Point Vicente Lighthouse

Point Vicente Lighthouse, eight miles north of Los Angeles Harbor, marks the prominent Palos Verdes Peninsula, a turning point for ships heading for San Pedro Channel and Long Beach. It's breezy and sunny there most days, and dry. The site on which the lighthouse is perched rises up from the sea in myriad colors--ocher, rust, saffron, and cream, punctuated by mounds of green scrub clinging to the precipitous cliff.

Merchants and sailors began lobbying for a lighthouse here in the late nineteenth century. Funding was a problem due to the bad state of the economy and laxity about spending on West Coast projects. The Klondike Gold Rush hanged all of that, as ships rushed rushed around Cape Horn to the Pacific and north to Alaska. 

Requests were made again for a lighthouse at Point Vicente. It took the opening of the Panama Canal to really convince Congress to mark the busy point north of Los Angeles. Plans for the lighthouse finally were approved in 1916. But then, a war-stressed economy put off the work for almost a decade.

The fog signal—a 10 inch chime whistle that gave two blasts a minute—went into operation first in June 1925. The Mission Revival-style, 67 foot, cylindrical concrete lighthouse first flashed its warnings seaward on April 14, 1926. At this time, the U.S. Lighthouse Board noted that 27-million tons of cargo annually passed the point, underscoring the lighthouse’s importance for navigation and justifying its $100,000 price tag.

The third order, revolving clamshell lens had been purchased from France in 1886 and used in an Alaskan lighthouse prior to its installation at Point Vicente. The focal plane of the beacon was 185 feet above the sea.  By now, electricity powered many lighthouses, and Point Vicente was equipped with an electric plant to run the beacon and fog signal. A 1000 watt lightbulb was intensified by the lens to produce a flashing light visible some 20 miles at sea. Electricity was not wired into the dwellings, however, so keepers still cooked on coal stoves and used kerosene lamps for light.

The entire station was electrified by World War II, but blackout curtains were hung in the lantern to prevent the light from aiding enemy ships. After the war the landward panes of lantern glass were painted white to prevent the light from disturbing the many homes that had been built on the peninsula.

The lighthouse was automated in 1971. The classical lens still flashes a warning to shipping, and the site is a popular tourist stop for whale watching. The grounds are open during daylight hours. A local Coast Guard Auxiliary offers tours of the station and has set up an exhibit in one of the buildings. Views of the lighthouse are also spectacular from the nearby Point Vicente Interpretive Center, which showcases the human and natural history of the peninsula.

One of the most fascinating stories I've discovered about Point Vicente Lighthouse came from the late author, Jim Gibbs of Yachats, Oregon. Jim was a great chronicler of West Coast lighthouses, with about a half dozen books on the topic to his credit. He knew about lighthouse and lightkeeping first-hand, having served a stint at Tillamook Rock Lighthouse in Oregon in the 1950s.

Jim related a story about a ghost at Point Vicente that appeared nightly, especially when the air was clear--no fog or ocean mists. The ghost made her debut the first night the lighthouse flashed on in April 1926. Lightkeepers returning to their bungalows after "lighting up" the tower noticed the image of a shapely woman dancing along the perimeter of the site, her skirt flaring as she passed each tree or building. She also appeared in the lantern itself, dancing over the blank white panels placed behind the lens to prevent the light from disturbing neighbors at night.

There was plenty of fodder to explain her appearance. The best-known (and most winsome) explanation involved a Victorian era woman, unrequited in love and dressed only in her white, flowing nightgown, who had thrown herself over the cliff at the point before the lighthouse was built. She drowned after crashing onto the rocks below the cliff.

Since suicide in the prevalent Catholic faith of the area places one in purgatory, awaiting God's forgiveness, it was decided the woman spent her nights in limbo, roaming the point penitently. The story persisted for years until a lampist visiting Point Vicente gave a more reasonable explanation.

Author Collection

It seems the great, third-order clamshell lens created a playful phenomenon on the grounds and in the lantern each night---an hourglass-shaped, faint reflection of light that moved along as the lens revolved. Each time light encountered the intersection of the diagonal astragals of the lantern windows, the phantom appeared to make a little hop. Thus, the womanly, dancing specter was explained.

My last visit to Point Vicente Lighthouse was fascinating. The Castroban family of Coast Guard auxiliarists gave a tour. My group saw the detailed exhibit inside the fog signal building and climbed the lighthouse. I took some amazing pictures, but I did not stay until night came on. Thus, I cannot vouch for or against the Lady of the Light, as the Point Vicente ghost has come to be known.

All b&w images, except where otherwise noted, are courtesy of the U.S. Lighthouse Society.