March 31, 2004 I was laid off from my job. I was not able to find work immediately and was collecting unemployment by the end of April. I had been renting out a wing of a house in Champlin for a year. In May I was strickened with a new roommate after getting used to being by myself. I never knew his real name so I called him Cletis. I did not care to be roommates with Cletis after getting to know him and with all my bills I could not afford to pay rent anyway. What to do?  Many ideas filled my mind; such as living out of my car or mini storage.  I have too much pride to ask family for help or move in with them. I would rather live in a tent than move back home with my parents. My two passions in life are stand-ups and fishing. The Depot was the first place I thought of where I could jetski and fish. I jetskiid there twice last year; I even threw my brothers' bachelor party there. The more I thought about it the more challenging and exciting it became. Just a thought. Everybody I told  laughed and thought it was crazy.  Some friends joked I would only last two weeks in a tent.  That only fed my desire. Every challenge and hurdle that arose I was able to overcome. One Day I drove to Hudson just to have a look. On the way home I stopped in Stillwater to get a p.o. box and set up a mini-storage in Brooklyn Park. There was no turning back. I had no choice but to make it work and become self-sufficient; all it took was a little planning and a list of supplies.

   

     Many questions were asked in the beginning; both from myself and others. What was I going to do about this and that. It was never-ending. I enjoyed solving every problem that arose. Everything worked out perfectly. I already owned a tent and the jetski. The jetski provided transportation, entertainment, and battery recharging for my cell phone and lantern. I also purchased a solar panel with a cigarette lighter adapter, five-man raft, air pump, rope, maul, saw, water purifier, and a few other items. Before I had everything figured out, I moved out there by hauling all my supplies in the raft. I was able to park my car and trailer at a park near The Depot. The park is a 15 minute walk from the boat launch. I bathed by lathering up with soap and going for a jetski ride. Nobody I know has had that much fun bathing. My back-pack became part of everyday life, it was even worn almost everytime I jetskiid.. I would jetski to the boat launch and walk one block to the grocery store. I would have a dry shirt along with my wallet in my back pack. I found I could haul four gallons of water and a bag of groceries on my jetski. I mostly ate canned tuna throughout the summer. It is healthy and it seemed to fit the situation perfect.  If I needed to drive somewhere in my car, I was able to pull up to shore where my car was parked and leave the jetski there while I ran errands. I often drove in my car to escape the weather on the island and to retrieve my mail. I immediately located the library so I could apply for jobs online to fulfill my unemployment benefits requirements. This was just one of many daily activities I participated in.

   

     Other than applying for jobs online, my daily activities included picking up garbage and hauling it to the dumpster on the dike.  The Depot looked like a garbage dump when I arrived Memorial weekend.  This was mostly due to the high waters that carried in the trash, though much of it had been left behind by weekend visitors from other years.  I made it my duty to clean up the island and maintain it, like a caretaker. I found it gratifying to sit down at an old fire pit and spend hours picking out broken glass. Bystanders would walk by wondering what I had lost in the sand or asked what I was searching for. They were shocked to find out I was digging up broken beer bottles.  Many of them thanked me and walked away. I appreciated the thank-yous very much. Of all the people who ever stopped to talk to me while picking up garbage, one lady actually stopped to help for a minute. Monday was always the busiest day of the week for picking up garbage.  I made several trips to the dumpster with my raft over-flowing with trash that had been collected. One day I took care of three large pieces of garbage; a drum, a dock, and a burned sofa.  Below are before and after pictures of the three items. The 55 gallon drum was in the sand along the shoreline.  I tried digging it out and prying it up, but the pry bar would just bend. The drum was completely full of sand and was obviously too heavy. Then I decided to break open the drum by beating it with the pry bar. I created a hole large enough to fit both my hands into it so I could remove the sand. After that the drum came out of the water by digging around it and prying it up. I was able to cut the cast iron dock into six pieces; I destroyed five hacksaw blades doing so. The sofa came apart with a few swings of the maul.  I am glad I was able to make a positive impact on the island by keeping it clean for one summer. I know it is appreciated. I was approached by someone who told me the drum and dock had been there for over 15 years.

  

    

      I met hundreds of people throughout the summer. Most were met on the Depot, while many others were met on the dike, in town, at the boat launch, and pretty much everywhere around Hudson. Upon moving to Hudson I was surprised at how friendly people are. Everyone who passed me waved or said hello. It took a little practice, but after a while I would be the first to say hello and wave. It felt good to be surrounded by friendly people. Nobody does that where I'm from.  I was often asked by friends and family if I got lonely. I was never lonely during the week. I guess because I was usually the only one out there. But when the weekends came, so did the people. Families, friends, or groups of  people would come out and if I had no guests out I felt lonely just sitting at my campsite. That's the only time I felt alone. When there were others out and I had nobody to be with. I was envious maybe. One day in June I was all alone, writing in my journal. Two couples with their boats pulled up on shore near my campsite. They had been out during my rainy start on Memorial weekend. I was asked to join them at their fire pit so I did.  The next weekend they brought me a care package of granola bars and cigarettes. They somehow new my favorite tastes. From this point forward I referred to the four of them as my godparents. I looked forward to spending time with them every weekend. I was bummed if they didn't show up. Along the way, two more were added to the group. My godparents would call me over for breakfast and dinner. They treated me like a king and would help me any way possible. The six of them made my summer great and I am truly thankful I got the chance to get to know them. The most philosophical one of the group asked me what was the best thing that happened to me.
   

     A man on the dike offered a shuttle service between Downtown Hudson and the end of the dike. One day I  stopped him to ask how his business was doing. He bought his three-wheeled bike off e-bay and hauled people for donations only. A pay at your own will type of deal. I saw him every once in a while and would wave. I didn't want to deter any business. One day I decided to talk with him again. He asked how my money situation was. I told him "negative" and immediately changed the subject. Our conversation ended and I went back down near the water. A couple hours later I decided to leave the dike. Just as I was puting on my life jacket, he called my name. I ran up to him and he held out his hand. I knew he had money and I was reluctant to take it. He made me though. All the money he made that day pedaling people back and forth was given to me. I'm just a guy who said hello and talked with him twice. He didn't even know me. That was the nicest thing someone could have done for me in that situation. I still shake my head in disbelief when I think about how awesome he made me feel.
    

     The weekend of the 4th I was hangin' out near the water when I was asked by a group of people, "You havin' another bachelor party?" I was confused. I didn't recall ever meeting these people. "What?" I Asked. "You're that drunk guy from last summer!" I laughed and told them my situation. I can't believe they remembered me. I must've made an impression on them. They had a hard time believing I havn't had a sip of alcohol since Dec 21, 2003.
   

     One day I was approached by a Hmong teenager who needed a lighter to start a fire. His uncle had caught some fish and they were going to cook them up on the beach. He came back a half hour later, he couldn't get a fire going because of the wind. I went with him and got a fire going for him and his family. They are the most pleasent people I met. I left them so they could enjoy their evening as a family.. A while later the same teenager came up to me with some water and four white bass. I couldn't beleive it. We went back to his fire where they taught me how to fillet the fish and cook them over the fire with a stick. That fish was the best food I ate there. I spent a good amount of time getting to know this hmong family and asking questions about their heritage. they were extremely eager to share stories with my about their struggles as a culture. I can honestly say I am a better person having met them. I was definitely touched by some of the nicest people out there. I was also touched by some of the worst.

   

     Many people asked me how living in a tent on the St. Croix could be legal.  I was never worried about being kicked out. After all, nobody really owns the land and people camp out there all weekend. What's the difference between all weekend and all summer? One hot evening I decided to take a nap. I slaved all day collecting firewood and picking up garbage so I was just beat. I hadn't eaten anything that day and by 6pm or so I was out. The next thing I know there are two guys in uniform unzipping my tent door and stepping in. "Get dressed and get out here." the older gentlemen barked. I was scared out of my mind and half asleep.  I stumbled out of my tent thinking I was in deep trouble.  They asked a million questions, ran a background check for warrants, and checked everything out on my jetski. The older guy was a jerk, but the younger sidekick was descent. He tried to have a conversation with me but being malnourished and just awoke from a deep sleep, it just wasn't gonna happen. "You livin' out here for the summer?" Yep. Nothing else was said and they plowed away from the island through the no-wake zone.
   

     Two months later I had a bash to celebrate the end of my summer. My friend brought out his stand-up. Another buddy couldn't make it because he was aboard the Avalon out of Stillwater. It's basically a paddle boat that is three stories high and 100 feet long. Well, the Avalon comes right up to the Depot when it cruises the St. Croix. My friend and I chased it down on our jetskis when it got near. We got so close we were able to have a conversation with our buddy who was standing at the front. I got so close the current began to suck me in. I would guess I was less than 10 feet away.  I had to bail on the jetski and pull away, dragging behind it. The captain was up-top waving furiously at us. I just ignored him. What could he do to me? I was running off pure adrenaline by simply being in the Avalon's presence. I began showing off by doing stupid things and noticed many more people were now on the decks looking over-board at me.  Then I noticed my partner in crime was gone, so I headed back to camp. Next thing I know there is a sheriff coming towards me so I slowed down and get on my knees. He passed me as if he didn't see me and headed towards the Avalon. I quickly returned to camp, changed clothes, and put on a hat. A few minutes later the sheriff pulled up, then another. Four water-patrol sheriffs came to my campsite. We confessed immediately and told the sheriffs about our other buddy on the Avalon.  According to one sheriff, the captain thought we were hijackers and asked them to throw the book at us. We were let off with warnings. I think the St Croix County water patrol is worthless. Here's why.
    

     Thursday July 1, 2004 was an awesome day. I spent most of the day hanging out on the dike. Due to the hot weather and the long weekend coming up, there were a lot of people on the dike. Towards the evening I went back to the depot and set up my chair on the north end of the island and awaited large waves from shore. Everything that day was perfect, except I couldn't fall asleep. I lied in bed, tossing and turning for a couple hours. Then I heard a kid swear. I checked the time; 12:30am. I debated whether or not to check it out. A minute later I slowly rolled out of bed and threw on some boots and walked outside only to see nor hear anybody. I looked up and down the shoreline. Nothing, except a couple on the southern end at a campfire whom I had spoken to earlier. I sat down for a minute, thinking the kids  would come walking back and they never did. I was just about to go back to my tent when I looked and saw my jetski was not where I thought I had left it. I frantically looked to the left, then right. No jetski. I ran to where I had left it and saw the drag marks leading into the water. I Died!  I ran all around the island and saw nothing. I talked to the couple I had spoken with earlier. They didn't see anything. I was able to make it to my car wearing only pj bottoms and a pair of boots. I checked the Hudson boat launch and was on my way to the Bayport Marina when I got pulled over for speeding. I had been doing 100mph in a 50 zone seconds before the officer had stopped me. I jumped out of my car with my hands up wearing just pj bottoms and boots. "My jetski was just stolen 15 minutes ago!" I screamed to the officer. He threw me his cell phone, "call 911." So I did. For three hours I talked to 10 different people about what had happened. I knew I would never see my jetski again. The cop was actually somewhat understanding and did not give me a speeding ticket. He called for back-up units to check surrounding marinas and launches. Nothing. no insurance, my summer was ruined
   

     That night, back on the island, I broke down and  had a one-way conversation with a turtle that was laying eggs. I had lost my mind. The worst thing that could possibly happen, had happened. I would have rather been stabbed or shot point-blank in the knee cap, I would have suffered less. That was it. How could somebody do this to me? Less than a one percent chance of recovering a stolen jetski. I convinced myself someone threw it in the back of their pick-up and was on there way to their cabin. Everyone was a suspect. Everyone is still a suspect. I wish I could meet the type of person that does this. My jetski is my life, silly as it sounds. I need it for food, water, transportation, and most important, sanity. I need it to live. The next morning I went fishing, but not really. My entire mind and body was numb. I also went to the library to post stolen ads on jetski websites. A couple of buddies came out there that weekend, 4th of July weekend, the busiest weekend of the entire summer. These keys are getting nailed.  My cousin flew up from chicago to find me broken with no jetski. I must've heard "what are you gonna do now?" a million times. "Tie a rope to my ankle and jump off my raft," I would honestly say. "No, seriously?" they would ask. "Seriously,  lie down on the railroad tracks and wait." I had reached my end. It wasn't just the fact that my jetski was no longer with me. It was the fact that I live amongst people who would do this. It was probably someone I had waved to or said hi to.  Words cannot describe how bitter I am at the whole thing. I'm still very bitter. The only thing that kept me going was the fact I had friends and family out all weekend. I tried to make the best of it. It was a beautiful weekend. We blew up my raft and spent a lot of time playing in the water. We also fit three of us in my raft and rowed to the other islands. The days passed on by and my cousin stayed until Monday July 5th. I drove him to the airport and dropped him off. I was actually on my way to my parents to think about my options when my phone rang. I almost didn't answer it.

   

     "Did you lose a jetski?" I had to pull off the road. I honestly felt sick. My jetski was found the morning after it was dragged off the island. The guy who found it lives on the river near the I-94 bridge and put it on his shoreline. It sat there all day friday, saturday, sunday, and monday. Where was the water patrol? My jetski was on shore for four days, only one mile south of where I was camped. They never noticed it. My jetski must've blended in with all the other white stand-up jetskis that litter the river ways. That's why I wrote earlier the water patrol is worthless.
On a more positive note. The morning after I got the jetski back I went to the post office where I was approached by a man in a chevy tahoe. "I see you got your jetski back." He took me by complete surprise. "Yeah, last night. How'd you know it was stolen?" This guy saw my stolen ad on jetski.com and was keeping an eye out for me. When he saw it pass on my trailer, he followed me until i stopped.  He saw the website stickers on my car and knew it was my jetski. That completely blew me away, it was awesome.
   

     I got my jetski back, but my summer was never the same. I never got over how I felt that night. I had kept a journal, writing  up to three times a day how great it was out there.  I never really wrote in my journal after that because I was so bummed out. I had to chain my jetski to a 12 foot rod that I pounded in the sand. My original 6 foot rod was stolen along with  the lock and chain. As long as I'm on the subject. My tackle box, mp3 player, and countless other items were taken from me. If I had to leave I would put locks on my tent doors, only to find people would break the zipper and rummage through my stuff anyway. What kind of world do we live in where a homeless man is violated and stolen from countless times. Anybody with an intelligence level of a five year old would know by looking at my campsite that I live there.

   

     My tackle box was taken by a five year old kid.  One morning after I caught a Muskie, I continued to walk around the island, casting the same lure. In all my excitement I left my tackle box near the water. It was probably 30 feet from my campsite. After fishing I left the island to run errands and get my mail. When I arrived back home, I noticed three boats had pulled up while I was gone. I walked passed a group of young children with three moms who pulled up on a houseboat.  I didn't say anything to them and I know they saw me. I went about my business and all three boats left within an hour of my returning. Soon after they left, I noticed my tackle box was missing. I retraced my steps and remembered leaving it by the water. I looked over, it was gone. It was too late to go chase any boats down. I remembered what that houseboat looked like: narrow, white, and a gray outboard. I assumed it was them, obviously too inconsiderate to ask the guy camping on the island if it was his. That's probably why they left as soon as I returned.
   

     I was so upset. If I found a tackle box I would devote my life to finding the owner. The parents should have told their child to put it back where they found it. Obviously the owner would come looking for it. They made no attempt to approach me to ask if I had lost anything. They had seen me coming and going all day.  The only thing that would cheer me up would be to buy the exact same box with all the same lures. So I did. It was over $100, but I could only find half the stuff I had before.
   

     Almost a month had passed when I noticed a narrow, white houseboat with a gray outboard pulled up on the south end of the island. I approached the families, asking them if they had found a tackle box. They asked me multiple times to describe it. "I'm not sure, maybe the lady inside found it,. I'll ask her and have her come find you if she has it." Later that day I met a couple of drunk woman walking along the beach. After talking a while, they mentioned they were with the houseboat crew and they found my tackle box. I went over and spoke with the mom and her son. The tackle box was in Rush City and they seemed a little apprehensive about returning it. I made a deal with them, just to help my chances of seeing the tackle box again. "Bring my tackle box back and let me have a few lures out of it and you can have the rest." About a week later the kid came up to me with my tackle box and said, "ok, you can have three lures."  Being the honest gentleman that I am I held up my end of the bargain. I had re-purchased many of the lures and had no use for two of them. I wasn't any happier.

   

     At first glance, the Depot appears to be just a desolate sand island with a few trees and shrubs. In actuality, many animals also call it home. I've had encounters with deer, raccoons, squirrels, chipmunks, turtles, frogs, a stray cat, and thousands of insects and spiders. Three Osprey have a nest above the train bridge. Other birds include great blue herons, vultures,  red-winged blackbirds, sea-gulls, geese, ducks, and pretty much countless other birds that exist everywhere across the midwest. Many fish also thrive in the waters around the Depot. The fish I caught throughout the summer include muskie, bass, catfish, carp, sheeps head, bluegill, and many others that got away. I have a few stories to tell.
   

     The Osprey were by far the most entertaining animals that I encountered. All day long they would fly overhead with fresh fish hanging from their talons. Many of the fish were longer than the Osprey's themselves. If any other bird that threatened them  or came within a one-mile radius of their nest, they would let out extrememly loud screeching. I personally witnessed the Ospreys attack Vultures and the Great Blue Heron. The Heron is gigantic in comparison to the Osprey and would emit ear-piercing squaks as the Osprey dive-bombed it. It sounded much like the pterodactyls do in dinosaur flicks.
   

     The deer were drinking water one weekday morning as I pulled up on my jetski.  I knew they would run as soon as I reached the shoreline so as soon as I landed I darted towards the channel as they did. We met at the narrowest point and they jumped in. I was only a few yards behind. When I jumped into the channel they were about halfway across. People ask me what would I have done if I would have caught one. I suppose I would have tackled it.
   

     My buddy came out one Friday morning. We decided to walk around the island and we stumbled upon a turtle just sitting in the sand. It made no attempt to escape which I knew wasn't normal. I picked up the turtle and noticed a huge fish-hook coming from its mouth. Luckily, I had a pliers in my pocket. I made every attempt to remove the hook, but failed. I placed the turtle back in the sand and we continued our walk. It was moments later that I decided to make it my pet. I brought it back to my campsite and tried to feed it worms, but it wouldn't eat because it couldn't open its mouth. Actually it always remained partially opened due to the hook preventing complete closure. The longer I had the turtle as my pet the more upset I became. That hook was driving me nuts. Getting that hook out became an obsession.  I grabbed another pliers, hoping I could do better with two pliers. One pair of pliers was small, the other was large.  He had his head tucked way into his shell with only the eyelet of the hook showing. Using the large pliers, I grabbed the eyelet of the hook and preceded to pull its head out. The turtle was fighting back with immense force. All the muscles in my arm and wrist were needed to pull the head out from inside the shell. Once the head was out far enough, I grabbed the hook shank, just below the eyelet with the small pliers. I then proceeded to cut the eyelet off with the large pliers while grabbing the barbed end with the small pliers and removing the hook from the turtle's mouth. It's tough to describe exactly the steps I took to remove the hook, but it really happened. The turtle is now able to close its mouth all the way and I'm sure it is happier without the hook in its mouth.
   

     The next morning a bullfrog decided to bask in the sun along the shoreline near my tent. I wanted a cool picture of it and after numerous attempts I was able to capture the frog. I placed the calm monster atop one of my stumps and snapped some photos. It just sat there, as if he thought he was king.

    The fishing throughout the summer was lousy at best. I did manage to land a muskie though, the same morning my tackle box was taken. I hooked into a monster catfish while I was taking a nap. I awoke to find my rod had fallen away from the y-branch and the fishing line had been pulled north into under water bushes. I was excited as I traveled the shoreline reeling in the slack. I counted 324 steps. I managed to untangle the catfish from the bushes only to have it dart right back in. After a few minutes of tugging, I finally almost had the fish in, then it got off the hook. I caught a glimpse of the catfish. It was three feet long, at least.
   

     Towards the end of June the water dropped considerably and the fishing went right on downhill with it. As the water dropped I noticed one maple tree got confused and turned colors. I've never seen a maple tree turn in the month of June. The sunset below was by far the best one I experienced all summer.