
The death of LaVoy Finnicum is a touchy subject, and deservedly so. For those of us who knew him, he was a good friend, larger than life. To the rest, he was a symbol of intelligence and courage. It did not matter if he just met you, or you had known each other for 20 years. If you were a good man and had not wronged him, he was a friend to you. He was not the highest man on the totem pole, yet commanded a huge level of respect from everyone at the refuge. I watched this man approach and verbally engage a heckler, who came merely to tell myself and a squad mate, that he decided that we were “domestic terrorists” and deserved to die, and after a few moments, the man left deflated and in tears, admitting to LaVoy that he did so out of blind rage and ignorance, and out of misguided loyalty to the government, who signs his VA disability checks. This man was afraid of losing his income were the government to topple as result of their misdeeds, and was showing his loyalty out of fear they would cut him off for living so close and not acting in their defense! The man could talk you down from anything. To be reprimanded by him was a rare occasion, as he understood and respected the First Amendment with a reverence only second to his faith in God. He and I never had a conversation past “the kitchen ladies are a little angry that you called them chickens and clucked at them,” of that type and more often than not, we talked about the general morale among the militia, our families and the struggle to remain morally upright after so many years of “government supervision.” Had this man been my foster father, I might have turned out better. Those who were fortunate enough to be raised by him should hold him in higher esteem. I have never met a man like this in my entire life. Watching the government repeatedly broadcast his assassination and tell us we did not see what we saw almost made me vomit the first time I saw it. To this day it depresses and enrages me. I did not know him well, but nonetheless, he was my friend and brother.
The events of January 26 and 27th will be continued in a later post.
Thank you for listening.