The Last Watch

When life has been full of the rough love of the sea, one can still smile knowing they won

Old Butch Cyr had tended the Goat Island lighthouse, in Kennebunkport Maine, for almost fifty years.

The salty wind and crashing waves, were a familiar voice that spoke to him like a good friend. Tonight the words were daunting. A nor’easter was howling around the tower. Rain was lashing the windows, like someone was throwing gravel at them.

The beam swept over the black, angry sea-until it didn’t.

A sudden crack, and the light died.

Butch’s heart sank, as he knew a freighter was due past the point before midnight. Without the guiding light of the beacon, the ship would be torn apart on the jagged rocks below.

His gnarled hands shook as he grabbed the lantern, throwing open the door he bolted up the stairs. He ran as fast as his old legs could carry him. The years had taken their toll on his body, but not his determination.

As he neared the top step, the storm suddenly shook the tower with such force he nearly fell. Glass crunched under his feet; the main bulb was shattered! With only the dim light of his lantern, he found the spare. The struggle now was getting what was left of the old bulb out, while speedily getting the new bulb in. He knew he was running out of time.

Lightning flashed, revealing the freighter lights cutting towards the reef. “Come on, you stubborn old fool!” he growled at himself.
He pushed hard and twisted the final connection. The lamp flared to life, cutting a warning path across the water.

He watched, as the freighter altered its course.

Butch sank to the floor grinning. Old mother nature had not won, but she was telling him his last watch was coming soon.