Life under lockdown: On Sable Island, physical distancing is easy; staying in touch is hard

Life under lockdown: CBC is speaking to Nova Scotians in unusual situations during the COVID-19 pandemic. This four-part series introduces you to the spiritual side of isolation experienced by monks; a practical guide to physical distancing from a person living on Sable Island; insights into keeping community without a physical community from L'Arche Homefires; and how to parent, work and study — all by yourself.

The first time Gregory Stroud experienced the extreme physical distancing that is life on Sable Island, N.S., he was overjoyed. He'd fallen in love with the legendary isle as a child and, a few years ago, flew the 300 kilometres from Halifax to start a two-month stint where he'd see more horses and seals than humans.

"It's shaped like a large smiley face out in the sea," Stroud, who works for Parks Canada, says of Sable Island. "There's pretty much ocean in every direction you look. No matter what the day is, you can pretty much always hear the wind howling and the waves crashing on the beaches."

But the thrill of the wild world soon yielded to the realization of how cut off he was from his regular life.

"I was excited beyond belief when I landed on the beaches of Sable. There was no time to reflect on isolation, no time to think about all the things you'd normally miss," he says.

"Over time, the newness of landing on the island disappears a bit and you start to realize, OK, I am isolated from the rest of the world. How am I going to run my regular day-to-day activities to make the most of this opportunity?"

For Stroud, the keys are routine and setting goals to make the most of the two months he spends on Sable, offset by two months on the mainland. Each day, he rises with the sun and takes a brisk walk to see what's new around the camp and the shores. He's an avid birder and notes which migrators have arrived to rest on their long journeys.

After his walk, he has breakfast and prepares for work. As the Parks Canada operations co-ordinator on the island, which is a national park reserve, he's responsible for keeping the site operating, welcoming visitors, helping with research and resource conservation, and handling any emergencies.

Now, that includes ensuring he and his three colleagues practise physical distancing and handwashing, and keep the site sanitized.

When he's done working, he can't go home, go shopping, or pop out for a drink. Because he's stuck in the same spot, he makes a determined mental switch to his private, personal time in the evening.

He says there is no external structure to life on Sable: no one leaving for work or coming home, no rush hour. It would be easy to make like the seals that lie on the shore and stare blankly at the sea.

He imposes a rigid structure to keep himself motivated and healthy. "Free time is a way to get a break from work, but it's also a way to recharge my batteries and really work on my mental health, knowing I am in an isolated place."

After work, he packs his binoculars and camera and goes exploring on the further reaches of the island. It gives him a clear — and physical — break from work, and from the news of life in the compound and the wider world. He's come to know every inch of the 40-kilometre long, 1.5-kilometre wide island.

He also sets a learning goal for each stint. During his current stay on the island, he is spending time practising the mandolin. It's a new skill he declined to share with the CBC just yet, instead keeping his concerts for the horses. When he leaves at the end of two months, he will feel he's done something valuable with the time.

"It makes you feel like you're actually living your life here, as opposed to just existing," he says. "All of these things add up to an incredibly high quality of life. It doesn't matter if I'm in downtown Toronto, rural Nova Scotia, or here on Sable: if you have a good routine and you make the best of everything around you, I think you can survive, no matter what your isolated situation is."

The limited connection offered by phones and social media keep him from drifting too far into the isolation.

"But because I have no distractions from anybody else — nobody dropping by for visits, no real, large social life — that's where I connect with my family, my wife back in the mainland. It's extremely important, so we do this every day."

COVID-19 has impacted the tiny island community in the sense that even fewer outsiders visit. But Stroud still wakes early, brews a cup of tea, and nods to the horses who gather at the electric fence that keeps them safely away from the small compound he and three other people share sandwiched between sand dunes.

He's been thinking of the rest of us, who are unexpectedly enduring isolation. "We all have time to think about the things we want to do in life for our own personal growth. Some of these things require isolation, require us taking time to really enjoy the moments we have on a day-to-day basis," he says.

"I did it because it was my work; other people are doing because it's helping out the country. But we're really all in the same place."