I think I’ll stash most of my stuff down here in the light-tower’s base. At one time, the machinery for some of the inner workings and living systems appears to have been housed here, but it looks as though most of it has been removed. There is still what looks to be a decrepit pump system set along one wall, but other than that, the place is largely empty space with a concrete floor.
There are some large pipes coming through the floor, leading along one wall, and exiting up through the ceiling. This leads me to believe there must be a basement access point around somewhere, but for now, I’m still not sure where. This open floor plan works well for my purposes. It gives me a lot of room for my supplies and hiding the bulky canoe. The bad part about it is that the space is windowless, making it extremely dark. I have to use a flashlight to see.
There is a steel spiral staircase set in the middle of this open room. It leads up to two other levels that are each the same size as the first before reaching the smaller top level. On each level above the first, there is a small window cut into each of the four walls. This makes these portions of the lighthouse much brighter than its first level, although a little light does filter down from above through the staircase, but not much.
The second level appears to have once been the sleeping quarters for those manning the lighthouse. There are mesh metal bunk beds still set against one wall here with a capacity for four people. There are no mattresses on the beds. There are also two non-functioning toilets that, judging by the outlines on the floor, once had privacy stalls built around them. The stalls are gone now, though. Next to these are two sinks (also both non-functioning).
The next level was obviously designated as a sort of office area and living space for the lighthouse personnel. On one side of the level there is a wood desk with a wood chair, some metal cabinets, and a few other assorted office accoutrements. On the other side there is a small stove, a sink, some cabinets, and a wood table with four wood chairs pushed up around it.
The level above this one is the last one before the tower reaches the actual light. The space appears to have been used for storing the extra bulbs and other supplies for maintaining the light itself. There are big metal cabinets here, all empty of bulbs and supplies of course.
There is a metal rung ladder built into one wall of this level. It leads up to an access hatch in the ceiling. I’m assuming that this hatch was installed so that the lighthouse keeper or keeper(s) could access the outside of the glass enclosure housing the light for cleaning and maintenance.
The spiral staircase ends at this level, but there is another ladder in the center of the space that leads to the interior of the glass-enclosed light room. In the center of the light room, which is maybe a 6 foot by 6 foot space, is the light mechanism itself. The light is skirted on its perimeter by a space just large enough to walk around. This point offers a beautiful view out across the lake as well as back toward shore where my forlorn cabin sits.
Okay, now that I’ve given a brief description of my temporary new home, I’m ready for a nap. After last night’s sleeping debacle, I’m pooped!
4:28 p.m.
I’m feeling better in some ways, worse in others. On the plus side of things, I’m feeling more rested. On the minus side of the equation, my back is sore (probably from all the carrying of supplies yesterday, and sleeping on the floor last night and today). I also had a terrible dream. It woke me with a start. It was about Oscar (poor soul). In the dream, I had just arrived to his cabin, and I found him lying there on the cabin floor, just like I did in real life. This time, however, as he was in his final moments of life, he whispered something to me. I couldn’t make out what it was, so I asked him to repeat it, and leaned in closer. This time when he opened his mouth to speak, he made a loud banging noise. The noise grew louder and louder, and then he grabbed my arm and screamed, but when he screamed, it sounded like the cry of a seagull. That’s when I woke up, startled and nervous.
As I sat in the dark, trying to get my bearings, I heard the banging continue, and then the far-off cry of a seagull. That’s when I remembered that I was in the darkened shell of the lighthouse. Yet, the banging from my dream continued. It was more of a metallic thudding. It took me a while to figure out where the sound was coming from. Eventually, I had to go outside to locate it. Near one edge of the lighthouse platform, I found a metal pipe that protruded from the platform’s side and down into the lake. Near its bottom, where the pipe met with the water, the pipe had come loose from the metal bracket holding it in place against the platform. The bottom of the pipe was banging noisily against the concrete as the lake waves sloshed it back and forth.
Mystery solved!
Now I’m left wondering if I should remove the banging pipe. Will its sound draw the attention of others? Ha! What others?! I haven’t seen a boat out here for days so I guess I shouldn’t worry.
But it does make me think. What if someone comes out here? And what if they are the same type of people who shot at me in town, or killed Oscar, or raided my cabin? Then I’d be trapped here with nowhere to run.
I’ll have to come up with a plan to secure the lighthouse from intruders. But how? The steel entry door to the lighthouse is a formidable obstacle, but that’d mean somehow locking myself inside. The door was locked from the outside when I arrived. And if I re-locked it the same way, how would I get back inside? I’d have to lower a rope the top of the lighthouse, scale the side of the structure, and climb back in through the roof hatch, which doesn’t exactly sound safe OR feasible.
I’ll have to ponder this little dilemma a bit. It’s not exactly something I’ve spent much time considering since I got here. For now, I need to work on putting more order to my supplies and getting settled. I’ll keep my loaded weapons nearby, just in case someone else should arrive.
7:13 p.m.
I’m sitting here at the desk on the light-tower’s third floor, eating a ham and cheese sandwich for dinner. I’m continuing to eat the cold supplies I pulled from the cabin’s refrigerator.
When getting organized earlier, I tried to set this place up similar to the way it was originally designed. I put my blankets and bedding on one of the metal bunk beds on the second level. I took some of my food and water up to the third level where the living quarters were meant to be. It’s lighter there and easier to see when preparing my meals. I organized the remaining bulk of my food supplies and left it down on the lower level since I really didn’t feel like hauling it all the way upstairs. I can come down and get stuff from my supply reserve when needed – like going to the grocery store. I pushed the canoe (carefully since it’s in such bad condition) up against a far wall on the lower level, mainly to keep it out of the way.
It’s getting dark now. I was too tired to notice yesterday, but this place is kind of creepy, especially at night. It’s so dark. It’s also eerily silent except for the occasional banging of the loose pipe I discovered earlier today.
I have several battery-powered lights and camp lanterns that I’ll use to illuminate this place at night. I’ll cover the windows in the evening since I don’t want the light to alert anyone to my presence. How ironic – trying to conceal my occupancy in a structure with the sole purpose of using light to alert others of its presence.
Who would have thought that this is where I’d end up just a few short weeks into my stint in Michigan? Sure as heck not me. But I’m here nonetheless.
Anyway, before I lose natural light, I’ll just mention that I think I have an idea regarding how to secure this place. Bright and early tomorrow morning, I’ll find out if it’s feasible.
September 9th
7:33 a.m.
I slept okay last night. It wasn’t the best, but I’m still transitioning to my new environment. One thing is for sure – that loose pipe has to go! Damn thing kept me awake for hours. Its constant clank-banging against the concrete made it almost impossible to sleep.
As for my bed, it could use a little work too. I need to spray the exposed metal sprin
gs and frame with a little lubricant. It squeaks to high-heaven whenever I lie down or try to turn over. And I can’t say my blankets act as much of a mattress. My bed was lumpy to say the least. But with a little work, I might make it more tolerable for tonight.
What would Thoreau have thought about sleeping in a lighthouse? I bet he would have liked the idea.
As I write, I’m having some cereal, trying to finish the last of the milk that I brought with me. After breakfast, I need to work on my idea regarding how better to secure this place. I’ll write later whether it works or not.
10:02 a.m.
I’m taking a break from my work – work that is not easy and is very time consuming.
So here is what I’m working on. There is only one way onto or off the concrete platform on which the lighthouse is constructed – the steel rung ladder built into its east-facing side. I’m assuming it was constructed there because that’s the side of the structure that faces land, and it therefore receives the smallest waves during a storm, the rest of the structure acting as a sort of breakwater. So if I can eliminate the steel rungs, I eliminate the possibility of intruders entering my private island here without my knowledge – or so hope. The water is too shallow to dock any sort of large ship nearby to help them scale the concrete walls of my “fortress of solitude.” I guess they could use grappling hooks or something, but that would be difficult to say the least. And why would they bother just to take a look around what I hope will soon once again look like an abandoned lighthouse?
Therefore, for the past few hours, I’ve been using my bolt cutters to cut through the lower steel rungs that comprise the ladder leading from the water to the top of the lighthouse platform. As I said, it’s hard work. It’s not just a quick snip-snip and it’s done. Even with bolt cutters, these steel rungs are thick. And while they look rusty on the outside, they’re still quite solid and put up quite a fight when trying to be removed.
There are 15 rungs in total, each spaced about a foot apart leading up the platform’s side. To work on removing the first few rungs, I lowered my canoe down into the water. There, I could sit in the canoe to work cutting through the first four rungs. That took about an hour. The canoe was taking a pretty good battering as the waves kept smacking it against the side of the platform, and it began leaking even worse than before. It was nearly a quarter full of water by the time I was finished. Then I had to empty the canoe and haul it back up onto the platform, since if I continued to cut rungs, I’d soon find myself unable to reach up high enough to hoist myself back onto the platform from below.
The next stint of rung-cutting has been more difficult. After I hauled up the canoe and stowed it inside the tower’s lower level, my work became far more arduous. I have had to climb down the existing rungs so that I’m standing on the rung above the one on which I’m working. Then I have to kind of hook one arm through the rung above it (while holding one end of the bolt cutters), bend over awkwardly while ensuring that I don’t fall, and work on removing the bottom-most rung. It’s a real circus act. To ensure my safety, I’ve tied a knotted rope to the top rung. That way, if I slip into the lake, I won’t be stranded without a way to climb back up onto the platform.
At this point in my work, I have removed a total of eight of the 15 rungs leading up the side of the platform. I plan to remove 13 rungs in total since I think that if I take off that many, I should be able to leave the last few. The top two will be too high up for anyone arriving in a small boat to reach. And that will leave me a place to attach a rope should I need to climb down from or back up to the lighthouse platform.
So that’s where I’m at right now; still five rungs to go. My arms are beginning to ache. I’ll be glad when this work is done.
Thankfully, today is somewhat overcast. This makes my work somewhat more tolerable. The temperature is only in the upper-50s, so that’s another positive aspect of today’s project. My thermometer was one of the last things I grabbed when I was making my trips out here. It’s not a critical supply, but I like to know the weather.
I’m going to grab a bite to eat, drink some more water, and then get back to work. The sooner I’m done with this, the sooner I can feel more secure in my concrete and steel sanctuary.
1:49 p.m.
Ahhh…done at last. Wow! That was a project and a half! But I got all of the rungs removed except for the top two. I think that will keep me pretty darn safe from potential intruders, like-minded survivors of the flu, or people who might just be curious about this spot. It’s not that I want to be anti-social, but after seeing what I’ve seen in town, at Oscar’s, and at my own cabin, I’m not taking any chances.
Gosh I’m thirsty. I brought a couple cases of bottled water out with me, but after that (should I still be here), I’m going to be stuck bottling my own water. Thank god I have that 12-pack of personal water filters. Each filter supposedly has a capacity of about 265 gallons. That ought to keep me going for some time should things back on the mainland not settle down soon. Speaking of things back on the mainland, I would love to know more about the situation there.
For now, however, I’m going to take it easy for the rest of the day. I think I’ll work on getting my kitchen setup better organized and on making this place feel like more of a home – as much as an abandoned lighthouse CAN feel like a home.
5:52 p.m.
Things are starting to come together here. I got my kitchen set upstairs in the third floor living quarters. It’s not much – my propane-fed camp cook stove, a few pots, pans, dishes, and utensils I hauled out with me, and enough food and water to cook meals for several days.
As I cook there, I look out my windows. It’s kind of weird. Since three of the four lighthouse windows look out over nothing but water, it feels almost as though I’m on a ship at sea.
I’ve already eaten dinner, and I’m currently sitting up in the glass-enclosed light room. It offers a beautiful 360-degree view. I still haven’t seen any boats. I’m not surprised, but I wonder just how devoid the world is of other people now. What are the percentages? How many people are alive? How many are dead? How many of those still alive are infected with the flu or currently dying from it? They are questions that for now will remain unanswered. At some point, I’ll have to venture back to land to try to find some answers since I don’t think they’ll be coming to me. But for now, I think it’s best to just lay low and wait for the storm to pass.
What horrible thoughts to have to contemplate in such a serene spot. I need to get back to reading Thoreau again, but I’ve just been so busy. Maybe tomorrow. For now, I’m going to clean up dinner, work on arranging my bed so that it’s a bit more comfortable for tonight’s sleep, and hopefully get some better rest than yesterday.
September 10th
8:33 a.m.
I’m glad that last night is over. My bed was actually comfortable, but I got kind of creeped out. I know that probably sounds silly coming from a middle-aged man, but hey, I can’t help it. I’m in a strange, abandoned place, alone, in the middle of a pandemic apocalypse. I think I’m due a good case of the willies now and then. Plus, last night a storm rolled through – a BIG storm! There was wind, rain, thunder, lightening – it had it all!
As I lay their listening to the storm rage around my tower home, I heard all sorts of strange noises, not the least of which was that damn banging pipe. I’ve GOT to get rid of that thing! Before the storm, the water had calmed again and to tell the truth, I’d kind of forgotten about it, but now it’s back and louder than ever. But I knew what the pipe sounded like. It was all the other noises that creeped me out. There was this other knocking that sounded like it was coming from the basement (which I’ve yet to explore since I have no idea where its entrance is). And I swear it sounded like someone was knocking at the tower entry door, so much so that I actually got up once and went down there, armed with my .44 revolver and a flashlight. But there was no one there. I never did find out exactly what the sound was or where it was coming from.
; At the same time, the storm was kind of cool. I loved listening to the sounds of the howling wind, and the wind-driven rain as it was beating against the window beside my bed. I noticed this morning that several of the windows leaked, but not the one beside my bed (thank god!). Experiencing that sort of storm alone in an abandoned lighthouse is something I never would have imagined – yet it happened! ALL of this is happening. It almost doesn’t seem real. But here I am.
In sharp contrast to last night’s storm, the day broke bright and sunny. It’s chilly though, only in the low 40s right now. And the waves are still pretty high here around the lighthouse. I like the sound of them as they smack up against the foundation. Sometimes they drive against the concrete so hard that it makes me amazed something can exist out here against such forces of nature. And I know that last night’s storm is only a sampling of how rough it can be here. Storms can be much stronger than that, and the waves much larger.
I wonder just how high the waves have gotten here. I’m sure they’ve sloshed high enough to break atop the platform. Heck, from the looks of things now, they might very well have approached that level last night. Have they ever reached the base of the lighthouse? Have they gone higher? If so, how high? I’m curious to know, but I also can’t imagine the feeling of being alone out here, waves smashing against the side of my home, fearing the worst. How much can this old tower take? If it starts crumbling around me, what would I do? Not much I suppose. I can’t exactly abandon ship under such circumstances. I’d be dashed to bits. If the tower couldn’t withstand the forces of such waves, how could the human body? I’d be forced to cling to whatever remained of the tower like a half-drowned rat clinging to a bit of garbage as it floated down the river.
The Dystopian Diaries Page 50