Sound & Fog

Sound is especially acute in the fog. This is no great revelation on my part. It is just so obvious when lying on anchor with only a few boat lengths visible from the pilothouse windows. I am an early riser especially in Maine. The first glimmers of light begin before five. Due to my compromised bladder I often get to witness the faint glow below the horizon. Back in the warm bunk, if lucky, I doze off for another hour and by that time the sun has risen, that is except when it is foggy.

At times, before the sun and the lobster folk have risen there is no sound other than the lapping of water and this depends on the wind and the state of the tide. Lobster boats once awakened relish in the deep throaty thump of their large diesel engines. Sometimes it sounds like morning rush hour on the Kennedy Expressway out in the buoy fields. I wonder how they can spend the day engulfed in a bass drum, but maybe they are still young and not worried about hearing loss. 

 

As the morning progresses sounds fill in the landscape even if it is not visible. Cars and trucks, beeps and sirens, dogs defending their territory, voices are raised, grass is cut, heavy machinery rattles the earth, sea gulls and osprey begin to fish and scabble, outboards buzz by with their crews on a mission usually to walk the dog. 

 

Carrie Rose is a quiet boat. We have given up on television and in most cases the radio stays silent except for the VHF weather forecast. Usually solo no raucous parties are held. I tend to read and write in the pilothouse while Charlotte occupies the salon’s comfortable couch. It has been noted that advancing age brings with it an uncontrollable nodding of heads. This tends to end abruptly with a start and an aching neck. 

 

Sleep comes earlier in Maine. And as the sun sets the fog may begin to roll in and the soundscape, like the tide, reverses itself. The quiet becomes intense. It is time for bed.

Seal Bay, Vinalhaven, Maine