Rockland Lake is a large, freshwater lake located quite close to the Hudson River, just across the river from the city of Ossining. Throughout the 19th century, it was the primary source of natural ice for New York City. South of Newburgh, the Hudson River is brackish - as a tidal estuary it contains a mix of fresh and salt water in the lower part of the valley, making it unsuitable for ice harvesting. Rockland Lake, on the other hand, was fed by a spring and remained largely unpolluted. In 1831, the Knickerbocker Ice Company formed at Rockland Lake, where it remained in operation until the turn of the 20th century. (Learn more about ice harvesting on Rockland Lake)

A large steamboat landing was built on the Hudson River near Rockland Lake to accommodate the ice trade. The need for a lighthouse at Rockland Lake was first reported in October of 1899 by the New York Herald, which noted that "many of the new steamers are propellers of such draught as to make the shoal dangerous."

​On December 7, 1892, the Brooklyn Union Daily Standard reported that an appropriation of $35,000 was made "[f]or establishing a lighthouse and fog signal at or near Oyster Bed Shoal," off of the Rockland Lake dock. The brief noticed continued, "Steamers lay their course near there, making an important turning point, and it is said that the placing of this lighthouse at that point may have an effect in preventing wrecks there." 

A year later, the New York Herald reported that the Lighthouse Board had completed the plans for what would become the Rockland Lake Lighthouse, to be located "1,100 feet northeast of the northeasterly end of Rockland Lake landing." 

In July, 1894, the Rockland County Times reported on the construction of the new lighthouse. "The structure, when finished, will be a facsimile of the Tarrytown lighthouse, with the addition of several recent improvements." The article noted, "There is at present no lighthouse between those at Tarrytown and Stony Point, and boatmen traveling between those two points are now troubled at times to find their bearings. This will be obviated by the Rockland Lake lighthouse, which will afford them a safe guide on the darkest nights." 

Before it could be completed, however, it was struck by the steam canal boat Richard K. Fox, which had four barges in tow and destroyed the wooden construction dock "together with the workshop and other buildings connected to the works." According to the August 1, 1894 report from the New York World, the steam canal boat Richard K. Fox managed to carry "away on its bow part of one of the buildings and an Italian laborer who was sleeping in his bunk." An article from The Sun on the same incident named him as Guiseppe Luigi. Other workers dove into the water or clung to the iron lighthouse caisson to escape the wreck, which destroyed their living quarters. The lighthouse workers speculated that the captain of the Fox must have been asleep at the wheel. The Richard K. Fox appeared largely unharmed, though some reports indicate she "lost her pilot house," and continued on her way to New York City. The New York World article ends with this sentence, "Hudson River navigators think the lighthouse a menace to navigation." The Sun indicates, "It [the lighthouse, upon completion] will then prove dangerous in foggy or misty weather, boatmen say." 

By September 5, 1894, notice was given to mariners that the light would be lit "on or about October 1, 1894, a light of the fourth order, showing fixed white for 5 seconds, separated by eclipses of 5 seconds." The cast iron caisson was to be painted brown on the lower half, and white on the upper.

Like the lighthouses at Tarrytown and Jeffrey's Hook, the Rockland Lake lighthouse structure was pre-fabricated. 

By the 1910s, the Rockland Lake lighthouse had acquired a serious tilt. Most theories blame the oyster beds under the foundation. A the time, newspapers speculated that the shoals had washed out from under the lighthouse. Later historians speculate that the weight of the structure could have compacted the shoals, destabilizing them.

Righting the lighthouse was considered too expensive a project, so the clockwork mechanism which turned the light was simply adjusted to account for the angle of tilt. One can only imagine what it was like to live there as keeper.

By the 1920s, ice harvesting was also in decline, starting to be replaced by electric refrigeration. Perhaps this decline in traffic to the Knickerbocker Ice Company Landing played a role in the decision to decommission the lighthouse in 1923. That same year, a red-painted skeleton light was built adjacent to the lighthouse before that structure was demolished. A skeleton light still exists at that spot today. 

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Editor's Note: From the February 20, 2015 New York Times article by Tatiana Schlossberg. http://nyti.ms/1vsvP7x

Under Thick Coating, an Icebreaking Ship Uncovers the Hudson
HUDSON, N.Y. — As the sun came up on Friday morning, the Sturgeon Bay, a 140-foot Coast Guard icebreaker, creaked and lurched through a frozen river, sending cracks scattering as dark water rose to the surface in pools, spraying beads of water that hit the ice like marbles, solid by the time they landed.
​
From New York Harbor to Albany, the Hudson River wends, ebbs and flows over 120 miles, except when it doesn’t. Right now north of West Point, the river is captive to the wind and weather, a field of ice up to 1.5 feet thick.

At least once a day lately, the Sturgeon Bay has been crunching and crashing up and down the Hudson, clearing paths through the crystallized expanse so that boats carrying supplies can reach the communities counting on them. Barges on the Hudson transport 70 percent of the home heating oil in the Northeast. In 2014, barges brought 20 million barrels of it northward, as well as 100,000 tons of dry goods, like salt and cement.

It is not exactly news that this winter is cold. But it is very cold. On the once-water in Hudson, N.Y., the temperature floated around 1 or 2 degrees, with a wind chill of minus 20 degrees at times. 

Lt. Ken Sauerbrunn, the commanding officer of the Sturgeon Bay, said this winter was the worst he had seen since 2004, when Coast Guard boats were dispatched to New York Harbor to clear ice for the Staten Island Ferry.
The winter mission of the Coast Guard fleet: break up ice in the Hudson River, the Great Lakes and other waterways throughout the Northeast.

All river ice is not all the same. The deepest part of the river, where the cutters make their trail, is frozen with what is called “brash ice,” softer ice that the cutters break up. It refreezes, sometimes as quickly as an hour later, though usually overnight.
On either side of the brash ice is “fast ice,” as in fastened to the shore. This is the thicker ice, which, when snow covered, looks like stiff peaked egg whites, flattened out to a wrinkled meringue.

When fast ice is broken, sometimes by a boat, sometimes by wind, it breaks into larger, flat chunks, called plate ice. If plate ice is rounded, by bumping into other pieces, boats or by the wind, then it becomes pancake ice.

The Coast Guard cutters try not to break too much ice, since it can blow around and pile up in the river.

“We always say, ‘The more ice you break, the more you make,’ ” Lieutenant Sauerbrunn, 30, said. This is his second winter captaining the boat; he has been a member of its crew since 2002.

His ship, 662 tons with three decks, is specially designed to break ice: The hull has an S-shaped curve from its bow to its keel, which allows it to cut through the mounds; its weight enables it to effectively smash the ice; and its wake is perpendicular to the boat (most boats have a wake that comes out from the stern at 30 degrees), which allows for the greatest amount of ice to be broken. The Coast Guard has nine ships of this size deployed in the Northeast; there are also bigger and smaller cutters.

On Friday morning, the Sturgeon Bay and its crew of 17 was headed north when it received a call from two tugboats pushing barges that had gotten stuck in the ice the day before.

The cutter turned around, carving a wide loop in the ice with thunderous noise, like 100 people shoveling snow off the sidewalk at once.

The two tugboats, the Sassafrass and Fells Point, were a few hundred yards apart, stuck near Germantown, where the ice can pile up because of a narrow bend in the river, making what is known as a choke point.

There are a few choke points at the moment: one at West Point, another at Kingston, and this one, at Germantown.

The Sturgeon Bay did eight slow laps around the two boats, which took about three and a half hours at the stolid pace of 11.5 miles an hour.
Finally enough ice had been cut so the tugboats could break free. The Sturgeon Bay sailed on, loosening up the path of frozen boulders ahead.
Most of the ice in New York Harbor has floated down river from this temporary tundra, lodging itself in the curving coves around the harbor’s shores.

The water around the city, though, doesn’t freeze over anymore: The salinity of the water lowers the freezing point, and the brisk boat traffic keeps the water moving. (The New York Harbor froze completely in 1780, the hard winter during the American Revolution.)
​
Robin Bell, a research professor at the Lamont-Doherty Observatory at Columbia University who specializes in the Hudson River, said that it also does not get as cold in New York City as it once did.

“You used to be able to drive a car from Manhattan to New Jersey,” she said, “so the river was probably colder then, but there was also probably less boat traffic.”

As for the future, she said there will probably be less ice in the river, especially around New York City, but it is impossible to predict. There is always the chance that a volcanic eruption in Iceland or elsewhere could cause a brief ice age, she said.

Still, the amount of ice that does float downstream is enough to hinder the East River Ferry, the Hudson River Ferry, and the Belford Ferry, which travels from the Sandy Hook Bay in New Jersey to Manhattan, all operated by New York Waterway.
​
Pat Smith, a spokesman for New York Waterway, said it had tugboats out this winter to clear the way for boats.

“Whether we send them out depends on the wind and the tides,” he said.
The ice does not damage the boats’ hulls, but it can make dings in their propellers, Mr. Smith said.

If the propellers become dented, they have to be replaced by a diver. “Would you like to do that this time of year?” Mr. Smith said.

The Sturgeon Bay, though, was built for its job.

Cutting loops and figure-eights in the ice in its effort to free the Sassafrass, the Sturgeon Bay momentarily scraped to a stop, waiting to see if the tugboat could move.

On deck it was hard to remember it was a boat, that this tundra was a river. No water gently lapped against the hull; the boat did not rock with the wind and the waves. Two foxes ran in front of the bow. Everything was cold, white and quiet.