Block Island is a weird, beautiful place. If you’ve ever taken the ferry over from Point Judith, you know that feeling when the mainland disappears and you're suddenly staring at these massive, crumbling clay cliffs. High up on those Mohegan Bluffs sits the Block Island Southeast Lighthouse. It’s not just a pretty building for your Instagram feed; it’s a brick-and-mortar miracle that almost ended up at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
Most people see the red brick and the gothic peaks and think "quaint." They’re wrong. This structure is a beast. Built in 1874, it represents a time when the U.S. Light-House Board decided to stop messing around with flimsy wooden towers and build something that could actually withstand the brutal North Atlantic winters.
But there’s a problem. The earth beneath it is disappearing.
The Night the Mohegan Bluffs Started Moving
Geography is a cruel mistress on Block Island. The Mohegan Bluffs are essentially giant piles of glacial till—basically a messy mix of clay, gravel, and boulders left behind by retreating glaciers. It looks solid, but it’s basically a slow-motion landslide. By the late 1980s, the Block Island Southeast Lighthouse was sitting a terrifying 55 feet from the edge of a 150-foot drop.
When it was built, it had about 300 feet of breathing room.
Think about that. In a little over a century, the ocean ate nearly 250 feet of land. The Coast Guard, who owned it at the time, basically threw up their hands. They figured the lighthouse was a lost cause. They actually built a cheap, skeleton-tower light nearby and prepared to let the historic masterpiece tumble into the sea.
The locals weren't having it.
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The Block Island Southeast Lighthouse Foundation was formed because a group of people refused to watch a National Historic Landmark become a shipwreck. They spent years raising $2 million. That sounds like a lot of money, but when you're trying to move a 2,000-ton brick building made of two-foot-thick walls, it’s actually a shoestring budget.
How do you actually move a lighthouse?
In 1993, the International Chimney Corporation and Expert House Movers took on the job. Honestly, the logistics are terrifying to think about. You can't just pick it up. They had to shove steel beams through the foundation, creating a sort of metal cradle. Then, they used hydraulic jacks to lift the entire mass—the tower and the attached keeper’s house—off the ground.
They moved it on a series of rails. Slowly. Very slowly.
It took 19 days to move it 300 feet inland. If a single jack had failed or the soil had shifted during a storm, the whole thing would have cracked like an egg. But it worked. Today, the Block Island Southeast Lighthouse sits safely back from the edge, though the ocean is still coming for it. It always is.
That Massive Fresnel Lens is Actually Terrifying
If you go inside, you have to look at the lens. Most lighthouses use modern LED beacons now because they're easy to maintain. But Southeast still has its first-order Fresnel lens.
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"First-order" is lighthouse-speak for "the biggest and most powerful."
This thing is a rotating assembly of glass prisms that looks like something out of a steampunk movie. It weighs several tons. Back in the day, these lenses floated in a vat of liquid mercury so they could rotate with almost zero friction. Imagine a lighthouse keeper in 1880, stuck in a small room with a giant spinning glass beehive and a pool of toxic mercury, all while a gale is screaming outside. It wasn't a relaxing job.
The light was visible for 22 miles. For sailors navigating the "Graveyard of the Atlantic" around the tip of Long Island and Rhode Island, that green flash was the only thing keeping them off the rocks.
The Ghosts and the Reality of Keeper Life
People love a good ghost story, and Southeast has plenty. Most of them involve the "Mad Miller," a former keeper who supposedly pushed his wife down the stairs. Or maybe she pushed him. The stories change depending on which local you ask at the ferry landing.
But the real history is more interesting than the spooks.
Living at the Block Island Southeast Lighthouse was an exercise in extreme isolation. Even though the town of New Shoreham isn't that far away, the bluffs feel like the edge of the world. Keepers had to carry heavy buckets of oil up those spiral stairs multiple times a night. If the light went out, ships died. It was that simple.
The architecture reflects that seriousness. It’s High Victorian Gothic. It has these ornate granite lintels and decorative brickwork that seem almost too fancy for a utility building. But that was the Victorian era for you—even a warning signal had to look like a cathedral.
Why the fog signal mattered more than the light
On Block Island, the fog can get so thick you can’t see your own boots. In those conditions, a first-order lens is useless.
Southeast was famous for its steam-powered fog horn. Later, it used a "daboll" trumpet. The sound was so loud it would vibrate the dishes in the keeper’s kitchen. It’s easy to romanticize the "low, mournful moan" of a foghorn when you’re sitting in a cozy Airbnb, but imagine living next to it for 48 hours straight during a summer pea-souper. It was enough to drive anyone crazy.
Visiting Today: What You Need to Know
If you’re planning to visit, don't just drive up, take a photo, and leave. You’re missing the point.
- The Walk: Park at the bottom of the Mohegan Bluffs and take the wooden staircase down to the beach first. Look up. You’ll see the lighthouse perched on the cliff and realize just how precarious its position really is.
- The Tour: You can actually go up in the tower. It’s cramped. The stairs are steep. If you’re claustrophobic, maybe stay on the grass. But seeing that Fresnel lens up close is worth the vertigo.
- The Wind: It is always windy at Southeast. Always. Even in July, the wind whipping off the Atlantic can be chilly. Bring a jacket.
The Uncertain Future of the Bluffs
We have to be honest: moving the lighthouse 300 feet was a temporary fix.
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The Mohegan Bluffs are still eroding. Climate change isn't helping, with more frequent "bomb cyclones" and rising sea levels battering the base of the cliffs. Geologists estimate the cliffs recede about a foot a year on average, but that happens in chunks. You might go five years with no change, and then one nor'easter takes ten feet in a single night.
The Block Island Southeast Lighthouse is safe for now. It likely has another 100 to 150 years before it’s back at the edge. By then, our grandkids will have to decide if they want to pay for another 300-foot slide inland or if they’ll finally let the Atlantic have its way.
Actionable Steps for Your Trip
To get the most out of your visit to this landmark, follow these specific steps:
- Check the Schedule: The lighthouse museum and tower tours are seasonal (typically Memorial Day through Labor Day). If you show up in November, you'll be looking at the exterior only.
- Bring Cash: While many places on the island take cards, the lighthouse foundation is a non-profit and small donations or tour fees are often easier handled with a few fives and tens.
- Bike It: Don't take a car if you can avoid it. Rent a moped or a bicycle in town. The ride out to the Southeast side of the island along Spring Street offers some of the best views in New England.
- Time Your Visit: Go about an hour before sunset. The way the light hits the red brick of the tower and the golden grass of the bluffs is spectacular. Just make sure you have enough daylight to get back to the ferry.
The Block Island Southeast Lighthouse isn't just a monument to maritime safety; it's a monument to human stubbornness. We built it where it shouldn't be, and when nature tried to take it back, we moved it. It stands as a reminder that some things—even 2,000-ton brick buildings—are worth saving.