In the vast, often challenging landscapes of Indigenous communities, a powerful and unexpected source of healing and identity has emerged: heavy metal music. This exploration delves into the profound connection many Native individuals feel with the genre, seeking to understand the appeal and the deeply personal reasons behind this gravitation. Initially, the author, a Native individual herself, theorized about this connection but yearned for firsthand accounts from fans and musicians. An initial attempt to document this phenomenon by following the band Blackbraid on tour proved unsuccessful due to the band’s desire for privacy, leaving the author searching for another avenue to uncover this unique cultural intersection.

The opportunity arose through a chance connection with Leah Sottile, a fellow journalist and metal enthusiast, who introduced the author to Steve Von Till, a musician involved in the "Fire in the Mountains" festival. This led to an invitation to visit the Buffalo Hide Academy in Browning, Montana, where educators were pioneering a groundbreaking initiative: a heavy music symposium for Piikunii teenagers. In its inaugural year, this program introduced students to the world of hardcore and heavy metal, offering a unique educational experience rooted in their own community. The scope of this endeavor quickly expanded beyond the classroom, as teachers organized not only the symposium but also internships for students to actively participate in the running of the festival. This holistic approach was designed to provide crucial support for Indigenous teens facing immense pressure, particularly from suicidal distress.

For the author, the issue of suicide carries a deeply personal weight, fueling a strong desire to connect with and encourage these young people, to inspire them to persevere. The prospect of visiting the classroom, learning about the students’ engagement with heavy music, and attending the festival—where a significant concentration of Indigenous metalheads was anticipated—was both exciting and deeply meaningful.

The "Fire in the Mountains" festival itself proved to be an exhilarating, albeit demanding, reporting experience. Days were long and intensely hot, often stretching to fourteen hours, and the sheer number of individuals to interview presented a considerable challenge. Yet, amidst the demanding schedule, the author was treated to an array of captivating musical performances. Regrettably, the author admits to missing a few sets due to exhaustion and other commitments, a testament to the festival’s packed schedule and the author’s dedication to capturing the essence of the event. The initial approach involved a direct and personal method: approaching random festival-goers with the question, "Hey, are you an Indigenous metalhead? Can I interview you for a magazine?" The overwhelming openness and candor of the attendees, even when discussing sensitive topics like the impact of suicide on their lives, friends, and families, was profoundly moving. Stories of grief, resilience, and the life-saving power of music were shared with remarkable vulnerability. Between sets, the author actively sought out Indigenous musicians, some of whom were already admired figures, others becoming new favorites. Morning conversations at the Two Medicine Grill in East Glacier Park, with photographer Russel Daniels, provided further opportunities to engage with locals and festival attendees, gathering a broader understanding of the influx of music enthusiasts descending upon the small Montana town. The sheer volume of compelling material gathered presented a significant editorial challenge, leaving the author grappling with how best to weave together the disparate threads of the story.

The editing process for this particular story was described as a formidable task. Initial plans to incorporate statistical data on suicide were abandoned, as the author felt that such numerical analysis and a clinical perspective would diminish the deeply human and emotional core of the narrative. The focus shifted to capturing the lived experiences and the profound impact of music. A particularly impactful scene emerged from a lakeside panel discussion where musicians shared heartfelt insights into how heavy music had served as a cathartic and empowering force in their lives. The transcript of this panel alone was rich with moving, illuminating observations and a healthy dose of playful humor, making the selection of just a few quotes an agonizing decision.

During this panel, Ivar Bjørnson of the band Enslaved offered a poignant observation on the pervasive suspicion and fear prevalent in contemporary society, drawing a stark contrast between the common societal inclination to distrust strangers and the ethos of the metal community. He lamented the notion that people would rather encounter a bear in the wilderness than an unknown human, exclaiming, "That’s fucking horrible," and advocating for a more inclusive and curious approach, akin to the metal community’s spirit of embracing new connections: "It should be like the metal community. It should be like ‘Oh, a human, awesome. Let’s explore (our) backgrounds and learn something.’" Similarly, Chelsea Wolfe contributed valuable perspectives on the detrimental effects of Western culture and the essential human need to allow for emotional expression, particularly the importance of embracing moments of sadness.

An earlier draft had included a scene depicting a listening party on a hillside offering a sweeping vista. Hundreds of metalheads gathered amidst the tall grass to be among the first to experience the new album Blackbraid III before its official release and to engage with frontman Jon Krieger in a question-and-answer session. The story also briefly mentioned Region Sauvage, a catering company that provided barbecued ducks and buffalo for ticketed lunches. Chef Thomas Fitzgerald of Region Sauvage articulated a powerful sentiment regarding his choice of meats, stating, "we’re not a cattle country," a declaration the author found particularly resonant and impactful, wishing to highlight its significance.

However, editorial constraints necessitated a focus on the central themes, preventing the inclusion of every compelling detail. The narrative had to accommodate a dramatic thunderstorm that sent festival-goers scrambling for shelter, humorously attributed by some to the "ghost of Ozzy Osbourne." Crucially, the narrative prioritized the voices of students and Native metal fans, capturing their perspectives on the genre, its cultural significance, and its role in suicide prevention efforts.

The author found the process of quoting students to be particularly delicate, necessitating thorough research into ethical reporting standards for minors experiencing trauma. Given the sensitive nature of the subject matter, the author concluded that anonymizing quotes offered the safest and most ethical approach to presenting the material. This investigation ultimately yielded answers to the author’s initial question: "Why do Natives like metal so much?" While secretly hoping for a straightforward declaration that colonization itself was the driving force, the author instead encountered a spectrum of thought-provoking theories, articulated with surprising eloquence despite their informal, rock-and-roll vernacular. This experience underscored the value of reporting that challenges preconceived notions, leading to a mutual educational journey for both the journalist and the reader.

The author confessed to being profoundly unprepared for the overwhelming sense of hope and connection the festival engendered. Upon returning home, the initial draft flowed rapidly over the subsequent days, characterized by minimal sleep and tears of emotion as the author worked to process the unexpectedly transcendent experience. The process of translating the profound emotional impact of the festival for readers was a central focus, resulting in a piece that the author considers deeply personal and close to her heart. Readers are encouraged to engage with the story and, for those wishing to support the cause, information is provided regarding the Firekeeper Alliance, including options to donate, follow on social media, or purchase merchandise. Furthermore, an invitation is extended to attend next summer’s festival for those interested in metal, hardcore, or simply curious about the vibrant community. The author expresses a hopeful anticipation of encountering readers at future events.