I guess I'm a real journalist now

Andy Dossett | The Wiley Post
Published May 17, 2026

This article is labeled as opinion because it includes the writer’s analysis, interpretation or personal viewpoint. Opinion pieces are separate from The Wiley Post’s news reporting.

Yeah, it’s true. I got sued.

Technically — and I do love using technically — a bunch of other journalists and the companies that had the audacity to print the information got sued too.

This is my first lawsuit. Some of you may find that surprising, considering the topics I’ve covered and the enthusiasm with which I’ve chased certain stories.

When my former editor, who still works for the giant news conglomerate, called to tell me, my response was:

"I guess I'm a real journalist now."

Another thing I had never experienced until recently was visiting Black Mesa.

The Black Mesa Summit Trail in the far western Oklahoma Panhandle is an 8.5-mile out-and-back trek that leads to the highest point in the state.
Andy Dossett | The Wiley Post

Yeah, I know. Hard transition, but I couldn't think of anything else. Bear with me.

Black Mesa, Oklahoma’s highest point, is less a majestic mountain and more a giant plateau with an obelisk stuck on top. Last October, two close friends and I drove the seven hours from Bartlesville to camp there for a weekend.

Not lying, it’s seven hours. We drove seven hours in a straight line and never left the state.

At the time, I was in a rough spot creatively and professionally. Being the lone reporter at the paper was draining me dry. I felt like I was drowning.

I had written a long letter to my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss — add three more layers and you get the CEO, that's how far down I was — explaining that I was struggling to do the kind of journalism the company wanted while still serving the community the way it deserved. My wife read the letter before I sent it and said, "Well, if this doesn't get their attention, nothing will."

It got their attention.

I was called into a meeting with one of the company's top news executives. I didn’t know it at the time, but I learned in that meeting that all my concerns were my fault for not reading his companywide monthly newsletter… So that's when I planned my getaway.

So the plan was simple: camp at Black Mesa State Park, hike Oklahoma’s highest point and enjoy one of the few certified dark sky areas in the state.

If you’ve never experienced a true dark sky, it’s hard to explain. There’s almost no light pollution. The stars stop looking distant and start looking crowded.

As an added bonus, it was nearly a moonless night.

So I packed all my camping gear and all my photography gear because I had one goal: photograph the Milky Way stretched over the lake in the middle of the night.

This was going to be magic. I promise we are almost at the turn of the story where you go, "Oh, I see what he did there.”

We grilled burgers, listened to music around the campfire, and stared through the trees at a sky so clear it barely looked real. Around midnight, we loaded into the car and headed toward a scenic overlook where the Milky Way would line up perfectly over the water to capture its reflection.

I even drove with my parking lights to avoid ruining other people's night vision. My mother always said I was a considerate boy.

But as we drove, it became harder and harder to see. I thought my night vision would get better, but it was getting worse.

The windows seemed to be fogging up. Outside was pitch black. I couldn't tell where the road ended, and the sky began.

Then we reached the overlook.

There were no stars.

No Milky Way.

Nothing.

I thought, okay, maybe our eyes need to adjust, maybe the dashboard was too bright.

Turns out the windows hadn't been fogging up at all. In the ten minutes it took us to drive up the hill, a thick fog had settled over the entire park.

A 30-second exposure of the “night sky” at Black Mesa State Park.
Andy Dossett | The Wiley Post

I had done everything right. I planned. I packed. I prepared.

And still, the thing I came here to see disappeared before I could reach it.

I launched the Wiley Post less than a month ago. I was excited — genuinely excited — to build something this community needs while finally doing the kind of work I love.

Now it feels like fog has settled in.

This lawsuit is a distraction. It will delay stories I believe people deserve to read. Stories like what really happened. I have interviews lined up. People are ready to talk.

Now all of that waits.

Maybe the lawsuit ends in days. Maybe weeks. Maybe years. Nobody really knows.

That's the nature of this business sometimes.

For now, I'm a guy from Bartlesville who got sued in a federal court located next to Manhattan's Chinatown — in a city I have never been to.

So, some plans are on hold.

My goal is to keep the Wiley Post free from this lawsuit and keep reporting the stories that matter here. But I also owe readers honesty: for the time being, there are certain things I simply can't talk about publicly.

That's frustrating.

But fog lifts eventually.

Even though I never got that picture of the Milky Way, for me, the journey is always worth more than the destination.

Views from atop Black Mesa, located in the far northwest corner of the Oklahoma Panhandle near the New Mexico and Colorado borders, stretch for miles across rugged prairie and canyon country.
Andy Dossett | The Wiley Post