Endicott Arm The fog began to form just before sunrise, which was at 3:55 today. Out of a clear sky tendrils of vapor began creeping out of the forest tops, flowing over the distant ridges. Like a child playing a sneaking game, it freezes in place when looked at directly, and advances only in our peripheral vision. Yet, in the span of an hour, it has erased everything except our boat and the circle of water which travels with us. Without scale or reference point, passing surf scoters seem gigantically outsized. Pieces of drifting ice appear on the edges of our moving circle of vision first as fishing mew gulls, then as large, white yachts and then finally resolve into a piece of ancient ice the size of a chest freezer. The first telltales of the fogs’ lifting begin to appear above, as the opaque gray ceiling takes on an increasingly translucent blue hue. A distant rock cliff appears, seemingly suspended in the gray sky, before being connected to the forest below and cornice capped ridge above as the sun dissolves the mist. Within an hour, the sun has vanquished the fog, and morning dew remains only in the shadows on the west side of the cabin. It is now 7:00, and the air is redolent with galley smells promising scones and fresh coffee. The crew is gathering near the pots of coffee and hot water. The day is now fully formed and begun. Written by Bill Bailey
Posted on: Sun, 01 Dec 2013 16:52:31 +0000
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