Blood Brothers

Growing up in the seventies was about as "un-woke" as you could get. For starters, my kindergarten teacher punished a girl who probably had a learning disability by making her sit under the teacher's desk. It was an old style desk with a solid back panel and stack of drawers on the left and right. Almost daily, the poor child was forced to crawl down in the dark, cramped area and sit by the teacher's stinky feet. Back then, a lot of the older teachers wore pantyhose and heels with skirts. I would guess the child had a close up look at the teacher's crotchety coochy. I was only five years old and I knew this wasn't right. Seems like a teacher who was ten times older than me should have known better. That year, I lived in fear of getting into trouble and having to get put under the teacher’s desk.

My first grade teacher was younger. Fresh out of college. She was sweet, and nice. I liked her and flourished under her gentle leadership. She was like Miss Honey from the movie Matilda. I cried on the last day of school that year because I was going to miss her so much.

In 2nd grade, my teacher brandished a wooden paddle with holes in it. When we asked why it had holes in it, she replied, "So, I can spank harder". I lived in fear of the paddle that whole year. It was never used on me but being a sensitive, empathetic person, it hurt anytime I saw a classmate getting the paddle. It seemed the teachers who were close to retirement were the meanest. I had a good teacher every other year.  

I tell you this so that you can have a little background on why I'm overly concerned with following rules. I have a fear of getting in trouble. It’s called mastigophobia. It is an irrational fear of punishment. Just the thought of getting punished gives me anxiety. I have had full blown panic attacks whenever I have had to work under a micromanager or person who tries to lead with fear tactics.

While studying biology and ecology as an undergrad at Michigan Tech, I worked a part time job in the kitchen at a local pub. 

One day the head chef, Stacey, asked, “Stuart, I need you to dice six onions fast.” 

I got right to work. I peeled an onion, sliced it in half and then made slits to the center and then sliced across forming uniform small chunks of onions. 

“Damn it Stuart, you need to go faster!” 

I tried to go faster and then the chunks became less uniform.

“Stuart, do this over again. There are too many big pieces in here! I need it uniform and I need it yesterday. DO IT NOW!”

My heart was racing, sweat was pouring down my face and into my eyes. My eyes were stinging and burning from the onion odors and the sweat.

“Shit! I cut my finger.” I screamed and then I got tunnel vision. Started to hyperventilate. I awoke to a server holding pressure on my hand which was wrapped in dishcloths. She had waded up an apron and put it under my head. 

“Stuart, you passed out after you cut your finger,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. Okay.”

“We need to get you to the emergency room for stitches. It's a deep cut.”

“Oh, crap!”

“You’ll probably be off work for a few days.”

I never went back. Kitchen life was too stressful for me. I got a job reshelving books at the college library. Much better.

After college, I was on a wolf / moose research crew on Isle Royale National Park which is a 45 mile long wilderness International Biosphere Reserve on the western end of Lake Superior. For six months, our crew traversed the island collecting moose bones so they could be analyzed. We could learn a lot about the health of the moose through their bones. New wolves had recently been introduced to the island as the existing pack had died out. Wolves play a critical role in the island ecology and without them the moose have no natural predators. They overpopulate. They eat too much. There isn’t enough vegetation. Many end up starving to death. A correct balance of wolves and moose on the island is critical to maintain proper ecology for all plants and animals in the unique boreal forest. The island is home to many rare and endangered plants and animals. I felt quite at home there. Sometimes I feel like a rare and endangered human.

After six months living on a wilderness island with no cars, street lights, or loud noises, my senses were heightened. When I returned to the mainland, I did not fare well. My ears became so sensitive. I got a condition that is called hyperacusis which is an abnormally strong reaction to sound. My doctor said it stems from the part of my brain that processes noise. Well, it was difficult and it caused me to fear loud noises. Noises that used to be normal like a car door slamming, beeping horns, sirens, or a loud motorcycle caused me extreme pain. I ended up getting something similar to PTSD as I tried to re-acclimate to life on the mainland. I became depressed. 

The best way I can describe it is that the island and I became blood brothers. Probably from too many mosquito bites. I tried to live on the mainland but it wasn’t working. Even though I have an extreme fear of punishment and I never like to break rules, I had to figure out a way to become a full-time island dweller. Access to the island completely shuts down for about six months when winter settles over the island. In addition, it is a National Park and civilians are not allowed to stay longer than a couple weeks at a time. The Park Service would arrest me if they found me. I went into stealth mode.  

Because the island wasn’t always a National Park, there were established private homes and cottages around the island. All family members who were living at the time it became a park were added to a lifetime lease. As those family members died off, the properties returned to the U.S. Government to do as they see fit. Most of the properties have been turned over to the government. Many are still in great condition and are sturdy enough to house a person over winter. I found one such dwelling that was located in a private harbor and quite out of sight from hikers and boaters who visit the island. It was completely shut up and abandoned. I was able to get into it and found I could live quite comfortably in the home as it was set up nicely for off-grid living. There were plenty of tools for woodcutting and a nice wood burning stove inside. The brand was Good Time Stove and let me tell you, I had a darn good time making coffee, cooking meals, and staying warm with that stove. It was a thick walled log home with a sturdy roof. There was just one small bedroom with a comfy bed in it. There was a hand pump for water at the kitchen sink. I used candles and kerosene lamps for light. 

Posing as a regular visitor, I was able to make several backpacking/canoe trips with my packs full of provisions during the last few weeks of the summer season. In this way, I was able to store up enough supplies to help me be able to winter over. Nutritionally, humans can survive on moose meat with little other supplemental foods. I knew I would be breaking another big rule by killing and eating a moose but it would be my only way to survive alone out there. I knew I would have to take down a moose. I watched a lot of bush craft videos on tik tok and a lot of episodes of the reality show Alone. I felt ready.

The winter-over was successful. My dark hair and beard grew so long. I’m naturally a very hairy person with extremely big feet. By the time spring rolled around, I looked a lot like Sasquatch. Kinda funny since my name is Stuart Adam Squatch.  

In the end, the experience changed me. Breaking so many rules and living on the edge like that helped me to overcome my phobias. I think they call that exposure therapy. Whatever the case, one winter alone cured me. I’ve actually shaved my face, cut my hair and have assimilated back into normal life. Even loud noises don't affect me so much as they once did. I’m working on my master’s degree now and continuing my wolf / moose research for my thesis. I get to go to the island on a regular basis and only the island and I share the “secret” of the winter we spent alone together.