FOG

During our travels we have learned many new skillsets, the least of which is becoming better weather diviners than those we have regularly become accustomed trusting for that info.  Weather is so far our biggest concern.  A close second is tides, however we will leave that for another day.  Weather from miles away can and does affect the waves, wind, and our general comfort.  The mountains, passes, and glaciers etc., all have cause and effect on our weather.  With a little practice, all of the different scenarios can be stitched together with the information gleaned from the “cough” “cough” experts, to give some idea of our daily and extended forecasts.

The one thing that we cannot predict is the fog.  Not so much that it will be there, but in what form… I have dealt with fog in many different forms and scenarios in the past, but have recently discovered that fog is alive.  It can be impressive and terrible all at the same time.  One such incident happened while Debbie and I were crossing the Gulf of Alaska.  We had been at sea without site of land for approximately 24 hours, the seas had been rough seven to eight foot following waves with following wind.  The waves would not have been so bad, except the following winds were not allowing us to stabilize the boat with the sails.  So, periodically we would get tossed by the odd wave that was not playing well with the others.  Finally, we had lost almost all wind and subsequently most of the wave action.  I had started us on a northerly trek that would bring us back up near the coast as we opted to head for Yakutat.  I could see clouds from one side of the horizon to the other.  Nothing special there, except as I neared the clouds, I could see they were literally laying on the water.  I skirted us along the edge of the clouds as long as I could, eventually running out of ability to keep heading north, I needed to start working us east.  Night was coming, another thing we were no longer accustomed to being from interior Alaska.  For those of you not in the know, in Alaska we have had very few nighttime experiences on our sailboat while at sea.  We have the long Alaska sunny nights to enjoy.  This is one of the perks of northern Alaska summers.  As we are working our way south, night not only comes, but it comes earlier and lasts longer.

As we start covering ourselves with the blanket of nightfall we are also entering into a cloud bank of unknown size.  I have all available marker lights on, but they do not penetrate the clouds, they simply add to the eeriness of it all by casting a light glow that shows us just how little visibility there is available.  We do have radar, but have had little opportunity to use it in such a scenario.  I calculate based on the current speed and general direction I am taking us, we have about 20 more hours of traveling before we arrive in the Yakutat area.  Fortunately, we have seen no other vessels on the ocean since we left the protected waters of Prince William Sound.  The bad news is that we will enter into waters commonly used by the large floating cities that double as cruise ships by early light.  The clouds persist through the night and into the morning.  The sun is up by 5 am, but you can only tell by the opaque light showing us the silhouette of just about every imaginable horror I could imagine.  The radar says there is nothing there, but I am pretty sure that a ship is coming right at us, complete with tall mast and full black sails and maybe even a ghostly crew.  Then there were the large whales that must be breaching just on the other side of that dark spot in the fog.  The scenarios go on and on and become even more comical and terrifying as time goes on. I wish this were a joke, but the wet mist persisted and the light and shadows were more sobering than the darkest coffee.  Almost 12 hours in the fog which included passing an area we really wanted to see, Icy Bay, an even more terrifying ordeal occurred. There was what appeared to be a break in the clouds.  A small break as if someone had taken a cake knife and cut a sliver out of the clouds just wide enough for our floating home to pass through to freedom.  What luck it was on our programmed course as well.  But wait what is all that motion in the water?  Are we heading for an obstruction?  Is that an uncharted reef?  Why is that one spot free of fog, this can’t be right!  Double check the radar… nothing.  “Trust your equipment, not your senses” I keep telling myself.  Triple check everything then back up on deck with binoculars.  Finally my senses get lined up.  Having traveled through this void of the senses for so long, my mind has chosen to represent the simple movement of water rippling in sunlight as a danger.  With a little laugh to myself, and a sudden feeling of relaxation from the realization that all is well.  Three Quarter Time pops out of the cloud bank almost instantly into a clear blue cloudless sky with a nearly glass like ocean.  In just a few hours we run into our first ship on the radar in days, a very large cruise ship, then a few small fishing boats, and another large cruise ship.  What great timing we have.

As for the fog we have now been in the misty, the blinding white, and soggy wet.  These versions have caused considerably less mental drama, they have not lasted as long and do not bring on nearly the same feelings of dread.  We are here for the experience of nature, and sometimes you have to be careful what you ask for, as you may get it in the most unexpected of ways.

Paul