It was probably a couple of years before this trip that I first realized there were lighthouses on the Great Lakes. Growing up in Texas, lighthouses belonged to oceans and far-off coasts — not to the freshwater shores of the north. But now, with the road stretching out ahead of me and a wide lake shimmering on the horizon, I’ve learned that light finds its place anywhere it’s needed.
On the last stretch of my drive — after leaving Erie, Pennsylvania, and before reaching Sackets Harbor — I decided to stop at a few of these lighthouses and see them for myself.
My first visit was the Barcelona Lighthouse in Westfield, New York. Built in 1829, it was the first lighthouse in the world to be fueled by natural gas — a remarkable idea for its time. The stone tower stood quietly against the blue sky, its door locked, the grounds peaceful and still. Even though I couldn’t go inside, I stood at the base and imagined the keepers who once climbed those stairs, tending a flame that guided travelers safely to shore. There’s a calm strength in places like this — reminders that guidance doesn’t always need to shout; sometimes it just shines steadily through the years.
A short drive farther brought me to the Dunkirk Lighthouse, one of the oldest lights on Lake Erie. This one was open, and I couldn’t resist the challenge of climbing to the top. The metal spiral staircase wound tightly upward, each step creaking beneath my feet. My heart beat faster — not just from the climb, but from the height. I’ve always had a little fear of heights, though I try to face it whenever I can. Over the years, that’s led me over America’s scariest and highest bridges, across long pedestrian walkways, and now, up this tower overlooking the water.
At the top, wind whipped across my face. The lake spread out like a silver sheet, endless and alive. For a moment, fear and awe were the same thing. I thought about all the keepers who had stood here before me, watching storms roll in, trusting their light to cut through the darkness.
A few days later, I made my way north to Tibbetts Point Lighthouse, where Lake Ontario meets the St. Lawrence River. The tower, built in 1854, still houses one of the few working Fresnel lenses on the Great Lakes. The lightkeeper’s cottage now serves as a visitor center, and the air smells of river mist and open water. Standing there, with waves splashing against the rocks, I felt something quiet settle inside me — a kind of peace that comes from knowing you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
I’ve learned that there are more than 200 lighthouses along the Great Lakes, which together stretch nearly 11,000 miles of coastline. During my stay here, I’ve visited three of them, each with its own quiet story and view of the water. I plan to stop at one more when I begin my next journey.
This journey of seeing the lighthouses has become more than checking places off a list. It’s a reminder that courage is built step by step — one stair, one bridge, one risk at a time. Light has a way of leading you forward, even when the climb feels uncertain.
