If the United States is guilty of only one unpardonable sin, it is pride. Here, there is an appeal to being the fastest, richest, quickest, or even the tallest. And when you are, you are proud of it. In the realm of masonry lighthouses, the honor of the tallest can be given to the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, located on the shoreline of the North Carolina Outer Banks, just outside the town of Buxton. Originally listed at 208 feet, recent measurements place the height of the spire two additional feet higher than that when compared to mean sea level. This behemoth of a signal tips the scales at 2,800 tons. In the proud words of Mel Brooks: “It's good to be the king.”
Being the best, however, often means that you have to face trials. No one runs a world record 100 meter dash their first time. The Cape Hatteras Lighthouse is no exception to this rule.
The story of this monster begins in 1797, 73 years before its actual construction. By then, the young Congress of the United States realized the need for aids to ships passing through and near the Diamond Shoals off the coast of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina. Within six years, the original lighthouse had been completed. At that time, the lighthouse stood one mile inland from the ocean. This, combined with a dismal 90 feet of height, made the lighthouse inadequate from the start.
Over 50 years, not much was done to improve the initial Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. In 1854, the height was increased to 150 feet and a first-order Fresnel lens, the best available at the time, was installed. Even with the improvements, the lighthouse was mostly ineffective. By the time the 1860's were becoming the 1870's, the sandstone structure was beginning to show growing cracks. The recommendation was that a new lighthouse would be needed.
By December of 1870, the structure still recognized today as the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse was completed. Located 1,500 feet from the shoreline, it was painted with the trademark black and white candy-cane design still used today. Due to this distinctive daymark, the new lighthouse soon found itself to be a landmark of the North Carolina coast. The original 150-foot lighthouse was destroyed, but little was done to remove the rubble that remained.
Barrier islands, like the Outer Banks, are by design among the most unstable landmasses on the surface of the earth. Ocean tides, often driven by storms, erode the beaches that face out to sea. Meanwhile, sand is deposited on the beaches that face the protected sound, causing a general migration of the entire island toward the mainland. Stationary structures like lighthouses find themselves creeping inch by inch closer to the shoreline. By 1919, the ocean had reached within 300 feet of the base of the Hatteras Lighthouse.
By the early 1930's, measures were being taken to save the lighthouse from eventually falling into the ocean. Walls were installed to protect the lighthouse, but were mostly ineffective. Nine hundred feet of interlocking steel sheet pile "groins" were installed along the beach in 1930. More were installed in 1933. Still with all the work, the ocean waves were within 100 feet of the lighthouse by 1935.
The U.S. Coast Guard had been in control of the lighthouse up until 1936. Due to the ongoing futile efforts to preserve safety of the tower, they then transferred the deed to the National Park Service and abandoned the Hatteras Lighthouse. A steel skeleton lighthouse was erected one mile west in Buxton Woods to take over the function of the then decommissioned light.
Mother Nature has a way of being not only devastating, but also fickle. The Grand Old Mother decided to play pranks on the Outer Banks, easing up on the shoreline, and consequently the shoreline erosion, over the next decade. By 1950, the erosion seemed to stabilize, and the Coast Guard re-commissioned the lighthouse under a special permit granted by the National Park Service. However, shore erosion problems returned, and in 1966 three hundred twelve thousand cubic yards of sand were moved from the Pamlico Sound to the beach in Buxton. Like a sleeping giant, Mother Nature awoke with fury, almost as if she were appalled by the feeble, man-made attempts to defy her. The sand from the sound, made of much finer particles than the sand at Buxton, was quickly eroded into the sea.
It is said that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Over the next twenty years, Ma Nature unleashed hell on the Outer Banks. In 1967, large nylon sandbags, some that still remain today, were placed in front of the lighthouse to slow the erosion, to little effect. Two years later, the U.S. Navy placed three concrete reinforced groins to protect not only the lighthouse, but also their naval facility. You could say that Mother Nature was showing a little of her pride. You could also say that she was not impressed. Beach erosion continued, and the lighthouse continued to inch closer to the sea.
