The Fog Cannon of Point Bonita

Now, you're standing out here at Point Bonita, where the land runs out and the gray comes rolling in off the ocean — and mind you keep back from that edge, because those drops are steep and there's no rail to catch you. I want you to imagine this spot before there was ever a horn to warn a ship. Back in the 1850s — and that's a long while ago now — the Army rolled a big old surplus siege gun out onto this point. Not to shoot at anybody. This one had a gentler job. When the fog closed in thick, and out here it closes in plenty, some poor soul touched it off every so often through the wall of gray. Boom. Boom. So a captain feeling his way past the rocks would hear that thunder and know the land was near.

And here's the thing that tickles me — that's said to be the first fog signal on the whole West Coast. Before Bonita, a ship out in the murk had nothing but its own two ears and a prayer.

Now the story goes there was a soldier set to tend that gun, firing it round the clock, day into night, night into day, with the fog so thick he couldn't see his own boots. And the way folks tell it, the man near about lost his mind and begged to be relieved of the whole weary business. I can't swear to every word of that one, but I'll tell you — you stand here long enough in this cold gray with nothing but the damp, and you start to believe every bit of it.

Eventually the cannon gave way to a proper foghorn, kinder on a man's ears. If you aim to walk out toward the light itself, check ahead with the park first — it keeps mighty limited hours, and the bridge out to the light is closed for now, so you'll stop short at the platform. But from there you'll be looking out toward where that weary soldier once stood.