A 'Castle' of Their Own

Even so, as the McNallys watched their lighthouse loom closer, with its rusty caisson and peeling white paint, Teri stood in the bow of the boat and said: "It looks like a floating castle."

But as the boat eased toward the two corroded metal ladders they would climb to reach the top of the caisson, something got her attention: the foghorn. Which grew louder as they approached and which went off every 15 seconds.

"That's not a bad sound," her husband said.

"Is that how often it goes off?" she asked.

"At least it's not a grating, aggravating sound," he said.

She looked momentarily perplexed.

They knew that there was a foghorn and that it ran 24 hours a day, fog or not. But this was the first time they had heard it. It wasn't a painful sound, exactly. It was like a hunting horn, only designed to be heard for miles.

But now it was time to climb the ladders.

Dave hoisted his bag and asked whether it was okay to carry it up. Condit said it was but urged caution. "General rule when you guys are on there: Trust nothing," he called out. "No handrails. No ladder rungs. Even where you're stepping."

Anything might collapse.

"Am I first?" Dave said. He was. He started up. "It's easier than it looks," he called to his wife. She followed, uncertainly. After they reached the five-foot-wide walkway around the caisson's rim, Dave thrust both arms in the air, Rocky-style, and proclaimed: "We made it!"

Then they looked around.

There were vacant rooms, collapsed ceiling boards, graffiti. "[Expletive] this light," someone had carved near the steps to the second floor. A crowbar hung over a banister. An empty beer can sat on a shelf. In the attic, Condit retrieved a tattered keepers' log from October 1965. The basement, down in the caisson, smelled of diesel fuel.

Outside, the iron outhouse, which hung over the water, was stained white with bird droppings. It had two portholes and no door.

But there were touches of faded elegance in the woodwork and brickwork, and out every window glittered the bay.

"It's not as bad as I thought," Dave said. He pulled out his measuring tape and gripped a pencil with his teeth. The kitchen, pantry and sitting room could be on the first level, two bedrooms on the second. You'd need a boat and a place to moor it.

It would cost money, maybe $75,000, Dave thought. And it would take time.

Teri got out her video camera. The Minnesotans had a lot of work to do. Inside, the foghorn didn't sound quite so loud.