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The fog came in thick before dawn. A pale blanket rolled in from nowhere. It clung to every edge of the rock like it belonged here. It muffled the sound of the sea and turned the morning into something shapeless and slow. I couldn’t see past the railing outside the tower. The sea, the horizon,…
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First off, I owe anyone reading this an apology. It’s been a stretch since my last post. Truth is, I’ve been properly unwell. Somewhere between the endless wind and damp stone, I caught something. It knocked me flat. It was a flu or some cousin of it. Fever. Chills. A head that felt packed with…
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I woke to the sound of the wind this morning. It was a low howl that seemed to rise from the sea itself. It curled around the lighthouse like a living thing. The air was heavy with salt. The kind of damp that clings to your skin leaves a faint crust on the edges of…
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It was just past midsummer when they arrived, a sleek white yacht rounding from the northeast, its sails tucked and tidy as it nosed in beside the lee side of the rock. I don’t get many visitors out here. Hardly any, really. The odd coastguard drop-off, once a month’s worth of weathered packages, but never…
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There’s a letter tucked away in the back of my logbook, folded twice over and creased at the corners. I wrote it on my second or third night here. This was after the storm passed. It was also after the lighthouse had gone quiet again. I never sent it. Didn’t even sign it. But I’ve…
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It hit me on my third morning here. I had just climbed the stairs to the lantern room. It was the same as always. I needed to check the lens housing and do a quick inspection. Everything was clean, all modern wiring and fittings, humming along exactly as it should. But the moment I opened…
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Out here, you learn quickly. Food is one of the few routines you get to shape with any real control. The weather decides the rest. Sleep, work, even the smallest task — all of it bends to the will of the sea. But meals, at least, are yours to manage. They become the rhythm keepers.…
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One of the first things you learn when you take up a post like this is that every item matters. Out here there’s no quick run to the store no calling in a delivery. What you bring is what you’ve got and you learn quickly how much you rely on the little things. When I…
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The thing about fog is that it doesn’t arrive with drama. There’s no warning crack of thunder or gust of wind. It just slips in slow and quiet, swallowing the horizon before you even realize it’s gone. I’d been at the lighthouse less than a week when I met my first real fog. The kind…
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There’s a moment that comes for every keeper. Sometimes it’s on the first day, sometimes it takes a week or two. For me, it happened somewhere in that quiet stretch. This was after I’d settled into the rhythm. The cupboards were sorted, the logbook opened, and the coffee routine found its shape. It wasn’t dramatic.…