From the Bakken to the Ballot: My Run for Congress

When I returned to North Dakota, I found a job that made use of my Chemistry degree from the U.S. Naval Academy and where I felt like a valued member of a great team. Unfortunately, teaching science to high schoolers, while rewarding, is not a path to riches. 

Wanting to be within caretaking distance of my elderly father, the oil rigs had a certain appeal. I was curious to know what the Bakken boom was all about. It was close enough to my father, and my military training tempered concerns about the job’s physical rigor. Plus, there was money to be made on workover rigs out in the Bakken oil fields.

But let me tell you, it’s a different kind of battlefield out there. You start bringing home the bacon on about the third day when you cross the forty-hour barrier into overtime for the rest of the week. Time and a half is nice, and there are eight long days of it over a two-week pull.

During onboarding, the job is all about safety, safety, safety. Then you get out to the rigs and discover it’s all about speed, speed, speed. There are a lot of moving parts, and they’re all heavy metal. If you rig hop as I did, it doesn’t take long until you encounter someone missing an appendage or two.

Back a Blue Collar Candidate

I had a good scare myself once, and it happened on one of the most enjoyable days I ever had out on the rigs. We were tripping out tubing at a well located in a grassy bowl surrounded by pastureland. It was the operator’s last day with the company, and he was in a good mood. I got to run the hydraulic power tongs unassisted for the first time. We started slow but built speed quickly as we got into a rhythm. 

We were moving right along, over halfway done. The elevator came down. I clamped it around the tubing, and the winch immediately pulled it upward. Somehow, my right index finger got in between the elevator and the collar enough to give me a good flash of pain, and my glove was pulled off of my hand and rode upward with the tubing. I had an extra pair of gloves in an overall pocket, so I put on a fresh one and swung the tongs into place with a throbbing finger and a vow to be more careful.

The most dangerous part of the job for me was actually not on the rigs but on the commute to and from work. My father was still living in his house in Velva, and I was making his meals and checking on him before I left for work each morning and on my way home at night. Taking care of Dad and commuting to work added many hours to an already-long day. One dark morning out on Highway 23, I braked hard to avoid some deer crossing the road, only to realize that the combination of darkness and drowsiness had painted the nonexistent creatures in my path. The false alarm had at least lifted me from fatigue.

The toll on my joints from working the rigs was pushing me toward a career change. After each two-week shift, my hands and wrists were so battered that I couldn’t even pour a glass of milk for the first couple of days off. I was taking an insane amount of ibuprofen and sporting wrist braces like they were the latest fashion. My cologne of choice was whatever topical pain reliever I was experimenting with that week. Ultimately, though, it was the demands of being a caregiver for my dad that made me hang up my rig boots and set aside that lucrative overtime.

Help Elect Working Class Candidates

Over half of Americans are in manual labor, clerical, or union jobs. We trade our time for money. We sacrifice our sleep and our health to take care of our loved ones. Our productivity has raced ahead of our wages for decades, and all we want is a fair shake and a decent quality of life. Meanwhile, all the company wants is a higher stock price and higher compensation for corporate executives. I’ve seen it all firsthand. I’ve watched the so-called safety culture dissolve into a frantic race against the clock. I’ve felt the toll it takes on a body, the long hours, the physical pain, the mental strain. And I’ve watched as big companies rake in profits while treating their workers as disposable assets.

I’m running for Congress because this has to change. 

If you believe in this fight, join me. Your support can make a real difference. Together, we can demand fairness and ensure that those who truly build this country are treated with the respect and dignity they have earned. Let’s make change happen—one vote, one voice, one step at a time. Donate today, and let’s bring some real common sense and decency back to Washington.

Support Trygve's Campaign

With the U.S. House seat open, the race for North Dakota’s sole congressional district has never been more competitive.

Trygve Hammer is a Navy and Marine Corps veteran, a former public school teacher, and a freight rail conductor. He was appointed to the Naval Academy from the fleet and served as a Marine helicopter pilot, forward air controller, and infantry officer. 

From bunking down in oilfield camps to engaging uninterested teenagers in the classroom, Trygve’s career has been a tour of duty in the trenches of American life. Trygve’s commitment to public service is unwavering. He lives by the ethos “Officers Eat Last” and is ready to serve as North Dakota’s next Congressman, putting the people's needs first.

Watch Trygve’s campaign launch video here.