Digest>Archives> June 1999

How Not To Get To Cockspur Light

By Robert Parker

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Some locals say that Georgia's white Cockspur Lighthouse, built in 1848, is haunted by the ghosts of wounded Civil War soldiers. I don't know, for I have only seen the lighthouse from a safe distance.

The Cockspur Island Lighthouse, also called the South Channel Light, had a twin built on the opposite side of the Savannah River. However, the North Channel Light did not survive the passing of time. Both lights saw action during the Civil War; how ever, only the small Cockspur Lighthouse survived against the ravages of war, the sea and man.

On June 27, my cousin Joyce and I had lodged in Savannah, Georgia, a short distance from the lighthouse. We rushed out of Savannah and stopped at Fort Pulaski State Park, where we questioned a park ranger about the best vantagepoint for the lighthouse. The park ranger recommended we stop by the Lazaretto Creek Marina, on the other side of the highway for the best advice.

Driving down the sandy road lined with soaring cattails, we found the road ended in a cul-de-sac of sorts, which accommodated a collection of buildings, businesses, and homes. Parking the car in the roadway, we stepped out and were greeted by a hound dog, barking excitedly. It aroused a middle-aged woman in a nearby walk-in cooler, who came outdoors to see who had arrived. The morning eastern sun caused her to squint as she approached us. In her hands were two large, frozen fish. Shielding her eyes she raised one frozen fish to her forehead to block the sun. This pear shaped woman in billowing floral shorts, a sleeveless pink blouse, and well-worn tennis shoes without laces welcomed us on the property with a hearty, "Morning, folks." Her graying hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She had a towel draped over her shoulder, leading us to believe she must be the cook for the nearby grill. We introduced ourselves as tourists from Kentucky who wanted to see the Cockspur Lighthouse.

Smiling broadly, she said in her Southern drawl, "That lighthouse is full of haunts, least that is what I've heard all my life. I ain't never been out there before."

Joyce redirected our question, "What is the best way to see the lighthouse? Boat?"

Obviously enjoying this conversation, she answered, "The best way to see the lighthouse is by a boat." Giggling, she added, "Unless you want to swim or wade in the water to get there."

Using the frozen fish as a pointer, she raised it and pointed toward the highway. "Go back to the highway. Ignore the 'No Trespassing' sign across the road because only fishermen use that road. Drive along the road until it ends at the water. Fishermen dock their boats there, and maybe, one of those men will take you out there. They pass it going out to sea. Good luck," she said.

We thanked her, waved, and said our good-byes. Her explanation sounded like a reasonable, workable plan. Surely, we thought, one of the fishermen would take us out there.

Just as she instructed us to do, we completely disregarded the 'No Trespassing' sign, and ventured down a very narrow road. Tall cattails brushed against the sides of the car creating a walled in effect. The passageway was dotted with deep ruts, and we could hear the tires splashing in the mud. The sandy lane curved continuously like a meandering snake until we finally reached a wide place in the road. We passed two garbage dumpsters, and one old white Cadillac, and several old trucks by the roadway, which was probably used to transport boats to the dock. Inching our way along, we found a parking area next to a rust colored pickup truck. I did have the foresight to turn the vehicle around, making exiting the dock easier, which later proved to be a wise move.

Swatting mosquitoes, and vowing never to give up, we walked along the concrete embankment that supported the highway bridge spanning the Lazaretto Creek. Traffic roared overhead. Debris lined this area, which reeked of the smell of decayed fish. Reaching the dock, we hurried to the end. The pelicans were undisturbed as we stepped over wet ropes and fishing supplies that were scattered about. From the end of the dock, we saw the lighthouse partially in view, but most of it was obscured by the water vegetation. We needed to be elevated to see the lighthouse clearly. We contemplated wading from Fort Pulaski, but the water appeared to be a little too deep and treacherous for wading. One dolphin appeared, then another, both within a short distance of the dock.

Joyce teased, "Do you think we could hitch a ride on the dolphins?"

At the opposite end of the dock, we spotted two black men working on a boat. As we walked the dock, we entertained the possibility of hitching a ride with those fishermen. The two men, dressed in overalls, were untangling ropes that attached to the Miss Roberta. They never really paid any attention to either one of us on the dock, but we figured we had no other alternative. My first approach was the poor, but honest, "We're tourists who just want to see the lighthouse a little closer. Can you help?"

The second feeble attempt was discussing the ghosts. "I heard from a pleasant lady across the road that ghosts inhabit that lighthouse. Have you ever seen or heard any ghosts around the lighthouse? We want to dispel that myth, or prove the rumors true." The mentioning of ghosts brought only a response of fear, which further weakened our chances.

While swatting flies, Joyce tried to act nonchalant in the distance. I nodded my head with confidence. My final recourse was to offer payment for the boat ride. I was thinking in the range of five dollars per person, a quarter of a mile away. Stepping a little closer, I squatted down so they would be able to hear my offer. I said, "Okay, guys, what about five?"

One fisherman asked without raising his head or looking my way, "Five hundred?"

The second fellow grinned, showing gold caps on his teeth. He quickly added, "Or is that five thousand?"

I swallowed, stood up, readjusted my shorts and answered, "I was thinking about five p.m., and maybe return.uh.I can see you're busy now and I'll check back later. Thanks anyway."

Joyce rushed over questioning me, "What did they say?"

I whispered, "Just act wealthy and I'll tell you in the car."

As we hurried to our car, we felt icy stares from the fishermen.

Maybe the ghosts were watching, too!

This story appeared in the June 1999 edition of Lighthouse Digest Magazine. The print edition contains more stories than our internet edition, and each story generally contains more photographs - often many more - in the print edition. For subscription information about the print edition, click here.

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