The isolation that makes an island appealing is the same isolation that makes it logistically punishing.
Since the pandemic accelerated a hunger for solitude, private islands have emerged as the ultimate expression of a timeless human longing — to be surrounded by water, insulated from the noise of the world, sovereign over one's own small kingdom. From the Thimble Islands of Connecticut to the South Pacific, buyers with means are purchasing not merely land but a philosophy of escape, only to discover that true isolation carries its own unrelenting demands. The dream of Robinson Crusoe independence, it turns out, is underwritten by generators, logistics, and a permanent negotiation with the sea.
- Pandemic-era isolation sent private island sales surging globally, with buyers from around the world bidding on parcels they had never visited in person, drawn by the promise of absolute privacy.
- Purchase prices ranging from $1.5 million to well over $50 million are only the opening bid — annual operating costs including fuel, staff, and maintenance can rival the price of a modest home each year.
- Building on an island means engineering against salt air, hurricanes, and rising seas, with materials arriving by barge or helicopter and every design decision carrying consequences that mainland construction never faces.
- Technology — solar storage, desalination, satellite internet — has narrowed the gap between island fantasy and island reality, but these systems fail in ways that no municipal grid ever would.
- Owners who romanticize the isolation often find themselves in a permanent relationship with logistics, discovering that the same remoteness that makes an island magical makes it unforgiving to those unprepared for its demands.
Chris Krolow was eleven years old when he spent a night alone on a private island in Georgian Bay, Ontario — and that experience never left him. Three decades later he runs Private Islands Inc. and still retreats to his Georgian Bay island with family, the ninety-minute drive and thirty-minute boat ride serving as a deliberate barrier against ordinary life.
When the pandemic arrived, millions of people suddenly understood that impulse. Private island sales accelerated sharply, with virtual showings drawing buyers from around the world. In Connecticut's Thimble Islands, agent Margaret Muir sold four islands in 2021 alone — Wheeler Island for $2.99 million, Belden Island for $1.25 million, and Green Island for $2.35 million. Each sale reflected not just land but a fantasy: total privacy within sight of the mainland, solitude with the option of connection.
Building on an island, however, is an entirely different discipline. Architect Duo Dickinson designed Green Island's home thirty-three years ago to survive salt air, hurricanes, and relentless wind, using Stony Creek granite — the same stone in the Statue of Liberty's base — and a swooping copper roof. Some materials arrived by helicopter, others by barge, everything hand-carried to the site. The house still stands today. By contrast, Pine Island in South Carolina, connected to the mainland by a causeway, offered far simpler logistics — public water, sewer, and satellite internet — while still delivering the sensation of standing utterly alone in the world.
The economics are unforgiving regardless of location. Beyond purchase prices that can exceed $50 million, generator fuel alone may cost $1 million annually, and staff in the Bahamas runs at least $100,000 a year. In Asia and the South Pacific, outright ownership is impossible; buyers must lease through local partnerships. Environmental restrictions limit construction nearly everywhere.
Krolow notes that desalination, solar power, and satellite internet have made island living more viable than it was fifteen years ago — but these systems require expertise and fail in ways mainland infrastructure does not. Architect Dickinson warns that buyers routinely underestimate the constraints: septic systems, power reliability, the sheer cost of building where civilization's normal infrastructure does not reach. For those who catch what Krolow calls the island bug, the burden is worth bearing. For others, the private kingdom they imagined turns out to feel less like freedom and more like a sentence.
Chris Krolow was eleven when he first slept alone on a private island in Georgian Bay, Ontario, while his family camped on the adjacent one. That night planted something in him—a hunger for isolation, for the particular magic of being surrounded by water and sky with nothing else demanding his attention. Thirty years later, he runs Private Islands Inc. from Toronto and hosts an HGTV show about island living. His own island in Georgian Bay still serves the same purpose it did when he was a boy: a place where his extended family gathers, where the ninety-minute drive and thirty-minute boat ride function as a moat against the noise of ordinary life.
During the pandemic, when millions of people suddenly worked from home and craved escape, private island sales accelerated sharply. Margaret Muir, a real estate agent in Connecticut, sold four islands in the Thimble Islands and nearby waters in 2021 alone—a dramatic shift from her previous clientele, which had consisted mostly of people with childhood memories of the area. Virtual showings opened the market to buyers from around the world who had never set foot in Connecticut but dreamed of owning their own kingdom of stone and soil. Wheeler Island went for $2.99 million that February, a three-quarter-acre parcel with an eight-bedroom house and a beach. Belden Island, slightly larger at one acre, sold for $1.25 million in May with a four-bedroom cottage. Green Island, which featured a striking contemporary design by architect Duo Dickinson, commanded $2.35 million. The prices reflected not just the land but the fantasy: absolute privacy within sight of the mainland, a paradox that appealed to people who wanted both solitude and the option of connection.
Building on an island, though, is not like building on shore. Dickinson designed Green Island's home thirty-three years ago to withstand the particular violence of a maritime environment—salt air, hurricanes, wind that never stops. He incorporated the stone walls of an earlier structure into his design and sourced Stony Creek granite, the same stone used in the base of the Statue of Liberty, from a quarry nearby. The house has a swooping copper roof, deep overhangs, raw wood and stone for protection, and a two-story wall of glass that curves along one side. Some pieces arrived by helicopter; others came by barge. Everything had to be hand-carried from the water to the building site. It took a year to assemble. More than three decades later, the home still stands, its beamed ceilings and two-story stone fireplace intact, proof that thoughtful design can outlast the elements.
Not all islands require such elaborate logistics. Pine Island, a fifty-six-acre property in South Carolina, is connected to the mainland by a causeway that links it to Spring Island, home to a private golf club. That connection made construction simpler and life afterward far easier. The 6,130-square-foot home, designed by architect William McDonough, blends Japanese and Low Country styles. It has a guesthouse, a pool, a six-car garage, and a deep-water dock. Because of the causeway, it connects to public water and sewer systems and has satellite internet. The real estate agent marketing it for $10 million describes the experience of standing inside, looking through walls of glass across marshland and river, as feeling utterly alone in the world—even though you are not.
The economics of island ownership, however, are unforgiving. A private island typically costs between $1.5 million and $2.5 million as a baseline, with luxury properties easily exceeding $50 million. But purchase price is only the beginning. Generator fuel alone can run $1 million annually. Staff to manage logistics, provisions, and emergencies costs at least $100,000 a year in the Bahamas. Warmer climates are more expensive than cooler ones, though owners may use them for longer stretches of the year. Islands in Asia and the South Pacific cannot be owned outright; governments control them, and buyers must partner with locals on long-term leases. In the U.S., Canada, the Bahamas, and most of Central America, ownership is possible, but environmental restrictions often limit what can be built.
Krolow emphasizes that technology has made island living more feasible than it was fifteen years ago. Desalination systems now provide fresh water. Solar panels and battery storage reduce dependence on generators. Satellite internet connects islands to the world. But these systems require expertise to install and maintain, and they fail in ways that mainland infrastructure does not. Windows must be impact-resistant. Structures must be built on high enough ground to survive storms and rising seas. Dredging may be necessary to create deep water for boats. A mechanic who can repair a boat must be reachable. Provisions must be planned for. The isolation that makes an island appealing is the same isolation that makes it logistically punishing.
Dickinson, the architect, warns that many buyers underestimate these constraints. "It's critical to understand the limits of building on a private island," he says. "There may be septic and power issues. The nature and cost of building a structure can be high." Most owners, recognizing the complexity, hire staff to manage it. They are buying not just land and a house but a permanent relationship with logistics, with the sea, with the particular demands of a place that exists outside the normal infrastructure of civilization. For those who catch what Krolow calls the island bug—that childhood fantasy of Robinson Crusoe independence—the cost is worth it. For others, the reality of maintaining a private kingdom proves to be something closer to a sentence than a dream.
Notable Quotes
There's something about private islands that awakens the Robinson Crusoe childhood fantasy in people. But it can be a slice of heaven or a slice of hell depending on how prepared you are for the challenges.— Chris Krolow, CEO of Private Islands Inc.
It's critical to understand the limits of building on a private island. There may be septic and power issues. The nature and cost of building a structure can be high because you need impact glazing on windows, stainless steel, and solid wood to hold up to the elements.— Duo Dickinson, architect
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why do you think the pandemic specifically triggered this surge in island sales? What changed in people's minds?
People suddenly had permission to imagine a different life. They were working from home anyway, so the question became: why not work from home on an island? The isolation that had felt like a luxury before the pandemic started to feel like a necessity. And there was money—a lot of it—sitting in people's accounts.
But isolation is the selling point and the trap, isn't it? You're buying solitude, but you're also buying a permanent problem.
Exactly. The island bug is real. Krolow caught it at eleven years old and never let it go. But most people don't understand what they're buying until they own it. They think about the peace and quiet. They don't think about the generator breaking down in a storm, or the boat mechanic being three hours away, or needing to stock six months of provisions.
The costs seem almost abstract until you own the place. A million dollars a year in fuel—that's not a number most people can even comprehend.
It's the cost of pretending you're not dependent on the mainland. You're completely dependent. You're just paying a premium to feel independent.
So who actually succeeds at this? Who are the people who don't regret it?
The ones who hire staff to manage it. The ones who treat it as a retreat, not a primary residence. The ones who understand that an island is a luxury problem, not a solution. And the ones who caught the island bug young, like Krolow. For them, it's not about logic. It's about a feeling they've carried their whole lives.
Is there a future for this? Or will climate change and rising seas make private islands obsolete?
That's the question nobody wants to ask. The architects are already designing for higher ground and stronger storms. But eventually, the water wins. For now, though, people are still buying.