Sepia Lighthouse

This week's Sepia Saturday theme peripherally involves a lighthouse on an antique postcard... and I just happen to have a fitting entry in my collection, sent to my paternal grandmother seven years before my father was born.

Family historian though I am, I have no idea who cousin Camilla was. She must have been related to Jessie Bentley's relatives on the Daniels or Orr sides.

This park, and specifically the presumably decorative lighthouse, prove to have been popular postcard fodder.  Here's a bit more information about the park from another card...

And lastly, from Ebay, here's another copy of the card at the top of this page, sent a few years later to a Miss Vanderhoff at the Shredded Wheat Company in Niagara Falls!

To the Lighthouse (Pt. 2)

Our guide, long retired from the Coast Guard, introduced us to the actual beacon of the Westport lighthouse. If we were hoping for an impressive view from the glass cupola, we were surprised to find semitransparent dark green curtains around the inner circumference of the chamber. It was there during daylight hours, he said, so that sunlight refracting through the massive prism did not start a forest fire. Shades of Archimedes!

Here's a glimpse in through the prism. I love the aquarium feel of those mysterious shapes within the depths.



Here's an "upskirt" shot of the lens mounted in its cast-iron zarf (details, Pt. 1).


A glimpse of the bulb itself. I can't recall exactly but it has something like a twenty-mile night-time visibility. Here you can see the texture of the curtains in the background.



However, believe it or not, lighthouse bulbs are not ginormous.

To the Lighthouse (Pt. 1)

Visited the historical lighthouse in Westport, built around World War I. The tallest on the West Coast, it is still functional and guides ships into Grays Harbor (no apostrophe!).


They have tours, and even allow cameras, which, given the current terrorist phobia is a happy surprise.



Ironically this view up the shaft reminds me of looking deep into someone's eye. It's a long, steep climb, but not as bad as York Minster, which nearly killed me last year.




The original kerosene lamp, its massive lens contained by this ornate cast-iron grillwork, had to be adjusted by regulating airflow -- opening and closing vents in the walls. There was no electricity in the building, so the only light at night came from the lamp itself. These holes in the ceiling allowed you to ascertain whether the lamp was "trimmed" properly.




An additional vent at the top of the dome, with struts supporting the roof.

Stay tuned for shots of the lens itself...