‘Shine Your Bright Light’ series for ‘A Burning for Home’

at The D’Aguilar Gallery, Nassau, 1st September 2020

Experiencing Hurricane Dorian as it made landfall on Elbow Cay, Abaco on September 1st, 2019, made me reassess what this island community of which I’d been part of for almost 15 years, and it’s prominent feature - the Elbow Reef Lighthouse - meant to me.

The lighthouse was directly across the harbour from the home I was sheltering in from the hurricane with friends, standing proudly as it soon became a measure of the storms intensity, slowly disappearing from view as winds increased and visibility worsened. After the worst of it passed and the following days of shock and grief mixed with relief, the lighthouse became an object of contemplation as we sat on the deck to keep cool and unwind after a day of helping clear debris, making the route to the nearby helicopter landing pad accessible for all medical and priority evacuations.

After being myself evacuated by boat to Nassau to decompress and reconnect with my worried family living there, then returning to Hope Town a few weeks later to help a friend sort through the wreckage of their home and memories, as well as volunteering where I could, the thought of the lighthouse lingered. When Yasmin asked me to be a part of this show all I could think of was the image of the lighthouse seared into my brain.

I realised that the lighthouse and what it, and life on Elbow Cay, meant to me had evolved over the years of living in Hope Town.

When I moved there in 2005 the lighthouse was a conspicuous icon, known locally, nationally and internationally by it’s distinctive red and white stripes standing guard over Hope Town’s quaint harbour and settlement and nearby cays. But it didn't have a real meaning to me apart from being a picture on postcards that now was tangible there in front of me. However, I remember exactly when I felt I had assimilated into authentic Elbow Cay life.

One of my first jobs in Hope Town was bar-tending at the local bar and restaurant Cap’n Jacks, just around the corner from where I weathered the hurricane. I worked 6 nights a week when I also started my design career working 5 days a week as lead designer for the local screen printers Abaco T-Shirt, so my favourite time of day was going home to rest.

I would ride my bike through the deserted settlement at 11pm or so. I loved experiencing the peace and quiet, the soft edges the glow of the few street lights and homes would give everything, the stars and milky way vast and bright above my head.

One random evening as I rode my bike I had a nagging feeling something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I rode, still enjoying this routine and my surroundings, until I got to The Lodge and Sunshine Park where the road turns away from the settlement and winds away past the creek. I stopped in the middle of the road and looked out across the harbour where I saw the lighthouse and it’s beams of light unmoving. 5 fingers of stationary light piercing the night.

I laughed out loud realising that the rhythm of the lighthouse pattern had crept into my subconscious, and what should have been a steady and unassuming background heartbeat for my ride home had instead stood out because of it's absence. (There were occasional times when the keeper’s nightly schedule was slightly delayed and the light’s movement frozen as the mechanism was cranked.)

The lighthouse was a steady background to life in Hope Town, it’s image used as the subject of countless pieces of art and endless gift store trinkets. I learnt it’s history, technical aspects that deepened my understanding of it, and it even became the subject of my first ever illustration commission as I sought to present it in my own style.

As the winds still blew around us the day after Hurricane Dorian’s landfall, much reduced from it’s peak of 185mph sustained and gusts of 220mph but heightened nonetheless, people came together to clear debris, offer assistance to those in need, provide food, water and medical help, and begin the immediate task of setting up some sort of recovery plan. Through it all the lighthouse stood ever silent. Ever watchful. As I helped wherever I could I was heartened by this sense of community, and saw my understanding of the lighthouse returned full circle to it’s original meaning born over 150 years ago. A literal beacon of light. A symbol of hope standing for the strength and resilience of the people of Hope Town who have endured for generations.

Through this work I wanted to bring people’s attention to the working heart of the lighthouse, and the keepers that keep it turning and shining bright. Remind people to pay attention to the natural rhythm of the world around them as a way to keep centred through the chaos that sometimes surrounds us.

A BRIEF HISTORY AND HOW IT WORKS

by Dave Gale

There are only three hand-wound, kerosene-burning lighthouses left in the world. (now just one, Elbow Reef Lighthouse)

As wrecks abounded throughout the Bahamas in the early 19th century, concerned shipping interests implored the British Imperial Lighthouse Service, London, to increase their navigational aids in their colonies. Starting in 1836, they built eleven major lighthouses in the Bahamas Islands.

With wrecks on the increase in the Hope Town area, the Imperial Lighthouse Service built the Elbow Reef Lighthouse in 184, but not without some sabotage from the locals whose major source of income was from wrecking and salvaging. When first built, the lighthouse showed a standing light: that is, it did not flash.

In 1936 the Imperial Lighthouse Service saw the need for a light which could be more easily identified by ships at sea. Thus, the Elbow Reef Lighthouse was given a major refit using the lenses and turning equipment which had been at the Gun Cay Lighthouse since 1929. The rotating Fresnel lenses have a unique character described on the nautical charts as “GP FL W(5) EV 15 SEC 120 FT 15M.” – a group of five white flashes every fifteen seconds at 120 feet above sea level with a visibility of fifteen nautical miles. The tower is 89 feet high with 101 steps to the lantern room.

In 1954 cracks in the tower caused by lightning precipitated another major rebuilding process. Engineers from England poured concentric rings on concrete in steps around the previously smooth tapering brick tower.

The lighting and turning equipment was made by the Change Brothers of England. The light source is 325,000 candlepower “Hood” petroleum vapour burner. A hand pump is used to pressurize the kerosene in iron containers below the lantern room and travels up a tube to a vaporizer which sprays into a pre-heated mantle. The beautiful Fresno lenses called “bulls eyes” concentrate the mantles light into a piercing beam straight out towers the horizon. The eight thousand pound Fresnel lenses float in a circular tub of lubricant thereby reducing friction. Every two hours the keeper on duty has to wind, to the top of the tower, seven hundred pounds of weight by means of a hand winch. The descending weights, through a series of bronze gears, rotate the four-ton apparatus once around 15 seconds – and very smoothly, at that.

The smooth sweep of the turning lenses with their five swords of light cutting the darkness over the sea while the light constantly glows between those beams is known as the “soul” of a lighthouse. Once seen and compared to an electric flashing light, it is not soon forgotten and the use of the word “soul” is more easily understood.

For up to date information about the status of Elbow Reef Lighthouse and it’s restoration after Hurricane Dorian please visit The Elbow Reef Lighthouse Society.