“Do you travel around to other lighthouses to do this?” a visitor asks. “No, this is the only place we serve as lighthouse keepers,” I reply readily. Crisp Point Lighthouse is unique, and that’s what continues to draw us here.
We are clearly off the beaten path. 36 miles from the nearest town. 18 miles of that on rugged dirt road. Folks don’t find their way here by accident. We learn that they fall into three categories: 1) Lighthouse aficionados who want to add Crisp Point Lighthouse to their list of visits. We happily stamp their lighthouse “passports.” 2) Agate hunters who know these shores harbor some real beauties and are less visited than sites with easier access. We welcome them to the beach. 3) Travelers who happen to hear about the lighthouse while in the area. We congratulate them for surviving the rough drive. (We even sell them stickers proclaiming the same.)
Regardless of purpose, the lighthouse and shoreline delight our visitors. We never tire of answering questions (as best we can) and showing the maps and photos of how the area once looked – before Lake Superior claimed nearly all the original buildings except the lighthouse. Those who have visited before marvel at the extensive work done by the Crisp Point Light Historical Society, not only to restore the lighthouse but to landscape and protect the surrounding sand dunes.
The remote nature of Crisp Point is one of its best features. At least in our book. There is no cell phone coverage of any kind, so the urgency of internet access, email, phone calls and other technology laden gadgets is nil. The only telephone makes emergency calls only. All we know and all that matters is what’s happening right here. We take each moment as it comes, which is a peaceful way to live. When not engaged in our keepers’ duties we thrive on life’s simple pleasures.
Blogging becomes a hand written affair. Perched on the beach, mornings are spent scratching out my thoughts – inspiration as near as the waves lapping just beyond my feet.
Rich has a wealth of photographic material, both day and night. His camera accompanies him everywhere. I fool around with a bit of photography of my own.
Sunrise and sunset become our daily clock. We make sure to be up before the sun in order to watch it make its dramatic entrance. One morning I stumble on a “double sunrise” courtesy of the lighthouse windows. Sunset marks the transition to nighttime, with its bonfires and stars.
The world continues to turn despite our ignorance of news and current affairs. We are probably as removed as the early lighthouse keepers in this remote spot. And we love it. It’s the keeper’s life for us – at least for five days a year.