Waiting for fog to lift is a mixture of hope and despair. Here in Maine, it is best to be on the despair end of things, lest multiple dashed hopes lead to mental collapse.
At the moment, I can only see a few boats in front of me. When I woke at 6AM I could see out into the bay; the first dashed hope. In Bucks Harbor the sun needs to climb over a 200 foot forested block of granite before it appears. So, if sunrise is at 5:39 (as it is this morning) the sun will not show until sometime later.
As the sky gets progressively brighter it looks like the light that came from the old fluorescent lights some of us grew up with. I strain to look for signs that the fog is lifting. Seeing the sun’s blurry orb means that the fog is not deep. Not that it matters. We have spent the day cruising while the sky above was bright blue. But at 9:15 the orb appears. Its heat is palpable and that is reflected in an increase in the watts the solar panels is generating.
Now, a few more boats appear out the front window. A hopeful sign. Even after decades of cruising, leaving a mooring or an anchorage still creates a sense of excitement and adventure. Though fog requires us to put this enthusiasm in check.
Some years Maine’s fog has been so pervasive that we chucked it in and left for home. But most days, instead of waiting for the fog to lift, we take our chances and leave for our next destination. On those days, instead of looking at Maine’s impressive vistas, the day is spent looking at a 15" screen displaying the course, the chart and the radar, all overlying each other.
Today is Sunday and on Sunday the lobster boat fleet stays in port. They may be worshiping their favorite god or sleeping off a hangover or both I suppose. So, this means there are fewer boats on the water and fewer small dots on the screen to analyze.
Great Lakes cruisers are apt to use their radios to announce their comings and goings especially in foggy conditions, but except for large commercial vessels, Maine maintains radio silence. The farther Downeast, the less noise on the radio. Boats up north are in their own private spaces.
When moving in the fog I stare at the chart plotter’s screen, while Charlotte watches out the window for lobster buoys. They appear in various guises and can be in ones, twos or more. I have on occasion stop ped the boat to figure out the next move to avoid them. Each buoy can have 50 to 300 hundred feet of weighted line below it, and I would hate to wind it around the propeller.
It is not even 10 AM. The solar panel is generating 118 watts, and that is up from nil an hour ago, so patience is the word for this morning — patience . . .
Galesburg, MI
