Good morning everyone. We are having our first real fog of the
summer yesterday and today. Dense fog has again settled upon us over
night and the scene is surreal. The spruce trees along the shoreline
are the only relief to the white canvas. Drip, drip, drip… the
moisture strained from the air by the rig falls on the canvas
awnings. Some might think it is raining but the islands know better.
For most islands with thin topsail and little to hold the moisture
the fog is a welcome source of life giving water, every spruce needle
another drip point for life below. The mossy floor holds the
moisture releasing it slowly over time. Rain has been scarce here
these past few weeks. For some folks the fog is a scary obstacle to
be navigated around. For some it is a chance to sit quietly at anchor
and read a good book or go for a walk ashore. But with good planning
we manage to keep moving and enjoy the chance to see the ghostly
apparitions first detected by radar and, better yet, human ears and
eyes. The bold shore becomes a welcome sight. The sound of waves
surging against the rocks, the birds singing in the trees, the echo
from the woods become our navigational aids. My skin welcomes the
break from the sun.
Jen and I were up on the midnight watch last night as a thunderstorm
passed very nearby. We anticipated the wind and rain and stood ready
to pay out more anchor chain. In the darkness we could hear the
rustling of the leaves in the trees ashore, the rain pouring out of
the sky in torrents, the rumbling of thunder, the chilly feel of the
air in the shifting wind. The radar showed the storm close by just a
half mile to the north. And then nothing. Wow…how can that be?
Such intensity so close by raising the hair on our necks as we stood
on the quarterdeck in the darkness poised like cats wary of an
approaching stranger. How cool is that?
Have a great day. Be well. Do good.