What a difference a year makes. Last October we occupied this same spot, performed the same lightkeeping duties and camped in the same tent. But the similarities end there.

Last year five days of mostly cloudy skies, a fair amount of rain and temperatures in the 40s left us shivering despite our winter jackets and long underwear. Our down sleeping bags were our saviors at night. Dark skies challenged the solar power system, which drained away from lack of sun and struggled to regain any power from dim bursts of sun. The challenges did not diminish our love for this gig, nor did it deter us from signing on for another year. But we felt rather foolish for choosing another stint in October.

Fortunately, history did not repeat itself. Far from it. We have enjoyed five days of sunshine, moderate temperatures on the 50s-60s and Lake Superior in her finest blue. I happily resumed my early morning writing sessions on the beach. Our visitor count is up considerably over last year. We welcomed over 200 guests. All who come lend a new perspective. They hail from as far away as Wyoming and Beijing. Others have local ties and have been coming since before any restoration began in 1998. They know more of the lighthouse’s history than we do, and we love hearing their first-hand experiences. They especially appreciate all the work that the Crisp Point Light Historical Society has put into preserving and enhancing this site. Newcomers never fail to be impressed.
We marvel at the folks who come merely at the suggestion of a lighthouse on a new highway sign. Little do they know the conditions of the dirt road approach, but all agree it was worth the journey. They buy our best selling sticker, “I survived the drive to Crisp Point Lighthouse.”

Thinking that the week could not be more ideal, we are treated to a grand finale. We witness a deep pink sunset from the beach. We have the biggest blazing bonfire yet. Two classic ore boats parade by, illuminated stem to stern with white lights. We watch a glowing sunrise from the lighthouse tower. And the day is balmy and warm.
Suddenly October doesn’t feel like such a crazy choice. But just for kicks we signed up for August next year.

Perched high above the shoreline I own the landscape. Lake Superior relinquished her pounding waves overnight leaving mere ripples on the surface and gentle pulses kissing the sand. Long shadows cross the beach and the neighboring trees are bathed in the glow of the low sun. The water’s sound competes only with the wind as it whistles through the open doors to the catwalk. Morning’s cool fresh air contrasts with the warmth of the sun on my back.
It is a rare privilege to claim a lighthouse for one’s own, even if only for five days. From 10am – 6pm we share this beauty with others seeking to explore her, acting as light keepers and welcoming visitors. But the early morning hours and evenings are ours.

My morning began while the stars still dominated the sky. Emerging from our tent, wet with an overnight ground fog, the intermittent beam from the lighthouse was the only source of illumination. I could barely make out the rocks on the beach as I picked my way down the waterfront while the eastern skies took on their first rosy glow. On my return the orange hues crept up around the lighthouse to meet the velvety dark blue above.
Walking the opposite side, I took in the handiwork of the lake, reconfiguring the shoreline even since last year. The high water level has eaten its way up into the dunes, carving off the front slope to reveal multi-colored sand strata in its new vertical edge.

Once more my return yielded new views of the lighthouse. The sun embraced its red cap and glass face, walking gently down its elongated white body. Soon only the shadows of the nearest trees remained and stubbornly lingered.
The morning’s light show complete, it is time for my final retreat. Ditching my usual spot on a driftwood seat on the beach, I climb the lighthouse, coffee mug in hand, writing tools at the ready. Here I sit, sheltered from the wind with the world at my feet. The moments are precious. I do not take my keeper’s privileges for granted. Soon I will relinquish my private haven – the public awaits.

The road is a test. On a good day its 18 miles of dirt merely dissuade the meek. The bumps and sand require patience and slow travel. No one reaches Crisp Point Lighthouse by happenstance. You have to really want to come here.

On this day the road challenges have been multiplied. Two days of heavy rain have transformed the sandy surface into mud and littered its length with water hazards. To call them puddles would be an injustice. Approaching each of these seas raises the same question, “How deep is it?” A certain technique evolves, starting with a prayer of thanks for all-wheel drive followed by a confident burst of speed through the most promising spot. With splashes and waves in our wake, another satisfied sigh, “Oh, pretty deep.”

It is our fourth time returning to Crisp Point Lighthouse on the far western end of Lake Superior as volunteer lighthouse keepers. Arriving early in the morning for our five days of duty, the lighthouse greets us bathed in early morning sunlight. It is like seeing an old friend. Rapidly, before visitor hours begin, we reacquaint ourselves with every inch of the site.Lake Superior churns against the sandy pebbly shore. Remnants of the recent winds, the waves curl in white foamy regularity, its thunderous noise filling my ears. Fall colors are peaking; yellows and reds pierce the more prevalent pine landscape against the shore. The sun lends a welcome warmth to the near freezing air. Over it all towers the lighthouse. Freshly painted it stands determined against the shore, daring the waves that now crash at its base. Those waves have already eaten away 12 of the original 15 acres that once surrounded this light and buffered it from the greedy lake. A new layer of boulders has been added to the line of defense, a constant battle waged by the dedicated volunteers of the Crisp Point Light Historical Society.Our campsite awaits, a single spot reserved for the keepers. Our home away from home with all the amenities – sandy soft tent site, fire ring, barbecue grill, picnic table and Lake Superior views.Only the mud-caked car reminds us of our journey to get here. We aced that test and this is our reward.

“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.

We spend a lot of time reading. And what better spot than on top of the world? Not even the pesky flies are able to bother me up there.

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 beach begs for us to walk it. The rocks ask for us to collect them. The tower invites us to climb it. And we do it all.

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.