I lived and worked in a lighthouse at a previous job.Ā There was a thick line painted in a circle around the shack where the fog signal was kept.Ā The line represented how close you could get to the fog signal without experiencing physical harm in the form of eardrums shattering or worse.
Even in the house it was LOUD.Ā Probably the loudest thing I have ever experienced but at a normal, predictable interval.Ā You would begin to time your sentences with little pauses with the rest of the lighthouse crew so you would talk like this while making yourā¦ā¦ā¦..HORNā¦ā¦ā¦ā¦. tea and then carry on talking because you knew when it would go off.Ā It rattled the walls and the dishes in our cabinet.
At least one girl had died there. They kept photos of her everywhereĀ āin honor of her sacrificeā because she had decided to take the winter watch alone and died in a storm where bounders the size of mini vans had been lifted out of the ocean and left scattered across the island, to say nothing of the ice chunks.Ā People werenāt allowed to be alone on the watch after that.
One day a dead moose washed up on shore and it took my entire crew all day but we managed to rig up a line to hang it up to dry because we thought having a moose skeleton in the house would really spice the living room up a bit.Ā It did.Ā Weird shit happens when six of you are left alone, like ALONE ALONE, no cell reception, no wifi, just a radio to contact the real world and not a lot of reason to do that.Ā People donāt go on lighthouse jobs if they want to stay connected, Iāve found.
That said Id do it all again, I really do treasure those days
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