NANTUCKET LIGHTSHIP

"A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor." — Franklin D. Roosevelt

By Glendon J. Buscher, Jr.
U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary

At a position 54 nautical miles southeast of Nantucket Island, contemporary navigators will find Light Buoy “N” (Station 44008 (LLNR 827). This buoy marks the southeast corner of the Nantucket South Shoals, an area of dangerous rips, shoals, sandbars, and shallow water as little as 3 feet deep. The shoals have been designated an “Area to Be Avoided” and comprise a rectangle approximately 23 miles west to east by 40 miles north to south, encompassing a total of 920 square miles. They lie at the intersection of the waters of the Gulf of Maine to the north and east and those of the Nantucket Sound and the New England Shelf to the west and south. The buoy marks the corner of the shipping lanes leading to the north and west therefrom. 

The maritime dynamics of Nantucket Sound, Nantucket Shoals and the adjacent New England Shelf are complex because of the interaction of the southward tidal energy flow from the western Gulf of Maine along Cape Cod meeting the northeastward tidal energy flow from the eastern New England Shelf. This results in the formation of tidal energy convergence zones southeast of Nantucket Island and a strong nonlinear, clockwise, rotary current interaction with high bottom stress in the zone of lowest sea elevation. 

In an article published by the Nantucket Historical Association entitled History of Lightships by Robert R. Reed, he recounts the following events in the early history of the Shoals. 

“The Shoals have been a place of great concern to coastal shipping throughout the history of navigation off New England. They were a notorious shipwreck site, with more than 100 of them occurring during the early centuries of American settlement. Overall, 700 shipwrecks have occurred on the shoals.” 

“In 1843 this problem was presented to Congress to support the placement of a lightship there. Congress responded favorably and the first lightship was stationed at Nantucket’s South Shoal on June 15th, 1854.” 

The first lightships were wooden sailing vessels that used whale oil to light their beacons. From the time of their deployment to the Shoals until 1983, instead of the present light buoy, the edge of the shoals was guarded by these lightships, called generically the Nantucket Lightship. These lightships would serve as a beacon for transatlantic voyages. They would be the last lightship seen by vessels departing the United States, as well as the first beacon seen entering the country. 

Nantucket Shoal Lightship Station was originally known as Nantucket New South Shoal Station, before the name was changed in 1896. The station has been served by several lightships. The vessels had their own vessel number and, when assigned to the station, painted on their hulls was the name Nantucket.  By the time the US Coast Guard took the Nantucket Lightship out of service in 1983, a total of eleven lightships had been stationed on Nantucket Shoals. Of these eleven, three remain in Massachusetts, Lightships LV 112, WLV 612, and WLV 613. They still have NANTUCKET painted in large white letters on their red hulls. The Nantucket Shoal Lightship Station was the last remaining lightship station in the country for four years when the Lightship was replaced by a navigational buoy in 1983.

In addition to the dangers posed by the weather and sea conditions, lightship crews were in danger of being struck by the ship traffic they existed to protect. Ships would home on their radio beacons at night and in fog but were expected to post lookouts and to turn away in time. The exact position of the lightships varied through the years to provide a greater safety margin from the shoals or to better serve shipping lanes. This position was the most isolated and exposed location in the entire lighthouse service, standing 40 to 50 miles out to sea, south of Nantucket at the southeastern tip of the dreaded south shoals. 

According to Robert Reed, “Any Lightship placed at South Shoal had to prove her seaworthiness. Her anchoring equipment had to withstand the continuous punishment dealt by winds and swells. The first Lightship to be anchored at the South Shoals was based on a sturdy ‘schooner’ styled hull commonly used in these waters. She had 2 masts on which, at night, large lanterns were hoisted. Whale oil lamps within these lanterns supplied the light, which at best, fog permitting, could only be seen for a few miles.” In contrast, the lamps of the later Lightship LV-112 had an intensity of 400,000 candlepower and could be seen for 23 miles. 

“The first Lightship had a rather brief tour of duty. In 1855, After just 18 months at the Shoal, her mooring failed and she was blown 50 miles to the west, where she went aground on Montauk Point, Long Island, New York. Nantucket’s second Lightship fared better, serving for almost 37 years, but not always staying in place. It is reported that she parted from her mooring at least 23 times while at the Shoals. In 1878 a Nor’easter blew her clear to Bermuda, some 800 miles south of Nantucket! She limped back to the Island without a motor, rigged only with 2 small tri-sails. The end of her service at the Shoals involved a last, unexpected journey. During a blizzard in March of 1892, she parted her chain, and for weeks there was no trace of her whereabouts. At last, she was sighted grounded on a reef at Noman’s Land near Martha’s Vineyard. The crew survived and the ship was sent away to be repaired." 

“An old whaling captain is once quoted as saying, 'The loneliest thing he had ever seen at sea was a polar bear floating on a piece of ice in the Arctic Ocean; the next loneliest object was the South Shoal Lightship.' An ex-captain of another lightship was also said to have said with obvious exaggeration. In addition to the obvious hazards posed by the weather and sea conditions, “If it weren’t for the disgrace it would bring on my family, I’d rather go to State’s Prison. Life on the lightship therefore presented itself to us as a term of solitary confinement combined with the horrors of seasickness.” 

According to an article published on September 4, 2004, in the Standard Times of New Bedford, lightships “would stay anchored at designated coordinate, flashing a bright light at night, bouncing a radio signal across the waves. Ships that are traveling toward land would get within range of the lightships by following shipping lanes, and then latching on to the radio signal and following it in. A lookout on the incoming vessel should then be keeping an eye peeled for the lightship and adjust the ship's course to avoid collision.” For the crews of the lightships, months-long watches onboard their ships were often long periods of boredom, punctuated by fear of being cleaved in half by bigger ships. Every month, a lightship service boat ferried relief crews to the lightship. 

The histories of these eleven serving lightships have been the subject of numerous articles and publications and have been quite exhaustively chronicled. The chronicles of two of these lightships, Lightship LV-117 and LV-112, are particularly worthy of recounting. 

Lightship LV-117 on station, Feb. 29, 1931

LV-117 was launched in 1931.

As described in an article entitled United States Lightship LV-117 in the Military Wiki feature, Shipwrecks of the Massachusetts Coast, “She was a steel-hulled vessel with steel deckhouses fore and aft, a funnel amidships for engine exhaust, and two masts. An electric lantern topped each mast, and an electric foghorn was on the main mast. Four 101 horsepower (75 kW) diesel engines drove generators, providing power for both the signaling apparatus and a 350 horsepower (260 kW) electric propulsion motor. She was stationed south of the Nantucket Shoals in a location 42 miles (68 km) south by east of Sankaty Head Lighthouse on Nantucket Island. The vessel was described at the time as "the newest thing in lightships, a great advance over the sailing vessels that had previously stood watch for over seventy years". She was moored in 30 fathoms (180 ft) by 2 in (5.1 cm) diameter steel chain cables attached to a pair of 7,000 pounds (3,200 kg) anchors.” 

“On February 8, 1931, LV-117 took aboard the eight-man crew of the fishing schooner Aloma, which sank 5 mi (8.0 km) from the Lightship. The men were taken ashore by the Coast Guard on February 9. During a storm on June 27, 1933, the Lightship broke her mooring chain and drifted away from her position. She was unable to regain it for several days. Not until the gales subsided on June 30, was her crew able to return LV-117 to her station.” 

“On January 6, 1934, the lightship had a less serious glancing collision by another liner, SS Washington, at the time the largest ocean liner yet built in the United States. The radio antenna yards were carried away and minor damage occurred to some hull plates. The near sinking caused great concern to the lightship's crew. In April 1934, radio operator John Parry told friends, "Someday we are just going to get it head on, and that will be the finish. One of those big liners will just ride through us.” 

This concern would soon come to pass. A story in the newspaper Standard Times of New Bedford recounted the details of the events. “It was nighttime, May 14, 1935, and the 130-foot Lightship was anchored where it always was; 50 miles southeast of Nantucket, smack dab in the middle of the terminus of the trans-Atlantic shipping lanes. That night, the bell tolled through a heavy fog to give ocean liner Olympic -- a 47,000 ton, 900-foot-long sister of the infamous Titanic -- its bearing and guide it past the dangerous shoals. “We saw the Olympic loom out of the fog a short distance away," remembered first mate C.E. Mosher of New Bedford in a newspaper interview two months later. "The visibility was only 500 feet. A crash was inevitable. I sounded the collision alarm. We all donned life preservers. Then we waited.” In the crash that followed, Mosher, the captain and two fellow crew members were saved. Five other men on board the 117, all Cape Verdeans from New Bedford, died.” 

The outcome of the collision could hardly be unexpected. The Olympic was almost 75 times larger than the 630-ton lightship. Although she was not moving fast, the momentum caused by her 52,000 tons weight completely overwhelmed the smaller vessel. It was said that Olympic's passengers barely noticed the collision. According to a First-Class Passenger, Sir Arthur Steel-Maitland, the collision registered onboard only as a ‘slight jar’. The only thing more noticeable was the altered vibrations from the engine. 

For the crew, obviously, it was a different scenario. When the collision came, Mosher recounted, "it was more like a hard push and a terrific shaking, a crunching and grinding. It was not a loud smash as one might expect.” The Olympic kept sailing through, but then quickly responded to the accident and lifeboats were launched. 

The Shipwrecks article referred to an article the New York Times for following details of the rescue attempts: 

“Nosing through the dense pall of the fog, the boats searched the area for almost two hours, while those on board the liner prayed for their success. A hatch drifted past, bearing the figure of an unconscious man. Shouts from the liner directed one of the lifeboats to the rescue. The same boat picked up a swimmer not far away, and the floating body of a man who appeared to be dead went past.” 

“After three-quarters-of-an-hour the starboard lifeboat came into view. As those who eagerly lined the rails saw that it contained only one figure aside from those at the oars, and that [figure was] motionless, they groaned. But a minute later the port boat appeared with five or six men in the blue 'monkey suits' of the Lighthouse Service. Two of those also appeared to be lifeless. One man in civilian clothes, Captain Braithwaite, sat stiff and upright ... a cut on his head bled profusely ..."

“The three boats managed to rescue seven of the lightship's eleven crewmen and brought them aboard, but three of the seven died in Olympic's hospital. Captain Braithwaite, First Mate C.E. Mosher, Radio Operator John Perry, and Oiler Laurent Robert all survived the disaster. Engineer William Perry, Oiler Justin Richmond, Cook Alfred Montero, First Cook I. Pinna, Seaman E.B. George, Seaman John Fortes and Seaman John Rodriques all died. The lightship had sunk so quickly that anyone below decks had little chance of surviving.” 

“Binks ordered Olympic to resume course for New York at 12.29 pm once it had become clear that there were no more survivors. The liner had suffered only minimal damage in the collision, comprising some dented hull plates which were repaired in a dry dock in Southampton in May–June 1934. She was allowed to leave New York at the scheduled time on May 17 after a brief inspection.” 

The lightship now lies on her port side at a depth of 200 ft (61 m). In July 1998, in what was reported to be a difficult and dangerous dive led by diver Eric Takakjian, it was reported that the wreck is entangled in many fishing nets. Nonetheless Takakjian described it as "fascinating" and "a really exciting and rewarding experience" to visit. He commented on his surprise on seeing how well-preserved it was. It had been rumored at the time that the lightship had been cut in half by Olympic. LV-117's aft mast lies alongside the hull of the ship, while the forward mast has been broken off, lying perpendicular to the wreck. 

 In 1998, a crew of underwater recovery experts, using underwater sonar, recovered the 1,200-pound signal bell from LV 117 during a diving operation in thirty fathoms of water. In 2004, the Coast Guard launched an investigation into the recovery of the artifacts and subsequently filed a lawsuit against the divers. Rather than face prosecution, they turned the items over to the Coast Guard and promised to not dive on the site again. 

Lightship LV -112 was built in 1936 at a cost of $300,956. 

It was the costliest lightship ever built in the United States. The cost was paid out of the $500,000 paid to the United States as restitution for the sunken LV-117. The vessel had a length of 148 feet, 10 inches and displaced 1050 tons, making it the largest lightship ever built. Lightship LV-112 was built with special safety features. Except for the war years of 1942-1945 and 1958-1960 when she was assigned as the relief vessel for the 1st District, the vessel was somewhat unusual in being the only lightship whose sole assigned station was Nantucket station. 

Upon the sinking of the LV-117, Lightship 106 was dispatched to Nantucket Shoals where it was stationed until 1936 when LV-112 was completed. LV 112 was hit by two hurricanes while on station. The first was Hurricane Edna on September 14, 1954. That hurricane had 110 mph winds and stirred up seventy-foot seas when it struck. Bow plates were smashed, the anchor chain was parted, the rudder was torn off, porthole windows were blown in, and the pilot house was severely damaged. Only a jury-rigged anchor, which held the bow into the seas, prevented further destruction. A second hurricane in 1959 caused the anchor chain to part again, and the lightship was blown eighty miles off station. 

On 21 March 1975, after surviving 39 years of storms and two hurricanes, LV-112 was transferred from Nantucket station and replaced by WLV 612. Her longevity was a testament to her stout construction. LV-112 served longer than any lightship vessel Nantucket Lightship Station. She was the last ship to serve a full tour of duty at the Nantucket Shoal Station. 

From 1975 until 1983, the WLV-612 was assigned as the Lightship Nantucket. At 2:30 a.m. on 20 December 1983 the Lightship 613 relieved Lightship 612 until 8:00 a.m. when she was relieved by a Large Navigational Buoy. Lightship 613 was the last Lightship on station in the US and on Nantucket Station. Both WLV-612 and WLV-613 are now privately owned by William B. Golden and Kristen Golden. 

Lightship LV-112 was decommissioned on 28 March 1975. She was ultimately purchased in October 2009 by the United States Lightship Museum (USLM) under the leadership of Robert Mannino Jr. and arrived under tow in Boston Harbor on 11 May 2010.  

In 2012, Nantucket Lightship/LV-112 was selected as a National Treasure, one of 30 historic sites in the United States by the National Trust for Historic Preservation. In 2014, American Express awarded a $250,000 grant to the lightship as part of the National Treasures program. The money was then to be used to rebuild the vessel’s navigational light beacon, foghorn, and on-board electrical systems, allowing it to shine for the first time in forty years. 

She is open to the public at the Nantucket Lightship Museum in the Boston Harbor Shipyard and Marina at 256 Marginal Street in East Boston, where it is open Saturdays, 10am –4pm, from the last Saturday in April through the last Saturday in October. The ship is not handicap accessible. 

What was it like to work aboard a lightship? In 2013, The National Trust for Historic Preservation published an interview by Rebecca Harris, a field officer in the Boston office of the Trust, with veterans of two of the Lightships: Peter Brunk, who was captain in the early 1970s, and Richard (Dick) Arnold, who served in the mid-1950s. 

Lightship LV-112 steaming to station

She asked them to recount some of the hardest parts about living and working on a lightship: 

“Arnold: Fog was the worst because it meant you had to run the foghorn. To run the foghorn, the air compressors had to run. They were really loud and vibrated the ship. It would wake you up out of a sound sleep. And the foghorn was deafening. Also, the tides on the shoals would run like a son of a gun and would make the whole ship heave.” 

“Brunk: In winter the weather was horrible -- you’d often get the equivalent of lake effect snow. It wouldn't be snowing on land but would be stormy at sea. Once, it snowed for 14 days and 14 nights straight. The wind was blowing so that it didn’t accumulate on deck, but it just kept snowing. Sometimes the weather would be so horrible that the relief ship couldn’t get out and we’d have to wait until the weather improved.” 

“Brunk: That was a rough place out there. You rocked and rolled. And I mean, just rocking and rolling." He remembers most were the rough seas, 90-foot waves, the fog, and the constant fear of getting hit by an approaching ship. "Every trip, we had four or five times, we'd have everyone get life jackets on, get the small boat ready ... and just get ready to get hit. The ship would come and ... sometimes you could hear them and you couldn't even see them, it was so foggy," Brunk said. "I've seen us blow the horn for 14 days and 14 nights — couldn't see anything. And in the wintertime, it was snowing all the time." 

Harris continued, “What was it like to be onboard during storms, especially hurricanes?” 

Arnold (who was onboard for Hurricane Edna in 1954) replied: “The winds were blowing at least 115 mph. The anemometer [wind gauge] broke at that point, so we didn't know how high the wind went, but we saw the sea getting bigger and bigger. A huge rogue wave was coming. The force of the water blew out four of the portholes and water surged into the pilot’s house. If I had been standing in front of one of the portholes that blew out, I figure my head would have been cut off. I’m thankful I wasn't in front of one when it blew.” 

“Brunk: It was rough. For example, my father passed away in March 1971, and just before then I was supposed to bring the Nantucket Lightship back to station while my father was ailing, but there was a storm brewing. I was worried because I wanted to be able to get back in case something happened to my father. The storm was bad, big Nor'easter with winds at 60 and 70 knots. Several ships nearby were in trouble and were seeking help. The Coast Guard tried sending a helicopter, cutters were afraid to go, and I couldn’t get off for my father’s funeral. The storm lasted for four or five days -- worse than a hurricane.” 

Harris further asked, “What are some of your favorite memories of life on board”? 

“Arnold: In 1955, I got married on one of my leaves, and for the occasion they gave me some extra time. For the official reason for the extra time, they sent me to motion projector school, which got me 10 extra days at home. After you were trained you were the one assigned to bringing back movies to the boat when you returned from leave and to show them. At the time it was real film -- you learned how to splice the film, repair film and the projectors, etc.” 

“Sometimes we would exchange coffee with fishermen for scallops. I loved the scallops. As a fisherman [before and after joining the Coast Guard], I knew just how to cook them. And I even liked them raw! Couldn't get any fresher!” 

“Brunk: They used to have beer and pizza on “hump day,” halfway through the two-week shift. Called it happy hour. If the weather was bad and the relief crew didn't get out, sometimes we had the relief crew’s beer too.” 

“We used to get movies, originally 14 movies per shift, but I managed to convince them to give the ship 28 movies a month, so we often watched two movies a day. Really good movies we’d watch a few times. I probably saw every movie released in 1971!"

_____

Sources quoted: 

History of Lightships by Robert R. Reed,

https://nha.org/research/nantucket-history/history-topics/history-of-lightships/NantucketHistorical Association

Nantucket Lightship LV117 Newsstory. www.uscglightshipsailors.org/nantucketlightship_lv117__ newsstory.htm, Standard Times, Sept 4, 2004; www.southcoast.com

United States lightship LV-117,  articles incorporating text from Military Wiki, Shipwrecks of the Massachusetts coast, 1931 ships.

https://military-history.fandom.com/wiki/United_States_lightship_LV-117 and from the New York Times as reported therein.

 Two Nantucket Lightship Veterans Recall Their Years Onboard by Sarah Heffern, November 18, 2013.

https://savingplaces.org/stories/two-nantucket-lightship-veterans-recall-years-onboard