Eagle Island Lighthouse, Oileán sa Tuaidh [Eagle Island], Co. Mayo
Co. Mayo |
Lighthouses
On a windswept outcrop off the Mayo coast stands a lighthouse that no longer does the one thing a lighthouse is meant to do.
What remains is a stump, a truncated cylinder of slate-hung stone, its light long extinguished, its lantern gone. The structure that survives is essentially the abbreviated shell of a once three-stage tower, and its very incompleteness is the point of interest: this is a building that failed, repeatedly and dramatically, against the weather it was built to warn ships about.
The tower was sanctioned in 1830 and built by 1836, standing complete by 1838 as one of a pair of lighthouses on Eagle Island, both raised to guard this stretch of north Mayo's Atlantic-facing coast at the height of the early nineteenth-century push to improve maritime safety around Ireland's shores. It did not have an easy life. Storm damage struck in 1850, and again in 1861, a sign of just how exposed this outcrop is to the full force of the ocean. The lighthouse was destroyed outright in 1894, and what was left of it was truncated the following year, cut down rather than rebuilt to its original height. By 1916 it stood as a ruin, and it has remained one since. The tower was raised on a circular plan, its battered walls (meaning they taper inward as they rise, a form suited to resisting wind and wave) hung with slate above a plinth of cut granite worked with a chamfered edge. Its door and window openings were square-headed, with granite sills, though the finer dressings around them are now concealed and no original fittings survive. The whole complex sat within shared grounds enclosed by a limewashed battered boundary wall, itself following the same defensive, tapering profile as the tower.
The pairing of two lighthouses on the one island was not unusual practice for the period, giving mariners a means of aligning the two lights to judge their position and bearing more precisely as they approached the coast. That the surviving structure here is only a fragment, cut short after decades of storm damage, makes it an unusually direct record of the punishment this coastline metes out to anything built upon it. Little of the original lantern mechanism or fittings remains, but the shape of the tower, squat and truncated against the sky, tells its own story of a losing battle with the Atlantic.
