Slowly, we snaked our way through the beautiful Tasmanian landscape, taking every opportunity to stop along the way and immerse ourselves in the island. When the moments of reflection ended, the buzz of rock and roll classics danced through our ears as the journey continued on.

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Finally, we arrived. The beautiful Cape Sorrell lighthouse stood before us and what a sight she was. There, draped in crisp white and towering above all, the guiding light of Hells Gates stood motionless. Below us, the jagged rocks faded into the dark blue ocean as the roaring swell collided with the coastline. In the distance, the old salty dogs wrestled their fishing boats in a calm and collected manner. Quietly, standing side by side, my father and I stood motionless observing nature exhibit its astonishing power.

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Breaking the silence, my father John began to tell me about his two years as the keeper of the lighthouse, beginning in 1964, at the tender age of age of 19. Today marked the 50th anniversary since my father had left the Cape. Finally, the reality of its existence replaced the tall tales of my childhood.

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