My father’s house shines hard and bright it stands like a beacon calling me in the night
Calling and calling, so cold and alone
Shining ‘cross this dark highway where our sins lie unatoned
Springsteen, My father’s house
Cape May Part 2
Cape may has a classic lighthouse set a few miles out of town and, in a perverse moment, we decided to climb it. We couldn’t have chosen a more immediate method of discovering just how out of shape we were.
The moment we began the long twisting climb I knew this was going to be tough. There were 199 steps winding up the 150-foot high structure and believe me, we felt every one of them. The staircase itself is cast iron and I was imagining how each one would feel as I bounced down them after my imminently impending heart attack.
OK, I’m exaggerating a little maybe, but that really was one steep climb and both of us ‘felt the burn’ (in our outer thighs in this instance). The views were worth the effort but we were both pretty happy to be back on the ground after the somewhat less torturous descent.
Whilst at the top, I’d spotted an interesting structure on the beach. It appeared to be an old WWII coastal defense bunker and so – being the incurable history geek that I am – I, with Jersey girl in tow, headed over to check it out.
It was indeed as I’d suspected a gun emplacement from the Second World War, this one was known as Bunker 223. These things were built to withstand both naval and aerial bombardments and so were configured with a good many interesting angles for shell and blast deflection.
To my mind, this makes for interesting photographic possibilities. We were fortunate enough to be there when the tide was out, so were able to get up close to the structure, most of which now lies, iceberg-like, beneath the sands. Unfortunately, the entire visible complex has been sealed up so no chance to get inside but I just loved the evocative silhouette.
I guess that about wraps it up for Cape May.
At this point, I’d just like to mention what a pleasure it was to stay at The Candlelight Inn in Wildwood. Our hosts, Wanda and Mike, could not have been friendlier or more accommodating and Mike is one hell of a cook. His breakfasts are something to behold.
Next stop, AC.
Words and images used are my own.