Monthly Bulletin March/April 2005 - Vol 8 No. 2

The Carpentaria Lightship

by Bill Scott

In the early 1950s, there were two lightships permanently anchored off the Queensland coast. Lighthouses and most of the beacons are built on solid ground, but light ships are floating navigational aids at the dangerous edge of shoal waters where it is all but impossible to build a permanent structure. The lightship most familiar to Brisbane residents (as it was often seen tied alongside at the Lighthouse Wharf at New Farm) is the one positioned off Sandy Cape on the northern tip of Fraser Island. The other one is anchored at the western entrance to Torres Strait, in the far north of Queensland, to warn shipmasters of their approach to the dangers that line the inner route south through the Great Barrier Reef.

These double-ended, steel-hulled lightships were very strongly built, and there were actually four of them. Two were on station with their flashing beacons while the other two were safely in harbour being refitted - one in Cairns and the other in Brisbane, ready to replace the operational lightship in the event of a breakdown. Every year, the replacement would be towed to position and the one that had been on station would be towed back for refit. 

One of the least popular jobs for the crew of the Commonwealth Lighthouse Vessel Cape Leeuwin was towing the Carpentaria Light Vessel 500-odd miles north through the reef from Cairns, then returning with the other lightship to be serviced. The procedure entailed shortening the tow at nightfall and then slackening it again in the morning. All the beacons along the Inner Route had to be serviced as well, so the voyage was tedious.

The light vessels were checked four times a year. They were anchored by very stout chain cables so that they could not drift from their position, but in Torres Strait there is a big rise and fall in the tide, and the current runs swiftly. If the ship swung one way with the wind and tide and then continued in the same circle when the tide changed, the cable would gradually wind itself into knots and thus lift the anchor from the seabed, allowing the vessel to drift off-station. To prevent this happening, a huge steel swivel was fitted to the middle of the chain cable. Marine growth flourishes in the soupy waters of the tropics, so to ensure the swivel was operating freely, the cable had to be winched up (by hand on the northern one) so that the swivel could be cleaned off and heavily greased before being submerged again. 

Anchored offshore, the lightships are the favourite overnight perch for hundreds of seabirds that deposit a new layer of droppings on the deck every night. This guano gradually hardens under the tropic sun, but over the year at least four inches of bird dung in various stages of hardening covered the upper deck. Working on this deck was what we most hated. 

While the underlaying layers were relatively hard, the surface layer was wet and slippery, particularly with the grease we slathered on the swivel. The heavy chain also broke up the guano, and we had to cling to the rigging or the guardrails to stay on our feet as the hull rolled in the passing swells. Keeping a firm footing was almost impossible.

A regular capstan would have been impossible to use with the heavy chain links, so the winch we fitted was an ingenious device that was powered by four seamen at a time pumping up and down on the handles, two on each side of the winch. Each downward stroke brought our faces to about a foot of the dreadful, smelly, slippery mess underfoot. After a time, we were covered from hand to foot in an awful coating. Rolling a cigarette was a problem if you didn't want to smoke bird dung as well as tobacco.

We worked in shifts to break the monotony. Four men pumped while the others rested or worked, directed by the lighthouse engineer or the lighthouse mechanic who had come aboard to check and adjust operation of the machinery and the flashing light. These fortunate men worked below the deck in relative cleanliness, but even they could not totally avoid the contamination!

So after hours of working the winch, the swivel would at last break the surface and be gradually heaved through the hawse. The shipwright would supervise the scrubbing clean with wire brushes and heavily lathering with underwater grease, then the pawl would be released from the winch and the cable allowed to pay out with a roar. It took about thirty seconds for its full length to disappear underwater. 

Then it was a matter of getting back aboard the ship - the motor boat would come over to collect us, the coxswain grumbling in case we fouled his clean launch. When we reached the ship and began to climb the jacobs ladder towards the after deck, a salt water hose sprayed us down. Once aboard, we shed the clothing we had been wearing (in some cases discarding it overside) and stood in the stream of water from the deck hoses before dripping below to the showers, a little more sanitary. 

At the end of each year's service, when the nauseous vessel was towed back to Cairns for refit, many of the keen gardeners of that town arrived at the wharf with wheelbarrows and assisted in clearing the upper decks of its noxious coating.