In 2019, Hannah Sutton and her partner Grant spent seven months on Matsuker Island, off the southern part of Tasmania.
During the seven months of living on Matsuker Island, the only major dispute between Hannah Sutton and her partner Grant broke out over chocolate. The carefully selected 700 kilos of supplies and equipment included dark chocolate (since they were miles from the nearest store, it seemed like a good opportunity to wean them off sugar). But when her mother sent a package a few months later, which contained cheap milk chocolate, "it was like heaven," said 32-year-old Satonova. They argued over who took the bigger part. (The dispute was settled amicably - they got engaged on the island and are now married.)
They signed up to work on the island, where they lived in one of the three houses of the former lighthouse keepers, looked after the place and collected meteorological data. After several weeks of training, they arrived on the island by helicopter.
During the first few days, the previous guards handed them over. "You are aware that they are going through many emotions, saying goodbye to the island, so you don't want to appear with big ambitions," Satonova said.
When they were finally alone, they felt "euphoric," she said. “You look around and realize that little creatures and seabirds are your new roommates. It is the beginning of the journey of getting to know each other." There is a network that supports the operation of the island, but the couple certainly felt the physical distance. "It's an incredible feeling - freedom," Satonova said.
Although it was risky — they had to read the data in all weather conditions during the day, holding on to cables around the island's lighthouse — Saton said she didn't feel anxious. "Maybe we were naive," she said. For the most part, although they were constantly busy, they were not under pressure. “You are not in a hurry. You can spend the whole day hiking, moving gently along the cliffs.”
At best, they only had occasional access to the Internet, but then their satellite dish fell during a storm. They had to reinstall it using only a photo of the previous antenna. "Grant was on the roof and I was using the handheld radio and the photo to try to match the angle of the antenna," she said.
Although the isolation didn't bother them, it was exciting when they saw a passing ship, an airplane, or heard someone on the radio. Contact with other people occurred halfway through their stay, when they were visited by the Tasmanian Parks and Wildlife Service. “Checking that you're all right and that you're about to kill each other. That was really nice, but we had to relearn how to talk to people."
Since it was winter and it often rained, mud and leeches were a problem. The job included drain cleaning, generator servicing and lots of grass cutting. But there were also incredible advantages: “We watched the seals go crazy. You could see the migration of the hummingbirds from the island towards the Northern Hemisphere”.
Towards the end of their stay, Sutton's grandfather had two strokes. "Then I felt distance and isolation, when I wasn't sure if I had said goodbye to him for the last time," she said. Her grandfather recovered, but it became clear to her what she wanted from life after the island - she wanted to be close to her family. They now live in Western Australia, where he works in the sustainability department of a global engineering company.
She admits that she and Grant were lucky enough to experience island life. "Not everyone has the luxury of being able to say goodbye to everything and leave for seven months. We are aware that we were privileged and we are grateful for that.”
They live modestly, leave the city whenever they can and try to avoid the Internet. “It makes you realize that you don't need a lot of things. The most important thing is that you are happy and that you get along well; to appreciate the amazing experience you had.”
"It was an extremely simple and beautiful way of life"
In 2017, Chris Lewis embarked on a journey on foot along the coast of Great Britain. During the quarantine due to covid, he spent three months in 2020 alone on the island of Hildasay, near the Shetland Islands.
Chris Lewis, 43, did not intend to be alone on the island, but when the covid pandemic broke out during his hike along the British coast, he was in the Shetlands. Someone offered him and his dog Jet the use of a shack on the island of Hildasay, uninhabited and more than a mile from the mainland. There was no running water, gas or electricity, but Lewis had been living in a tent until then, so it was important for him to get out of the strong wind.
He had set out on the trip two and a half years earlier, looking for a challenge and trying to fight depression. He was also faced with becoming homeless. He was aiming to raise £500.000 for charity SSAFA, which previously helped him adjust to civilian life and single parenthood after leaving the army as an ex-paratrooper. His daughter's decision to leave home at the age of 16 was the trigger for him to hit the road.
On Hildasej, he stayed somewhere longer than a couple of days for the first time. He thought he would be on the island for about three weeks, but ended up spending three months there. Walking had somewhat prepared Luis for island life - the isolation, the weather, the physical hardships - but he was aware that staying in one place would also bring mental challenges. "I had to be proactive and diligent," he said. “Isolation taught me a lot about the importance of work; that's the main thing. The moment you stop working, you can lose your mind. It's not easy to be alone all the time.”
It was hard for him not to be able to call friends and family because there was no phone signal. He had falls. “In terms of my mental health, I've learned how to deal with it, how to recognize the warning signs. The moment I noticed something, I thought: no, get over it, let's do something. Even if it was something as small as throwing a tennis ball against a wall, every time I dropped it, I would do sit-ups. I know if I carry that mental strength into the rest of my life, no matter what the challenges are, I'll be fine.”
He made a list of everything he wanted to do on the island: “I decided to get physically fit and stronger. I collected edible plants, regardless of the weather, just to have some sort of routine.”
There were also things Louis had to do to survive. He collected firewood and built stoves all over the island, depending on the direction of the wind that day. Going to the toilet meant collecting water first. When he ran out of drinking water, he drank rainwater, which meant keeping gutters clean to collect it. "It was a very simple and beautiful way of life," he said.
The ship would come every two to three weeks, weather permitting, to deliver the coal and fresh water it had to carry to the other side of the island. Louis lived mostly on the food he collected himself. During gloomy and cloudy days, it could hunt for lobsters in shallow water, but mostly survived by eating clams and snails.
Gratitude was always present: “I kept thinking about the people in flats in London with their families. I was blessed”. Besides, it was spawning season on Hildasey. "It was unbelievable," he said. “You have arctic terns coming from Antarctica to Shetland to nest. You have big skis. I would lie down at night and hear the loudest yet most peaceful sounds ever. I still hear them today.”
He misses the island - and called his memoir "Finding Hildasay". Whenever he is in the city, he realizes that it is the "wrong kind of noise" for him.
He has not returned to the island, but he intends to and will bring his fiancee Kate and their son Magnus. "On the island I buried several things that mean a lot to me. I look forward to visiting that place again. It will be very strange to be back there, this time with the family.”
"It's not a religion, but it's close"
Since 2002, Bill Cowie has lived on the Rhone, near Skye in the Inner Hebrides archipelago off the west coast of Scotland. His wife Lorraine moved there in 2007.
Bill Cowie went to Rhona to mend the fence. Two decades later, it's still there. He had previously worked as a forester, but was exhausted by traveling throughout Scotland. He also suffered from Lyme disease. "I didn't function very well," he said. It arrived on the Rhone during the summer. "I thought I had arrived in heaven," he said. Kaui found out that the guards were leaving and decided to apply for the job.
During the season, people stayed in resorts on the island and yachts came and went; Kaui, naturally sociable, made friends. Then September came and everyone left. "I said to myself: what the hell have I done?" he said with a smile. “Here on this island I am all alone.” He drank too much whiskey, woken up with a headache, wrote a list of everything he wanted to accomplish on the island and guessed it would take about five years. “That was 21 years ago.”
How did he get used to being alone? "I quite enjoy being alone," he said. If anything, it's a relief. "It was nice to make a break from the previous hectic lifestyle. The children were grown, so there was nothing holding me back. I had no money, so I didn't want to go anywhere. I think it was quite easy for me because I had a full life until then". There was a lot of work, including looking after a herd of Scotch cattle. "If you plan to come to an island like this, you should have a purpose," he said. "My purpose was to put him in order". The island is owned by a Danish family, who previously asked Kauija how they would manage the nine square kilometer island: "I said they need deer. The cows have reached the end of their term - they've done a great job for about 10 years, preparing the island for reforestation.” Kaui bought six female deer and two males and let them roam free; now there are 200 of them. "Deer are my passion," he said.
There were difficulties, especially during the five years he was alone. In the winter, when it's dark outside until three o'clock in the afternoon, it can be depressing when you see no one but the man who brings you supplies every two or three weeks. (He met his wife Lorraine when she came to the island on vacation; she moved to Rhone in 2007).
Kaui is almost 68 years old and still working hard. Sometimes there are power outages - which it gets from wind turbines, solar panels and generators. Kaui faces storms; once he fell off a cliff from a height of several meters.
The simplicity and richness of this lifestyle make up for all the challenges. This man had a chicken sandwich for dinner last night because he was sick of crabs and venison. (He also has homegrown vegetables.) Three weeks ago, he was watching orcas in the harbor; there were other whales, dolphins and an abundance of seabirds. "It makes you more grateful to the environment," he said.
After about a year, he moved to another part of the island by motorbike. Wherever he stopped, the view was incredible in every direction. "Rona is beautiful, but the view from it is even more incredible. Every morning, when you open the windows, you see something different. It's like riding a motorcycle at night, especially this time of year, looking for deer." A family of deer lives right behind his house. “It's nature on your doorstep. This is not a religion, but it is as close as it can be”.
"Fresh fruit becomes the most beautiful thing you've ever eaten"
Between 2008 and 2011, Rachel Buxton spent two months each for three summers in a row in the Aleutian Islands near Alaska.
Imagine sitting on a deserted island in complete darkness for five hours, listening to the sound of seabirds - and music by AC/DC.
Rachel Buxton, 37, spent two and a half months in 2008 on the uninhabited island of Amatignak, on Alaska's South Island, studying the nesting habits of terns and whether sound can attract the birds to their nests.
Some nights she played tapes of their chirping; others she would play music - not just Australian rock bands - to see if they were drawn to random sounds. Then there were nights when she wouldn't play anything.
"How often in the modern world do you have the opportunity to just sit and listen," said Buxton. “During the night when I sat in silence, I could hear insects crawling in the forest, moving the leaves. In the absence of man-made noise, you realize what you're missing. The flowers are blooming and you can smell them. It is wonderful to be alone, with a complete sensory experience in nature".
She was there with field technician Tessa, a longtime friend who later assisted her on other remote field trips that are part of her job as an assistant professor at the Institute for Environmental and Interdisciplinary Sciences at Carleton University in Ottawa. Each of them spent a lot of time alone - they had their own tents - but they often worked together.
It was important to enjoy each other's company - on Fridays they would have a movie night. "We had to radio the US Fish and Wildlife Service twice a day for security reasons. We would make up games, or treat ourselves by asking the radio operator to Google something for us. Even though you're in the middle of nowhere and spend most of the day alone, you find little ways to connect.”
In fieldwork, isolation — and the company of only one other person — "manifests itself in strange ways," Buxton said. "We're talking about six weeks, when everything your technician does starts to annoy you - the way he eats cereal, the way he drinks water." Buxton is sure she was just as irritating. The solution was to pour it all out in a diary, instead of getting angry at each other. "Then you can look back on it sometime and see how funny it was."
Was she bored? “You find a way to have fun,” she says. "I read more books than ever, because you are not distracted by your phone. You draw, you are creative, you find other things to do, which are more productive and give you more pleasure."
The Aleutian Islands are known for strong winds. Although the trips were during the summer, it was cold and rainy most of the time, with frequent storms and fog. Buxton hasn't showered in over two months.
All the equipment and supplies for two months were carried from the ship to the shore through the ocean waves, so she tried to carry as few things as possible. (Luxuries included a drawing kit and chocolate). She got tired of a diet rich in root vegetables and canned food. She was allowed one half-hour phone call home each Sunday. It made him appreciate life in the real world more. Fresh fruits and vegetables become the best thing you've ever eaten, she said.
Buxton has always loved the outdoors — it's why she became a scientist — but connecting with wildlife made her more passionate about protecting it. She saw orcas and sea otters, “but the seabirds stole the show”. Crested coots, with citrus-scented feather oil; the flock in flight smells like someone has opened an orange. Ancient cormorants, whose chicks hatch in a hole on land and immediately run to their parents, calling to them at sea. Albatrosses, flying above the waves. Full-beaked parrots, which look like something out of a seventies glam rock band. These birds are pure magic.”
Translation: N. Bogetić
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