Lone Lighthouse

Essential ingredients for exploration are: feet and determination.
Optional extras include a sense of direction and knowing which bus to catch.

While living in the capital, I set myself a series of missions.
One Saturday, I ventured to Pencarrow Head at the mouth of Wellington Harbour.
Its lone lighthouse was open for three hours this particular day as part of World Architecture Day.
Wearing a nylon raincoat and a backpack, I caught the Eastbourne bus to its last stop. I'd packed some books for the hour long journey but having motion nausea and the rain lashing the bus I was in no mood to read.

Assumptions are dangerous and usually lead to a whole lot of work rather than the easy ride you're expecting.
The last bus stop was at the beginning of a long road ending in a car park.
Beyond that was a wide rocky track/road.

I began hopeful, there were lots of people about riding, walking and playing with kites.
But as the track weaved in and around the hills, there were fewer people and more silent time.
I made bets with myself that the lighthouse would be just around the corner, but when I got there I saw large bays to walk around till the next corner.
I lost count at 10 bays of this nature as it rained, blew gusts and I began to hate the books.
Eventually, the figure of a lighthouse appeared after 3/4 of an hour.

I was so excited I was nearly there. but its presence mocked me as I had to walk another 6 bays with it in view before I reached it.
Parked on the track below it was a Historic Places white sports car.

There was a bit of a hill to climb, which was longer and steeper than I thought, but that wasn't going to stop me as I was so close.
This track lead to hills of sheep who stared at me like I was an alien.
I felt more like a nylon lobster.

After all this effort, the lighthouse was rather unimpressive. It was a two-storied, quite crude in structure with a spiral staircase to the top.

I was more interested in the historical literature provided than the view. The sea seemed choppy and the hills wide.

After about five minutes I left, exchanging hello and goodbyes with the Historic Places people there.

I knew the next bus left in an hour from the stop so I went and caught it.

Later at a book launch, I saw one of the Historic Places representatives.
She said they had expected to see me on their way back and would have given me a lift, but I was nowhere to be seen.

Later that year, I dragged my Mum to see the lighthouse. We left late in the afternoon walking till we saw the lighthouse figure.
It was dark twilight on our return and as night closed in so did some wild billy goats behind us. Eventually they went as a pack up into the hills to sleep.
As we set our feet on the car park asphalt, it became pitch black. We continued on to the lit bus stop and waited for the next bus.