The Jupiter Lighthouse Climb: Challenge Yourself

Can you climb the Jupiter lighthouse? Yes, you can. Can you watch the coastal traffic go by via lighthouse webcam? Yes, you can, but climbing to the top and seeing it for yourself is a much better idea.

Sometimes a traveler’s wish list is simply too long. In fact, I had been meaning to visit the quaint Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse on Florida’s Atlantic coast for a nearly three years. Fast forward to June 2022. I was finally back in that area and determined to make it a priority.

Jupiter Lighthouse: The Basics

June in Florida is already uncomfortably warm in the afternoons, therefore, I arrived at 10:30am. I would gladly have arrived earlier, but the rest of the world doesn’t get revved up as early as I do. The lighthouse is open from 10:00am – 4:00pm, Tuesday through Sunday. Dating back to 1860, this is the oldest structure in Palm Beach County and is a must-see site. I was a woman on a mission, so I headed straight into the office to buy my $12.00 ticket for the lighthouse climb. This ticket also covers access to additional exhibit buildings on the property.

The Tree(s)?

I desperately wanted pictures under the massive, twisting Ficus trees. Similar to the wondrous Ceiba trees I saw in Puerto Rico, this specimen towered overhead with a thick canopy of leaves and an other-worldly combination of vines, branches and trunks. It really is impossible to tell whether you are looking at one of those or all three. Perhaps it was all one tree and not a grove at all. If Dr. Seuss and Harry Potter shared a botany hobby, this Ficus would be the result. I made a mental note to pause for photos after my climb.

First, a volunteer from the Loxahatchee River Historical Society gave me a few safety rules and encouraged me to pause after climbing the 34 wooden steps that lead to the actual lighthouse. In the tower, there are landings for you to step off the staircase approximately every 25 steps or so. I, wisely, took all his advice. Afterall, the view only gets better at each level. I took the opportunity to enjoy each phase. Sort of.

My Small Problem

When I stepped inside the base of the lighthouse, I saw the open wrought-iron staircase that corkscrewed up the center of the tower. Hmm. Suddenly, I remembered that I am afraid of heights. I don’t know why this important little fact slipped my mind during the planning phase of my excursion. So, I studied the structure of the steps. Indeed, I knew I had climbed light houses before so, clearly, my fear isn’t debilitating. Right? Briefly, I thought about the fact that I was alone and if I got stuck there was no one to rescue me. Remembering that the volunteer at the bottom of the hill had said there are landings where climbers can step aside, I decided to forge ahead. Ultimately, I figured if I had a heart attack I would only have to crawl 25 steps before crumpling into the fetal position.

For a person with acrophobia, these stairs were a perfect storm of torture. Each step had an open back. Each step had an open latticework foot tread and there was no center railing. An unprotected hollow center the height of the tower (down which one could lose their lunch if they looked too long) taunted me on the left. There were no friggin’ solid surfaces anywhere! What the hell?!

I grabbed the “railing” (no wider than a piece of rebar) attached to the wall, squished myself to the right side closest to the wall and started to climb. My ankles felt mildly wobbly, but overall, it wasn’t so bad. I paused at each landing to enjoy the changing view out each arched window and to make sure that I was steady before continuing. The climb really only took five minutes or so. “Not bad at all,” I thought naively.

Jupiter Lighthouse: The View from the Top

Ancient light house designers have a cruel sense of humor, apparently, because as I ducked under the giant light to exit the tower and enjoy the balcony that encircled the structure, I realized I wasn’t comfortable with the open spaces in the railing that allow for the grand view. Duh. I know. Clearly I hadn’t thought this adventure through. Again, I said to myself, “It’s all fine. Don’t look down. Look out.” Though I was shuffling like an old lady, my reward was a view of the Loxahatchee River not everyone gets to enjoy. The blues of the water and sky defy description.

My timing was impeccable. A storm was rolling in, so one side of the tower was sunny and idyllic. The other side was gray and threatening. It was really cool to see both environments at the same time. As the volunteers at the top and bottom of the light house radioed messages to each other about how many guests came up and down, I decided to make my way to the bottom.

Jupiter Lighthouse: The Real Personal Challenge

Stepping to the top of the staircase, I realized I was in big trouble. The challenge for me was not climbing up the staircase. It would be climbing down. Crap. This wasn’t like changing my mind at the bottom and heading back to the car. I had no choice. I had to look down that looming tunnel of latticework. I might as well have been looking down the barrel of a shotgun.

I grabbed the skinny piece of rebar (“the railing”) with both hands, faced the painted brick wall and stepped down. My ankles had liquefied, so on this trip, the landings weren’t merely a pleasurable diversion, but a necessity. If I didn’t pause to allow my ankles a chance to solidify, I would die on this friggin’ staircase.

Don’t Make It Look So Easy, Kid

At one landing, I met two sisters who appeared to be about 10 and 14 years old. They were looking out of the little window and chattering away. So young. So naïve. I paused and tried to strike up a little conversation with them to make myself appear nonchalant and not like I was coming apart at the seams. Later, the picture I took of myself proves how fruitless this pseudo-conversation must have been. In the photo, my red face and the rivulets of sweat give me away.

Now, I will attribute some of the sweat to the extreme humidity caused by that impending storm, but I also know much of it was thanks to my stress level. In the end, the climb down took less than 10 minutes, but it felt much longer.

Outside, breathing deeply, I paused to gather my ankles and what was left of my nerves before descending the wooden steps to the Ficus tree. At the bottom, the volunteer said, “Congrats! You did it!”

“Yes,” I replied. “It was easier going up than I thought,” I said conveniently avoiding the downward discussion.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Without a doubt climbing up is a physical challenge but coming down is a mental challenge. I didn’t realize that either until the first time I had to do it.”

What a blessed man. Somehow, I felt much better after he said that. I felt less pathetic.

My Silly Certificate Is an Honor

After getting pictures under the Ficus tree, I started to wander the paths, but another volunteer told me that the storm was approaching and they were closing the property. I was so relieved that I had chosen to make the climb first. A kind woman under a canopy said, “Don’t leave without your certificate.”

Certificate?

She handed me a certificate that attests to the fact that I survived the climb of 105 stairs (not including the 34 wooden steps that lead from the Ficus to the tower’s base). I know the certificate is supposed to be humorous, but for me it was a bit more literal. I was relieved that I did not have to call my husband at work and ask him to scrape me up off a wrought iron step. My clothes were soaked through, and my hair was matted to my neck, but I was on the ground.

Seizing the Day Your Way

Carpe Diem is Latin for seize the day and it is the theme of this blog. It always has been. If you doubt me then reread my About Me page. Seizing the day doesn’t always have to mean skydiving or ziplining. It doesn’t always have to mean backpacking in Europe and couch surfing with strangers. It looks different for everyone. This wasn’t the tallest tower I have ever climbed, but it was the first time I climbed open stairs alone, without the moral support of a relative or friend. The view was worth it.

I love my silly little certificate. I clutched it with pride as I headed to my car.