Swim for the Lights on February 26, 2010!

On Saturday, February 26, beginning in the early afternoon, Gary Sredzienski will swim the following route: Odiorne Point (Rye, NH) to Whaleback Lighthouse (Kittery, ME) to Portsmouth Harbor Lighthouse (New Castle, NH) to the Kittery Town Dock at Kittery Point. The total distance is close to four miles, and the water temperature is expected to be about 35 degrees. Gary has been swimming all his life and has done long distance winter swims for charities including Seacoast Hospice, Share Our Strength, and the Krempels Brain Injury Foundation.

Gary is also a well-known musician who began his professional career as an accordion player at the age of 9. He performs 1960s surf rock, traditional ethnic, and original accordion compositions with the Portsmouth-based group, the Serfs. Gary also hosts a radio show, "Polka Party," weekly on WUNH-FM in Durham.

Following the swim on February 26, at 5:00 p.m., Gary and his band, the Serfs, will play at a celebration party upstairs at Captain and Patty's restaurant, 90 Pepperrell Road (Route 103) in Kittery Point.

The purpose of this event is to raise awareness and funds for the preservation of lighthouses. The funds raised will be split evenly between the American Lighthouse Foundation (ALF), and the foundation's local chapter, Friends of Portsmouth Harbor Lighthouses (FPHL). ALF, a nonprofit organization based in Rockland, Maine, cares for 23 historic lighthouses in the Northeast. FPHL cares for Portsmouth Harbor Lighthouse in New Castle, NH, and Whaleback Lighthouse in Kittery, Maine.

To donate or to purchase tickets for the post-swim party, visit www.portsmouthharborlighthouse.org. I'll be at the party -- I hope to see you there!


Click here to see a map of the swim.

Click here to read more about Gary.

Blizzard at the Cuckolds Light

Cuckolds Light in 2009

As the first major snowstorm of 2011 rages outside my windows here in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, I've been thinking about the days when lighthouse keepers and their families lived at exposed light stations along our coast, enduring the worst nature could throw at them. One story of a winter storm at a New England lighthouse that made a major impression on me was related by Ramon "Kelly" Farrin.

Kelly lived with his wife and infant son at the Cuckolds Light Station on a small rocky island near Boothbay Harbor, Maine,  for about two years, 1969–70. They were the last family to live at the Cuckolds before it became a males-only “stag” station. Entertainment for the Farrins consisted of TV watching, guitar playing, fishing, and walking around the island. Kelly once wrote, "They say lighthouses are romantic, but I do know that this one had quite a reputation concerning the divorce rate. I would say it takes a sturdy relationship to endure that much togetherness. There is no time apart unless the wife goes ashore alone."

During the Farrins’ second winter at the station, a major snowstorm struck the area. At first, Kelly wasn’t overly worried, as the family had weathered other storms and he had no reason to think this one would be any different. His concern grew as the keeper’s’ house creaked and groaned from the wind. In his words:

The keeper's house was demolished in 1977. (U.S. Coast Guard)

When daylight came sometime around 6:30 I got dressed and went out and looked around. . . . A higher than normal tide had been predicted on the evening news so we all figured that the water would be up close to the boathouse. . . . We were getting a little concerned, as we had never experienced wind like this on the island. We really had no accurate way to tell what it was as the old anemometer had broken a long time ago. 

I went out again around 9 o’clock and by now I was getting more concerned as the wind wasn’t lessening and the tide, which had over two more hours to come in before reaching its full height was already washing well over the usual high water mark. It was around this time that the power went out and I started the generator. . . . On the east side of the house the waves were beginning to wash over the seawall and onto the side of the house. Again, this was normal for some of the more intense storms but at high tide, not with close to two hours left to come. 

I went up on the catwalk around the front of the station. . . . From here I could see the whole island was awash except for the house. The waves were now washing across the front lawn (what we called our few blades of grass) and the boathouse was taking a real beating on the northeast side. . . . 

My wife and I returned to our side of the house but I kept going outside to watch the action, sort of going outside and then back up to the tower. Looking down it didn’t seem so bad but the roar from the wind and then the blaring ofr the foghorn made things seem very spooky. . . . 

When the tide finally turned the wind dropped almost as rapidly. It was nearly halfway out before the water stopped hitting the side of the house and boathouse. It took a few weeks but eventually the men from Group South Portland came and rebuilt the boatslip and repaired the damage.

 Kelly Farrin shares many of his memories on his website, www.kellys-stuff.com.

The light was automated in late 1974 and the last keeper was removed. In many ways, I've never been a fan of the automaton and destaffing of light stations. But maybe it's a blessing that people aren't living at some of our lighthouses on days like this.

In May 2006, ownership of the Cuckolds Lighthouse was conveyed to a local nonprofit organization, the Cuckolds Fog Signal and Light Station Council.

New England Lighthouse Lovers: A Bright Light for Lighthouses

From Bob Trapani, Jr., executive director of the American Lighthouse Foundation:

With the New Year nearly upon us, I would like to take this opportunity to say “thank you” to the New England Lighthouse Lovers for another job well done in 2010.

NELL may not have a particular lighthouse under its care, but the American Lighthouse Foundation is thankful for the many lights that your chapter has helped this year, as well as in years past.


Click here to read the rest of this story.

Cape Neddick "Nubble" Lighthouse with Christmas lights, 12/31/10 (#2)

Cape Neddick "Nubble" Lighthouse with Christmas lights, 12/31/10, originally uploaded by nelights.

Another shot from last night's visit to the Nubble Light in York, Maine. The color in this one is a little less saturated, and I think I like it better.

Cape Neddick "Nubble" Lighthouse, 12/31/10

After a New Year's Eve dinner in downtown Portsmouth, NH, last night, my wife and I headed up to York, Maine, to see the annual display of Christmas lights. It was a relatively warm night, which made it easy to set up my tripod and take some long exposures like this one. In past years, I've nearly gotten frostbite getting photos like this.

The lighthouse keeper's New Year's Eve

The twin lights of Thacher Island

On New Year’s Eve, 1921, William Daggett, an assistant keeper at the Thacher Island Twin Lights off Rockport, Massachuetts, discovered that several geese had flown right into the lantern of the north tower, shattering two thick panes of glass. 

Three geese were found dead inside the lantern, and two more were discovered at the base of the tower the following morning. Needless to say, the families had goose for New Year’s dinner that year.

Happy New Year! 

The Hurricane of '38 at Dumpling Rock

Dumpling Rock Light (U.S. Coast Guard photo)

Octave Ponsart became keeper at Dumpling Rock Lighthouse, off Dartmouth, Massachusetts, in 1937, after working as an assistant at Great Point Light on Nantucket. Ponsart’s daughter, Seamond Ponsart Roberts, was born in 1940, while her parents lived on Dumpling Rock.  

The worst hurricane in recorded New England history slammed into the south-facing coast on September 21, 1938. Roberts tells the story of the storm’s devastating impact on Dumpling Rock, as told to her by her parents:


On that gray Wednesday, September 21, 1938, my parents, my sister Bette and my cousin were scheduled to leave the Rock for a long-awaited vacation. It was to be their first vacation since the Depression. 

Octave Ponsart

Assistant Keeper Henry Fontenot’s wife, May, helped Mom to pack and supplied gentle chatter as they were about to row ashore. They had the suitcases in the dory, ready to go, when the wind suddenly rose and the water got really rough. The storm came on quickly. “Just like that!” they would later say with a snap of the fingers.

Dad was not about to launch the dory in that kind of weather. He headed Mom, my sister Bette, and cousin Connie back to the house. Dad and Henry tried to secure the dory, but their efforts were fruitless and the boat was swept seaward. They headed for the oil house and the light tower to secure what they could. 

The task of securing anything soon became impossible. Dad and Henry headed for the keeper’s house as waves began to wash the rocks, flooding the first floor. My father hung onto a doorknob on the front door as he hollered to my mother, sister, and cousin to get upstairs and go to the assistant keeper’s rooms on the lee side of the building. The dog, Rexena, was swimming in the living room. 

Henry pointed seaward, and all he and Dad could see was foggy foam and mountainous combers heading directly for their rocky island. From what they could see, the waves were getting progressively larger. Dad said that even the first ones coming in looked like they would engulf the tower. At that point, they were both sure they would not survive.

Henry said, “Octave, I think we’re going to lose the light.” Dad nodded and they headed upstairs to be with the women and children. There was nowhere else to go. My father had been on lightships, and he said he had never seen such a “quick sea” develop. In quick succession many waves hit, breaking completely over the house and lighthouse.

The keepers had been doing carpentry in one of the bedrooms and had nails and boards ready. They nailed boards over the windows and braced the floors with the biggest spikes they had in the toolbox. The window glass was quickly broken and the whole house was wet inside. Outside, boards were being torn from their nails and the screeching noise was terrible.

Pieces of the roof tore off. The house shuddered with each wave, and the side facing the sea caved in and was leaning. Henry and May talked of lashing themselves to a mattress to try to make it to Round Hill. Dad argued they would never last.

May Fontenot was crying. She told my mother, “I think we are all going to die, but at least I know we have been such good friends. I’m so glad you’re here with me.” My mother cried too, because May was such a sweet person. Mom would tell me this story later and she’d always cry, saying, “That May, she was one of the best friends I ever had.” And she’d add, “We really thought we were going to die. In a few minutes, even.”

My mother, sister, and cousin were in shock, huddled on the bed, wrapped in sheets. My cousin had a massive nosebleed, apparently from fear, and Dad tried to help her. Then there was a noise “like a freight train or what an earthquake must sound like,” as Mom described it. Then came a tremendous long-lasting blast of water and a huge pounding shock with a splintering of wood. Those on the bed were hurled to the floor.

Henry and Dad knew something even more drastic had happened. The water on the first floor was now almost up to the ceiling. They opened the bedroom door and peered around the whirling water to see a bit of sky through the side of the living room and a massive obstruction where just before the ceiling and walls had been.

A huge piece of rock had been torn free by the hurricane waves, lifted up and hurled through the side of the first floor living room. Now it sat there, actually anchoring the house and lighthouse to Dumpling Rock.The rock had opened up a channel through the house, easing the flow of water entering and exiting the building now without too much of an obstruction. Henry and Dad turned back to report this, and May cried and cried.

Seamond at Cuttyhunk

Blow after blow came after that and yet the rock in the living room  held firm. Mom said later when she sang the hymn, Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me, it had a new and much more personal meaning.The six remained upstairs through the dreadful night. When morning came and the waters had receded, they ventured downstairs.

Nothing was left. Nothing except Rexena, who had spent the storm in the linen closet, going to the top shelf as the water rose. This was proven by the dog’s footprints that had been left on each shelf.

The waters that swirled around Dumpling Rock were filled with debris, telephone poles, and pieces of homes and trees. There was seaweed on top of the light tower. The keeper’s quarters were in shambles. There were no clothes or furnishings or anything else left except a few canned goods still in a closet. A pile of canned goods was found a few weeks later, wedged between the rocks below the tide line, as well as one silver spoon inherited from a Cornell grandmother. On shore, Dad’s new car, which had been parked at the boat launch at Round Hill, was gone, probably washed into Buzzards Bay.

Roberts “learned to walk,” she says, “on the very rocks that were nearly a death trap for my parents and my sister in the 1938 hurricane.”