The cost of Cape Hinchinbrook Lighthouse was limited to $125,000 through a congressional act in 1906 that was in response to the loss of the steamship Oregon. An initial $25,000 was provided on June 30th of that same year. Two additional appropriations of $50,000 were set aside in 1907 and 1909. Fully funded, the project got underway in the early spring of 1909 supervised by A.B. Lewis of Standard Building Company from Seattle, Washington.

Progress was slow that first year due to inclement weather and a couple of mishaps. One of which included the collapse of the derrick during its erection, causing the loss of large quantities of cement. The derrick was a type of crane used for hoisting and moving heavy materials. Another incident included the subsequent loss of a scow filled with supplies valued around $12,000. Two indigenous locals discovered the scow on the beach of neighboring Montague Island and returned its contents.

By the time work halted in September 1909, the tramway was complete along with the first story of the main structure. A keeper and his wife remained on the island through the winter. There, they spent a cold winter maintaining a temporary light perched atop the incomplete lighthouse.

The contractor was better prepared for the second year of work. C.W. Leick, chief draftsman of lighthouse construction in Alaska, remarked that “in all his experience he never saw more substantial preparations and arrangements…than is going on at Cape Hinchinbrook.” The lighthouse, which one reporter described as “practically indestructible,” was completed under budget at $100,323. It was officially activated on November 15, 1910. 

The first story of the lighthouse was home to the furnace, bathroom, storeroom, and fog-signal machinery, consisting of two six-inch sirens powered by dual air compressors and eighteen-horse-power engines. Four bedrooms for the keepers were located on the second floor along with a kitchen, pantry, dining room, and a large central hall surrounding the light tower. Considered “thoroughly modern in every respect,” the lighthouse was heated by a hot water plant. The station’s water was stored in a 15,000-gallon concrete cistern placed underground to prevent its contents from freezing in winter.

Perched atop a 188-foot cliff, the tower’s light, produced by an incandescent oil vapor lamp and a Barbier, Benard & Turenne, third-order Fresnel lens, had a focal plane of 235 feet above the water. A clockwork mechanism was used to revolve the four-panel lens, which floated in a bed of 187 pounds of mercury, producing a white flash every five seconds. Concrete walks and a tramway connected the lighthouse to the station’s outbuildings, which included a carpenter shop, an oil house, and, far below on the shore, a boathouse.

Lighthouse Superintendent Ralph Tinkham paid a surprise visit to Cape Hinchinbrook Lighthouse and found all three keepers asleep, a violation of service rules. This, however, was just the first of many problems to be uncovered that day. Upon requesting breakfast, Tinkham was told that the station’s supplies were exhausted. A quick look in the station’s pantry revealed empty racks, bins, and meat-hooks. There was, however, one eighteen-foot-long shelf full of Aunt Jemimah’s pancake flour. None of the keepers cared for it, but a pancake breakfast was just fine for the superintendent.

As the inspection continued, Tinkham discovered that the three keepers had not spoken a word to each other during the prior six months. As related by Tinkham, this all occurred after “one of the assistant keepers had lost a ring. Failing to find it after a diligent search, his brooding eventually convinced him that the other assistant had stolen it. Accusation had started a row and the principal keeper had stepped in in an attempt at reconciliation. As usual with would-be peacemakers, both assistants turned on him, thereafter all three ceased to have anything to do with each other.”

Fortunately, the three silent men did fulfill their duties for the most part and would even divide the spoils of any hunting or fishing expedition. Two weeks after the inspection, the six-month standoff came to an end when the lighthouse tender Cedar arrived with a load of supplies and a relief keeper.

After mariners complained that the air siren at Cape Hinchinbrook was ineffective, an air diaphone was installed at the station in 1923.

The lighthouse was originally built thirty-six feet from the edge of the cliff, but earthquakes in 1927 and 1928 caused large sections of cliff to fall, endangering the lighthouse. Relocating the structure was considered, but it had been cracked by the earthquakes and the quality of its concrete was poor, so a replacement structure was built farther removed from the cliff’s edge.

The second Cape Hinchinbrook Lighthouse, designed by Edward Laird and Dwight Chase in the Lighthouse Service’s Sixteenth District office in Ketchikan and completed in 1934, is unique amongst American lighthouses. Built of reinforced concrete in an Art Moderne/Art Deco style, the lighthouse features a square, sixty-seven-foot tower built into one corner of the 44’ x 54’ one-story base, with decoratively capped pilasters rising from the ground and projecting above stepped parapets. The initial appropriation of $30,000 for the project was made on February 23, 1931, and the total cost came to $91,793.

The second lighthouse and the footprint of the original lighthouse can be seen in the above 1948 photograph.

When Tim Escher arrived at Cape Hinchinbrook Lighthouse in 1968, his first thought was a dozy. It wasn’t long though before he adapted to the station’s routine life, and he now has fond memories of his Hinchinbrook experience. Escher kindly provided a collection of pictures that provides a rare glimpse of a coastguardsman’s life on an offshore station.

During Escher’s assignment, the basement of the lighthouse held water storage tanks, tanks for the foghorn, a furnace, and a food pantry. The main floor of the lighthouse consisted of four bedrooms along the east wall, a central kitchen, a bathroom along the south wall, an engine room just inside the main entrance, a radio room below the tower, and a living room, where movies were often shown, along the north wall. The second story of the tower housed equipment for the station’s radio-beacon.

Once when the radio-beacon had gone out, a private contractor flew to the island in a small puddle jumper to make repairs. As the plane drew near, the captain noticed the water was too rough, forcing the plane to land in a protected cove north of the island. Escher and another crewman wheeled the station’s launch from the boathouse to the end of the pier, where the crane was used to launch the boat.

By the time they reached the floatplane, the winds had picked up to about 30 mph, and the swells were running between eight to ten feet. The repairman wasn’t sure he was up to such an adventurous boat ride, especially since he didn’t have the added protection of a wetsuit like the coastguardsmen did, but with a life jacket and a fair amount of courage, he managed to survive the trip and repair the radio.

Supplying the station was prone to being problematic. The weather would often delay delivery of items, such as the station’s highly anticipated mail. When supplies did arrive, they were typically lightered to shore where, enclosed in a cargo net, they were hoisted skyward by the station’s crane. Three diesel generators were used on a rotating basis to supply power to the lighthouse. When the diesel tanks needed filling, a ship would anchor offshore, and a hose would have to be run from the vessel to the landing area and up the tramway to reach the storage tanks. In emergency situations, such as when Officer-in-Charge Jerry Bennett experienced a nosebleed that could not be stopped, a helicopter could be dispatched to the island.

One of the main duties performed by the station personnel was to stand radio watch, twenty-four hours a day. On one night, with visibility at a quarter mile and winds gusting to 75 mph, Escher received a distress call from the captain of a fishing vessel ten miles away. The captain radioed that his bilge pumps could not keep up with the amount of water he was taking on and that he was trying to reach the safety of a small bay. At one point in the radio exchange, the captain alerted Escher that two of his crew had just been swept overboard. Not long thereafter, the third crewman went over the side and disappeared, leaving the captain alone.

Escher had advised Air Station Kodiak of the situation, but conditions prevented any rescue attempt. After about thirty minutes of radio contact, the captain’s radio went silent mid-sentence. Escher tried repeatedly to hail the captain with no success.

The next day a seaplane, dispatched from Kodiak to search for the vessel, found remains of the boat but no bodies. It was an experience that Escher would never forget.