In the Midwest we are familiar with storms that diagonally cross the country from Mexico to Canada. They engender squalls, thunder storms and tornados. The one good thing about them, in this age of instant weather apps, is that they are mostly predictable. The storms blow through with much drama causing lots of chaos and then they move on quickly to terrorize another region further north and east.
Before satellite technology I spent much of my time while sailing on the Great Lakes looking over my shoulder for an unannounced squall. Out east there is the occasional squall. Most of the weather consists of counter rotating low pressure systems. As I write this, a low is stuck slightly west of us and is making its way excruciatingly slow to the NE. As it spins it sucks in a large off shore cloud bank that stretches from Florida to Maine.
The arms of the low are ragged, so on occasion we are dosed with sun and bright blue sky. These hopeful moments are quickly dispelled with one look at the satellite image. The jet stream just needed to straighten out and dislodge the low, sending it to Greenland.
The next day the weather was crazy. We woke to dense fog. It lifted slowly to reveal numerous anchored boats that had been hidden the night before. The fog proceeded to roll in and out of the harbor, each time revealing a bit more of the shoreline. With that our little part of the world became less claustrophobic.
All through the morning the harbor’s entrance repeatedly filled with fog. Then as the day heated up the tops of the Camden mountains appeared and then East Penobscot Bay. Ten miles away at Islesboro Island a straight horizontal line of fog appeared between the water and the trees. Variation after variation continued for hours.
In the early afternoon the sky turned blue and cumulous clouds were ushered in. They thickened and the dark clouds brought intermittent rain. In the far distance there were towering thunderheads, and between us and them all variations of wind swept clouds. In the end, as dinner time approached, the south wind picked up and blew it all away. The night was full of stars. On days like this I wonder what the solar panel thinks is going on.
Addendum: The triangular rock is called appropriately Pulpit Rock and is the home to a reported 300 y/o osprey nest. It is at Pulpit Harbors entrance.
2 comments:
Debby was moving so slow and causing so much rain further south of you. Glad that you can ride out a tropical storm in Maine and write to tell about it.
Now we are in NE Harbor and riding out Debby. Lots of rain and only one tiny leak!
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