Antsy

Carrie Rose has been travelling in the fog. Fog is often depicted as a contiguous mass but is the opposite. It comes and goes, lightens and thickens, rises and falls. It blows across landforms like syrup defying gravity. Add to this a boat moving at 8 knots (I should slow down) and the possible outcomes begin to multiple.

Fog is the result of the dew point and the temperature coinciding. For the last week both have been in the mid fifties. The fog has been undulating in and out of the anchorages and harbors but has never completely cleared. Living in a cloud has its downsides.

The 100% humidity turns every surface cold and clammy. Nothing dries and it is difficult to warm up. I began to wear a wool sweater and watch cap, a funny sight in July even for Maine. Lobster boats venture out to do their daily work, but the cruising fleet huddles deep in the harbor.

This self imposed quarantine does offer a respite from daily travel. There was time to do laundry. The hardware store aisles were explored. One hundred dollars was left at a classic used bookstore whose owners are retiring after forty years. New suede boat shoes and a bright yellow polo shirt with an embroidered lobster and pine tree was bought.

Back at the boat, I drew what was directly in front of me. I struggled with the background and then it was gone, obscured by a white cottony haze. It began to rain. There were thunderstorm in the forecast and then, sun in the morning.

That would be welcomed. The cruising community is getting antsy. Dock lines cannot wait to be cast off; there will be a mass exodus at the first sign of blue sky. But in Maine, the fog is never far behind.