“This will be my 15th week at this lighthouse in the last 18 months.”
Lighthouse Maintenance Engineer Cameron sits balancing a cup of tea as our pilot boat powers through the rolling waves. It is a clear Wednesday morning off the Isle of Anglesey and we have just departed from Amlwch Harbour—bound for the Skerries.
A remote collection of rocky islands in the Irish Sea, the Skerries are home to the Grey Seal, Arctic Tern and one 18th century lighthouse aptly named: Skerries Lighthouse. For the last 18 months, Trinity House has been working on a large-scale project with teams of engineers tapping in and out of the island—some staying for stints as long as three weeks. The latest batch of engineers set to return are en route with equipment, supplies and food to see them through the next two weeks.
“Tom’s doing us a roast, I’ll make some chilli con carne and Ian, well, he’ll be making his infamous curry.”
They will need good, hearty meals—Lighthouse Maintenance Engineer Tom has just finished telling me about the difficult job of running metres upon metres of cabling from the new solar frames in one corner of the island to the lighthouse.
“Also, we’ll be a bit longer getting to the Skerries this morning,” Tom says. “A buoy has broken loose; we’re going to try and chase it.”
It is never a quiet day in the maritime industry.
We do eventually arrive at the Skerries and are greeted by Project Engineer Scott and Lighthouse Maintenance Engineers David and Ian—the ‘curry-extraordinaire’. As the others start unloading the boat, Ian steals me away to the tower. The red and white lighthouse is hard to miss! First built in 1717, the tower has warned mariners of submerged land northeast of Holyhead for over 300 years.
Once housing lighthouse keepers, the large station now hosts the Trinity House Projects and Field Operations teams, and it is inside the tower we find Project Engineer Jeff.
“We started planning for this project four years ago.” Jeff tells me as both he and Ian escort me around the tower.
I can understand why. The project is complex, involving the complete re-configuration of electrical systems, rerouting of power supplies, installation of solar panel arrays and fire safety systems—all on a heritage lighthouse station with both a main light, sector light and living quarters large enough to accommodate six bedrooms. Throw in an Arctic Tern breeding season and you have the makings of an eventful project.
“The goal is to make the station more energy efficient.” Jeff tells me.
We are outside admiring the two new solar panel arrays—one to power the aids to navigation capabilities of the tower, the other to power the domestic parts of the station.
In the distance I can see the engineers at work shifting wheelbarrows and powered transporters filled with equipment from the boat landing. Their wheels follow the tram cart tracks once used by keepers for the very same task at hand—a reminder of the evolution of working on site.
As we wander around the base of the station, I see markers scattered across the ground—written on them ‘Chick’ and ‘Nest’.
“We had RSPB personnel living on site over the summer.” Ian tells me as he makes a pot of tea in the station kitchen. “They had one half of the living quarters, we had the other, and in the evenings, we would have dinner all together.”
We sip our brews as both Ian and Jeff agree this is likely one of the most complex lighthouse projects Trinity House has undertaken in recent times—largely owing to the sheer size of the station. I ask about what it is like being away from home for long periods.
“After this stint, I’ll have spent 239 days at the lighthouse over the last 18 months.” Ian answers.
“We’re away from family so much that the team becomes family.”
Back down at the boat landing, the engineers are carting the last of the supplies up to the tower and store sheds. David, the homebound engineer, is preparing to board the tender vessel.
As I bade the others farewell, Ian promises that should I return, there is some curry in it for me.
The Skerries disappears in the distance as Boatman Andy powers us through the waves back to Amlwch Harbour, and I cannot help thinking we have left at precisely the wrong time—just before dinner.