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The tender anchored for the night in Mayagüez Harbor in preparation for a daybreak start for Mona Island Light Station, forty miles west of Puerto Rico. About eight in the morning low-lying land appeared on the horizon. I studied the chart and identified the point to the far left: a huge rock bigger than two tenders, balancing as though ready to fall, Caigo o no Caigo, on the chart, which means: “I fall or I don’t fall;” well-named, I thought.
The path toward the light station led over a rocky trail close under the cliff to the right for about half mile, threading in and out to pass huge masses of rock which in ages past had been undercut and fallen into the sea. At the end of the path, an enormous cave was entered at the rear of which the path went upgrade to an opening to the tableland above.
The rough stone surface was carpeted with the most vicious, variegated, cactus imaginable. A scattering of scrubby trees grew somehow out of the sharp rocky surface. As an insult to their growth, they supported parasites, pineapple-like plants, plentifully. Matted creeping cactus was everywhere, little spiny pods in strings that seemed to jump at the pedestrian; they caught hold so readily and were so hard to extract.
The natives used standard footgear made from worn automobile tires, laced with leather thongs between the toes and around the ankle. This was all right for the sharp rock, but how about jumping the cactus?
I stood at the mouth of the cave which was the terminus of a mile-long tram road from the cave to the lightstation at the northeast rim of the island. The head keeper, who had spied the tender at anchor, approached me riding on a flat car provided with two seats and a gay canopy shade.
As the tram car came to a stop at the end of the track, I greeted the keeper in my newly acquired Spanish, “Cómo está, Señor Terero. Me alegro mucho de conocerte.” The keeper was somewhat surprised to be greeted in Spanish, which being translated means, “How are you Mr. keeper. I am very happy to know you.” He replied, “Egualamente, Señor Superintendente.” (Same to you Mr. Superintendent.)
The steel skeleton pyramidal tower was nicely red-leaded but why was it so badly deteriorated by rust? This question applied also to the black-painted lantern surmounting the tower. Some distance back of the tower was the dwelling for the families of two keepers. Spanish engineers had built the dwelling also of steel to withstand the frequent earthquakes of the region. The dwelling was lined inside with wood: wall, ceiling and floor. Termites had riddled the floor so I saw a nice job ahead. Steel had been provided for two dwellings but for some reason, the second had never been built, the steel members being in a rusting heap nearby.
Mona Island Light Station presented problems for all concerned, but especially for the keepers and their families to live in this isolated place. They had a cabin sailboat anchored in the lagoon behind the reef at Playa Pajaros for transportation to Mayagües for provisions and passengers.
The rocky area around the station was kept free of cactus by burning. The keepers found deposits of bat guano from the caves which they brought to the light station to try to make a garden but with poor results.
I was one who always tried out for myself new situations, so, later, when plans had been made to improve living conditions for the keepers at Mona, I voluntarily took on the construction foreman’s task for a trial period. I had the termite-infested floor of the dwelling torn out and filled the space underneath with the rusted surplus steel left over from the dwelling never built. This was packed well with concrete and a smooth cement floor laid over the curious foundation.
I had roadwork done to extend the track to a point on the cliff opposite Playa Pajaros with an incline down to the beach. The keepers at Mona fed me on arroz con pollo, goat’s milk and eggs. I was enjoying myself completely when I was taken down with lead poisoning from drinking the cistern water from the red-leaded steel roof of the station dwelling. The keepers and their families seemed immune. But by drinking goat’s milk instead of water, I recovered enough to go with the keepers on their sailboat to Mayagüez, a forty mile, twenty-hour trip, tacking back and forth against the trade wind, an experience I vividly remembered and never repeated. We must have covered close to 100 miles in our zig-zag course. The French meter gauge railroad took me home to San Juan.
To Be Continued.
This excerpt is taken from “Superintendent of Lighthouses- 9th District: 1920 to 1927” in The Making of a Lighthouse Engineer, the unpublished memoirs of Commodore Frederick P. Dillon.
This story appeared in the
Jul/Aug 2023 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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