The homes of the keepers are swart, verandahed structures set amidst a heathland smitten constantly by the driving salty winds. It is us­ually lifeless as anyone with any brains is inside. The fishermen on the rocks, fishing for tuna and maybe one day a marlin dream, don’t count, fishermen don’t have brains, just tackle boxes tangled with one thought — the big one.

It is hard to imagine human life existing here and yet a succession of light keepers have raised their families on this rocky bluff.