Alright, here's the story. On the other side of the narrows, past the two foot drop where the currents meet, past the thirty foot whirlpool, its as calm as a mill pond. During prohibition some comedian built this house with three stories and his version of a light house. There were logging camps all up and down the coast and fishermen everywhere. Since the cops wouldn't bother going past the maritime hazzards, the setting was perfect for booze and women for rent. Navigation through the narrows at high tide was risky business but highly rewarding whether you were buying or selling. Rum runners did it and brought the women with them. The loggers and fishermen came in from the north and some braved the narrows from the south. Either way they managed to frequent the Logger's Maritime Motel. They came in one lung Easthope double enders, fishboats, cruisers, tugboats, skiffs, runabouts, canoes, rowboats, whatever they could manage. The light was a hollow welded lantern with a glass orb on top. Below the "lantern" was a round room with a fire pit that provided the light and warmth for customers seeking seclusion (however well illuminated). You could see it a long way off and everybody knew what it meant. It lasted through the depression, coast guard patrols shut it down at the start of WW2. They hauled the customers off and nobody went back for anything. You can see strange lighting at dusk, things glowing...maybe its just the sun at a certain angle... Blast for exploded view.
Ron Morrison
