Fed up with a wet and cold existence in the Navy, John Cook decided working indoors was the way to go.
Key points:
- John Cook kept lighthouses for 26 years in remote locations across Tasmania
- His memoir details the phasing out of the old kerosene lamp and the death of traditional lighthouse keeping
- He considers Maatsuyker Island his spiritual home and wants to be buried there
It was one night at sea when he gazed up at a nearby lighthouse that his mind was made up.
"I used to think there's a bloke sitting up there keeping that light going while I'm sitting out here getting my guts rocked up," he said.
"And I thought to myself, it wouldn't be a bad job up there."
That was back in 1968.
What would follow is a remarkable life story, which has now been crafted into a memoir titled The Last Lighthouse Keeper.
"There were a lot of chaps who couldn't do it, and their wives couldn't do it. You had to have the right temperament, or you'd go troppo," he said.
"It was physically hard. You had to pump up the light every 20 minutes or so, which was the equivalent of pumping up a car tyre every 20 minutes; 75 pounds per square inch."
For 26 years John Cook kept lighthouses.
Firstly, at Eddystone point on the north-east tip of Tasmania before stints down south on Tasman and Maatsuyker Islands.
His journey would eventually wind up at Cape Bruny.
Mr Cook's heyday was during the 1970s and 80s, before electricity was used to beam light out onto sea and guide ships up and down Tasmania's jagged coast.
Periods of isolation would be broken up by the tri-monthly delivery of essential supplies — coal, kerosene and beer.
The introduction of the electric lamp in the early 1990s sadly spelled the end of a long era of traditional lighthouse keeping.
"With kerosene, you were pumping the light all the time, and you had a constant hiss but when you went over to electric, there was no noise," Mr Cook said.
"If you had a misfire in the lamp and you dropped off to sleep, the hiss would stop and you'd wake up.
"But with this bloody electric light, there was nothing. That was the beginning of the end for me."
Mr Cook was working on Maatsuyker Island when the MV Blythe Star sank off the south-west cape, resulting in the deaths of three sailors.
But the majesty of the natural landscape and wildlife that surrounded Cook never failed to captivate him.
He lived amongst tea tree, wildflowers and a stunning array of birdlife.
An encounter with a blue whale in which he "was left sobbing, with an open heart and tingles all over" has stayed with him.
And the haunting song of a pod of whales under a dazzling aurora, years ago, is a memory that remains as fresh as the howling Maatsuyker wind.
"It was spooky. Even now I get goose bumps," he said.
"The light effect from the aurora and the sounds from the sea of these whales. It was fantastic."
Now 85, John Cooke penned his memoir in "dribs and drabs" over the course of about 10 years.
The finished product is an intended gift to his kids.
He's engaged in a battle with Parkinson's disease — he suspects prolonged exposure to mercury in the lighthouse's lens is a contributor — but has plenty of light left in him yet.
When it does eventually fade, his wish is to return to the remote Maatsuyker for good.
"I always wanted to stay on Maat," he laments, before laughing.
"Actually, I've got in my will I want to be put down there after I've passed on.
"I'll just haunt anyone that comes down there."
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