Standing at the treacherous entrance to the Derwent River near Hobart, the Iron Pot lighthouse has faithfully guided mariners to safety for almost two centuries. Established in 1832, it holds the distinction of being Tasmania’s first lighthouse and the third oldest in Australia. This modest structure, rising just 9 meters from its rocky islet at the southern end of Storm Bay, has witnessed more than its fair share of maritime drama, personal tragedy, and according to some, supernatural occurrences.

There is conjecture as to the lighthouse’s unusual name, some claim it dates back to Matthew Flinders who recorded significant compass variations when he first visited Storm Bay in 1796 but the more commonly held view is that it derives from the large iron cooking pot that early whalers would use on the rocky outcrop, lighting fires to help guide their companions home.

The small, isolated islet of less than one acre has proven a challenging home for lighthouse keepers throughout its history. In 1854, disaster struck when a ferocious storm swept across the tiny island, completely destroying the keeper’s cottage. Remarkably, the keeper, James Denholm, and his family survived by taking refuge in the lighthouse tower itself, huddled together as the waves crashed around them through the terrible night. They were rescued the following day, though they had lost all their possessions to the sea. The third keepers cottage was more like a palace, built in 1885 for head keeper James Parkinson and his large family, it survived a number of ferocious storms until 1921 when it was demolished after automation.

The dangerous waters surrounding the Iron Pot have claimed numerous vessels over the years. Perhaps the most significant was the tragic sinking of the barque “Kawau” in 1907, which struck rocks near the lighthouse during heavy fog. Despite the lighthouse’s warning light, the vessel was lost, claiming the lives of seven sailors. Their bodies washed ashore along the Derwent’s eastern shores in the days that followed.

Local maritime folklore holds that on particularly stormy nights, the ghostly outline of the “Kawau” can sometimes be seen near the lighthouse, a spectral reminder of the disaster. Some former lighthouse keepers reported strange occurrences during their tenure – unexplained footsteps on the tower stairs, doors opening and closing without explanation, and lights that would mysteriously dim without apparent cause. One keeper in the 1920s reportedly refused to stay at the station alone, convinced that the spirits of drowned sailors walked the tiny islet at night.

Another peculiar tale involves the discovery of a message in a bottle found washed up near the lighthouse in 1897. The note, purportedly written by a passenger on a vessel lost years earlier, contained a confession of terrible crimes that the writer feared would follow him into the afterlife. Authorities investigated but could never verify the authenticity of the strange document.

Life at the Iron Pot was notoriously difficult for keepers and their families. Isolated on the tiny rock, they endured harsh weather conditions and extreme isolation. Supplies came once a month by boat, weather permitting, and children had to be sent to the mainland for schooling. Despite these hardships, multiple generations of lighthouse families maintained the light, including the Dendys, who served for over 30 years across the late 19th century.

The lighthouse saw dramatic technological evolution over its lifetime. Initially operated using oil lamps that required constant maintenance, it later transitioned through various fuels and lighting mechanisms. In 1977, human presence at the Iron Pot became history when the lighthouse was converted to solar power and fully automated. The last keeper departed, ending 145 years of continuous human occupation on the lonely rock.

For almost two centuries, the Iron Pot has witnessed countless vessels passing through its watch – convict ships, whaling boats, colonial traders, modern cargo vessels, and yachts finishing the famous Sydney to Hobart race. Through storm and calm, this beacon continues to stand as a testament to Tasmania’s enduring connection to the sea and the human stories of those who kept the light burning through the darkest nights.

Blinking Billy Lighthouse

Another lighthouse on the Derwent River, just downstream from Hobart is the One Tree Point Light, more commonly known as Blinking Billy and situated on the point that now bears the same name. This lighthouse was maintained as an aid to navigation by the Marine Board of Hobart from 1900 until 1955.

On February 4 1975 the Marine Board of Hobart transferred ownership of the lighthouse to the Hobart City Council for subsequent leasing to the Maritime Museum of Tasmania.

The light was named after WIlliam J Watchorn, Master Warden of the Marine Board of Hobart known as Blinking Billy for a characteristic and persistent twitch in his eye.