"I was out in wilderness therapy for 72 days," said Kayla Muzquiz, who spent much of her childhood in the troubled-teen industry. "And unfortunately, they didn't take me to a doctor. I think if they did, they would have found that I had a thyroid condition. They didn't do any tests to see if there was anything wrong with us before sending us out into 'the field,' is what they would call it. But I almost died like three times. I woke up next to a snake, a copperhead, twice."
Muzquiz was sent to SUWS of the Carolinas, a wilderness therapy program in rural North Carolina.
"We would wake up every day and hike 10 miles with almost a 60-pound pack on our backs," Muzquiz added. "It was excruciating because I had an undiagnosed autoimmune disorder throughout my time in the troubled-teen industry. So while I was hiking, I was constantly in pain. And it wasn't just regular pain that ibuprofen or Tylenol could take care of; it was just my body attacking itself constantly. So, if you complained, you couldn't move up in levels or ranks in wilderness, so it was more like you just had to bite your tongue and kind of just roll with the punches."
It's tough to regulate the wilderness
Even with a long paper trail of abuse and death, wilderness therapy programs have no federal oversight, leading to inconsistent, and mostly non-existent regulations at the state and local level.
"I think that another really hard part is that this [troubled-teen] industry was built decades and decades ago, without any foundation of regulation, reporting, governance, anything really," said Appelgate. "So, how do you regulate 100 years later, when it's a $23 billion industry, and we've got 120,000 to 200,000 kids being funneled into these facilities annually?"
On top of that, Appelgate said the placing of these camps in rural locations is not just about easy access to nature.
"Many of these programs strategically operate in very remote areas. The reason they do so is one, it's in the middle of nowhere, and kids can't run away. But also because they become the economy. And so, the entire town often depends on the jobs at that facility. So, you're not going to have your town really turning on you if you're helping the economy to that degree."
For many camps, young, naive college kids become a cheap labor source and bring money to the local economy.
This lack of regulation has created an "incestuous cycle" of corruption and abuse in Appelgate's eyes.
"Let's say a case of sexual abuse happens. What they'll do is just fire that person, and then tell the authorities they took care of it … but that facility isn't held accountable for having had that person there. So, that person will go and work at a different facility. And maybe the same thing happens. Maybe it doesn't. But we see this kind of moving and shifting within this industry. And furthermore, let's say the whole facility did something terrible, and they shut down. Well, what they usually do is rebrand under a new LLC – even if they're in the same building and do the exact same things."
Rebranding is a common practice for wilderness therapy camps, and Aspen Achievement Academy (AAA) is just one example. Opened in 1989 by the Aspen Education Group, AAA operated in Loa, Utah, right in the heart of Capitol Reef National Park. It didn't take long for the program to be mired in scandal.
According to research done by the organization Breaking Code Silence, a mother accused a therapist at the facility of assaulting and sodomizing her 14-year-old daughter in 1991. The therapist was fired, but it's unclear if they were criminally charged. Two years later, a 14-year-old boy attempted suicide by jumping off a 75-foot cliff. And in 2007, a 16-year-old boy died by suicide.
In 2011, Aspen Achievement Academy merged with another Aspen Education Group program and rebranded to Outback Therapeutic Expeditions. 34 years later, they're still operating.
Before arriving at SUWS of the Carolinas, Kayla Muzquiz attended New Leaf Academy, a boarding school in Hendersonville, North Carolina, that the Aspen Education Group owned. It closed in 2010.
"To me, it was really just a facade of a school. They tried to pass it off as an educational place that had therapeutic properties attached to it. But it was dehumanizing, and they would take everything away from you." said Muzquiz.
"Because the wilderness program is supposed to be worse than the boarding school, it's a punishment. It's something that they tell you, 'Hey, we're going to send you to the wilderness. We're going to tell the higher-ups to consider wilderness for you.' And it's basically being removed from the community of kids and staff." said Muzquiz.
Making headway at the state level
For years, lawsuits were the only way to shut down these programs. But recently, momentum for governmental regulation has built in some states.
In March, Appelgate testified in front of the Montana State Senate to support HB218, which would revise program practices and provide additional licensing requirements. HB218 passed with bipartisan support and was signed into law on May 17, 2023.
In 2021, Oregon was the first and only state to enact regulations on the practices of teen kidnapping services – prohibiting handcuffs and requiring registration with the state's Department of Human Resources. For many, this legislation, spearheaded by Oregon Senator Sara Gelser Blouin, is a pivotal win.
"She has done a great job reforming Oregon," said Appelgate. "I forget what number of teen transports they had before the bill. Now, it's like one. It has completely put it out of business, which is just fantastic. She's done a great job at shutting down little aspects of the pipeline that lead to it. Now, Oregon isn't a very big send-out state."
Sarah Stusek, Meg Appelgate, and Kayla Muzquiz agree that their own kidnappings were the most traumatic part of the whole experience. And Stusek, like many former camp goers, took to social media to share that particular story. The TikTok detailing her kidnapping has millions of views.
While Stusek said there were also some positive aspects of the wilderness therapy camp she attended, she still thinks practices like planned kidnapping should be outlawed.
"I do think that they should be banned. It's not a good practice at all … I think the wilderness, in general, and being outside is very healing for someone, but it has to be in the right circumstances. It can't be a power struggle thing. You have to want to do it."
This story was produced by The Daily Yonder and reviewed and distributed by Stacker Media.
