Big Sur

We arrived at Pt. Sur Light Station on March 11, 1935. At that time, our family consisted of my husband Bill, myself and our five children: Shirley-seven, Sarah-six, Dixie-three, and the year-old twins, Jean and Joan. The ride was not nearly as long as our ride from San Francisco to Pt. Conception Light Station, where Bill began his service. The road from San Luis Obispo was unfinished and we had to circle around through Monterey and south to Pt. Sur, travelling partly on Highway 1 and partly on Highway 101. We had been expected, so the station gate was unlocked.

The coast of California sweeps along a giant curve for nearly 1,000 miles. It is dimpled with very few harbors of refuge and punctuated with a few promontories which mariners have bumped into over the years. For much of the summer months the intercoast is enveloped in a dense fog. This climatic condition, coupled with prevailing winds and currents that set vessels to the southwest, and onto the coast, has caused countless shipwrecks. It was especially so prior to the 20th century, during the age of sail and before electronic navigation devices.