Despite extensive research and planning, there are always surprises during a portable operation, and this one was no different.  Jan and I had been to the Ft. Bragg area years ago on a motorcycle trip and I had actually dragged him off the highway to go see the lighthouse when we were returning home--something that I had forgotten until we were finally on the long, winding and somehow familiar road leading to the lighthouse at the end of the day.  (See the attachments for photos comparing the two.) But before that, we had a nearly eight-hour drive, much of it through heavy summer traffic, although we had planned for six, according to MapQuest.

We had rented one of the vacation homes on the light station; there are four available, renovated USCG duplexes that are very nice and a good value for the money.  We arrived after the station had closed for the day, so we let ourselves in, per instructions, and found the key to our unit in the office's late check-in box. There were a couple other cars on site, but immediately there was a sense of isolation on the point.

It was dark, cold, and becoming foggy by the time we had all arrived and unloaded the gear, so the first night was pizza in town and getting settled.  It was so dark and foggy coming back that Jan and I took the wrong slanting road and got a little lost in Point Arena before backtracking.  At the light station, the crash of the waves was audible from the front door, and little else; it was also pitch black except for the porch lights and the utility lights at the end by the tower itself, which was fenced off from the rest of the compound.  An active aid to navigation, its replacement beacon flashed steadily from the gallery railing, its light seeming tiny in the thickening fog.

I was the first one up, in part because the house was so silent.  It was well built and secure against the wind that was blowing hard from the sea.  After making coffee, I set out to explore in a mist that was quickly turning liquid; my glasses and camera lens were streaming by the time I made a partial circuit.  It was also freezing despite two layers of fleece. 

After breakfast, we surveyed and set up the antenna.  We had limited access to guying points as this was a fully-occupied vacation rental business, and our first rule of portable operation is always to cause NO problems.  Consequently, we didn't set up the beam because of the wind, instead pushing the mast up to about twenty feet and securing the dipole to its top. N6EY thoroughly lashed the mast to a convenient picnic table on our outside patio; if the mast went over, the table was going too!  He found a plant hanger hook on the underside of the eave to provide another guying point.  The long leg of the dipole was tossed over a tree branch and its rope tied to the trunk, while the short leg was attached to a painter's pole that was stabilized by a tiki torch stand driven into the ground with tent stakes; two short rope guys provided additional tension.

For his QRP station, Jason used a collapsible flag pole and guyed it and the 20m/40m inverted Vee in a convenient spot.  We had to make sure that the guys did not block any pathways and were easily visible to anyone wandering by; that's why I usually use blue rope.

The coax for both stations went through the slightly open kitchen window, which conveniently lacked a screen.  There wasn't much of a draft, but a towel could have been tucked in the gap if there had.  The coax was coiled into the kitchen and operating positions were set up on the kitchen table. Warm, dry, windless--this was the most comfortable portable operation we had ever done!

I made a few SSB contacts to check the antenna, then left Jan to play while Jason's significant other, Kris,  and I made a store run.  The boys and Jason's daughter Courtney were all happily geeking away at the table when we left.

After lunch, contacts were a bit sparse because of propagation, or lack thereof, and so we wandered the station, which now had sunshine.  There were quite a few perks about staying on site: free run of the fenced areas (the fence kept people back from the crumbling cliffsides), tours of the tower and museum, and, for us, the ability to leave our antennas up all weekend!  Kris and Jan opted to not do the tower climb, but Jason and his daughters and I did, and it was well worth the view.  We also enjoyed the museum displays.  It's a really well-done non-profit venture, and their preservation efforts are ambitious.  The next week, the tower was finally painted; the work was paid for entirely through donations.

Jason and I made some PSK contacts, trading off with antennas, until it was time to clear the table for dinner.  This was not a "contest," simply an "event" we were participating in, and it seemed like it was not as well publicized as in years past; we heard few other lighthouses on the air, and each contact we made was wondering what we were doing at Point Arena.

I went out with a flashlight for a little while after an excellent tri-tip dinner prepared by Jason and Kris.  Fog was already rolling in, and it was absolutely pitch black beyond the edge of the flashlight beam. The northern coast is different than the central coast, which is where we usually go; summers typically are milder and warmer, the cliffs less rugged, the beach sand finer.  One look past the seaward fence at the crashing waves and dark jutting rocks reveals the need for a lighthouse along this stretch of coast with its treacherous conditions.

In contrast, the living room of our house was warm and light, the pot-bellied wood stove ticking and crackling, with a spirited Uno game in progress when I returned.

We geeks had our phones going at various times, although cell reception was iffy in spots, and free wifi was available.  There was also cable--but the television was quaintly tiny, perhaps nineteen inches.  There were several books and magazines, some in different languages--German, French, Spanish--and some board games as well; delightfully low-tech despite the easy access to email.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of biscuits and gravy, Jason and Kris and the girls reluctantly departed as he had to work on Monday.  They made a trip to the beach so that the girls could see the difference between the north coast and the Florida waters of their home before heading back to Fresno.  Other guests were coming and going, as well as a steady stream of tourists in the early afternoon. 

We set up our gear again, and Jan had a couple good runs on SSB before we swapped off and I ran PSK for awhile, then switched to voice.  We worked about five hours, off and on, a good portion of that time calling CQ, but also having some nice little ragchews as well.  It was a very relaxed operation, with about seventy contacts overall.  Activity dropped off around six, so I took a walk to take pictures.  By then, everyone else had departed--tourists, volunteers, even other guests--and for awhile Jan and I were the only two on the light station, which was rather exhilarating.   Fog was rolling in already, softening the early evening light, which made for great photographs.  I did feel a little anxious, though, all the way out on the point behind the houses, with the fog too thick to see through and huge waves crashing at the foot of the cliffs, with the realization that I might be the only person for miles around there at that time of day, with the exception of Jan.  How isolated those first lighthouse keepers must have felt at times, particularly with weather closing in around them.

My last SSB contact was to an airline pilot en route from San Francisco to Vancouver--my first aeronautical mobile. 

Monday morning, I tried a few CQ's but there were few people on, so we dropped the mast and packed the gear and headed for home.  I took one more trip up into the tower for a last look and a couple more pictures, and then we were on our way back to the Valley.

And at that point I made a series of errors that resulted in a twelve-hour drive instead of a seven-hour one.  And for that, I can only plead...lighthouse madness!