East London - A large round stone was all that welcomed us at the small building that said “Office”. The lettering “Draai my om (turn me over”) had us captivated and when we turned over the beach pebble and I translated “Nou dis beter (now that’s better)”, my two young daughters giggled.
Arriving at the Great Fish Lighthouse through a dune drive thick with green hues of milkwood and Eastern Cape fynbos, we were startled by the bright white and the pillar-box red of the gigantic lantern. Then distracted by the never-ending scene below of wind-rolled dunes and foamy Indian ocean. It was a lot to take in and no one in the little “office with a view” to put it into context.
Martin Peterson is the man in charge, and he was dangling from the steel catwalk, wrapped around the lighthouse, above us, but we thought he was one of the half-dozen workers doing maintenance on the site. When I asked him why he didn’t acknowledge our arrival, he said simply: “It’s dangerous work being up there and any wrong move can be fatal.”
And that was that.
Born in Cape St Francis, Peterson began as a general worker at the local lighthouse when he finished school, following in his father’s footsteps. In 1993, he moved to Cape Columbine.
He became the Great Fish navigational officer (the new term for keepers) in 2004, after a stint at Mosselbaai’s Hoodpoint, a lonely occupation he clearly loves.
Peterson says “his” lighthouse is one of the most important of the 47 South African warning towers.
“This one still plays a very important role. The stretch of coastline between Bird Island and the Fish River was found to have the most incidence of accidents.”
He gestures towards the distant sea below to the wreck of the SS Caraboo, an isolated white blip in the never-ending surf. It is one of many maritime accidents reflected in the Kowie museum in PA.
The site for the lighthouse was chosen in 1890 and it took eight years to build from handmade parts shipped from Birmingham, England. Peterson points out the attention to detail where each brass joint has been numbered to match the next, allowing the workmen to recreate the original design.
Originally in a valley, the landmark now sits on an artificially elevated point – with plenty of local sand filled in around to create what Peterson describes as an “incredibly strong foundation”.
Navigational equipment has improved over time, but lighthouses along our coast are carefully maintained by Transnet.
Peterson says a foghorn is still used to warn ships that may not be able to see the warning torch. In fact, a morse code warning system remains in place. “Ja, morse code is not finish and klaar yet.
“I have met many ship captains in my time, from both big and small vessels, and they all told me that even with the sophisticated equipment, they still rely on lighthouses.”
Before we leave Peterson’s cosy office, he shows my daughters the new globes used – just two – in the massive lighting instrument. It takes 400 watts (or 220 volts) to fill the circular tower – glinting at exactly 10 seconds. This is what gives the Great Fish Lighthouse its individual character, says Peterson.
“The most important thing is the flash – not the light.”
Peterson’s global tower has vertical black and white stripes and is set to flicker every 10 seconds during the night, powered by electricity now, and, in emergencies, by the giant generator in the room next door.
My daughters and I decide to visit the Bathurst Agricultural Museum, where the engine previously used here is now housed.
Peterson unlocks the double wooden doors and we step into the quaint bottom level, which is spotlessly white, with a bright green staircase and cyan railings, alongside newly enamelled red – a singsong of primary colours.
A steep climb brings us through the second floor where portholes (now defunct aeration systems for the paraffin lights used in the past) cast a misty light. Upstairs the impressive prism awaits its nightly duty. The complicated ensemble of enormous mirrors bend the light to the centre, explains Peterson. The instrument, the size of a small car and weighing 1.5 tons, “floats” on 360kg of mercury in order to churn and glint into the abyss below.
Peterson starts the mechanism and the three of us push up against the large panes of glass to let the prism rotate.
We clamber onto the catwalk and walk around the tower to take in the views. To the north one’s eye can travel from the Fish River mouth and see the gaping chasm of its gorge. Behind this, vaguely perceptible, are the Amatola mountains of Hogsback, and, below, a game reserve opens onto a green tract of land where three giraffe stroll by.
This may be one of the few places where one can see a rhino and a whale in one movement of the head.
The next day we drive to Bathurst Agricultural Museum to find our Great Fish Lighthouse engine. The heavy bulk of steel is installed with a number of other large locomotive parts, and museum curator Allan Town says he can still get it to run.
We leave, feeling like we have found the last piece of the puzzle – the driving force that once powered the beautiful Great Fish Lighthouse, languishing on a Bathurst farm not far from her original place of glory. - Saturday Star
If You Go...
Great Fish Lighthouse
About 20km from Port Alfred on the R72 to East London
Monday to Friday 10 to noon/12.30pm to 3pm (no w/e or p/h)
Martin Peterson gfp@transnet.net
083 375 1492
l There are also two self-catering cottages, sleeping four people each.
Tel: 021 449 2400
lighthouse.tourism@transnet.net