Yesterday was all about the fog. When I woke up at 4 am, I looked out the window and could barely see across the street. When I turned on the car, the thermometer read 35 degrees, and I had to scrape a thick layer of frost off my windshield. The drive to work, on rural country roads I'm still not fully comfortable with, was slow and plodding. I couldn't seem more than 50 feet or so in front of the car. I knew it'd be even more densely fogged in down right on the river.
It was so foggy that, while parked on one side of the river, we could look across and see a tiny pinprick of light form the streetlight over the ramp. We'd sit there, hoping that cars would leave their headlights on so we could see them, or that they'd honk to let us know they were there. It was eerie. It was like the boat was the entire world, there was nothing else but the white nothing.
When the sun came out behind the fog, we could look straight at the sun, and see a perfectly round orb. The sun, in the trees through the fog was spooky:
The fog didn't lift until after 10 am. I have no clue if the rest of the region was fogged in that late. I can only imagine how foggy it must get in the winter, or what it must be like when it snows. You're very aware of weather in a job like this. Today, the sun came out and it was about 65 degrees. On the shiny metal deck, I was sweating in a tshirt. In the cabin, which is rather shady even with all the windows, we had the heat on, and when the boat was moving, the breeze worked it's way through my sweater. Weather, I tell ya!