When I was a child I read a poem about fog, and how it came on little cat feet. Nowhere is that more appropriate than in the middle of the ocean.<\/p>\n
The fog simply comes down and engulfs you, muffling the ship \u2013 muffling your entire world \u2013 in this eerie white silence.\u00a0 The world washes out, like a modern painting \u201cwhite on white\u201d. You can see the horizon to one side of you, denoted by a slightly darker line separating it from the sky, but nothing in front. And if the fog gets thick enough, you can\u2019t even see that.\u00a0 The ship\u2019s horn is a voice in the whiteness, warning all and sundry that yes, there is still something large and moving \u2013 though not breathing in the typical sense \u2013 in this misted snow-like blanket.<\/p>\n
When the fog gets thick enough \u2013 like it used to when I was in Glacier Bay last year \u2013 you can see only a few feet away from the edge of the ship, and it feels like you\u2019re not moving at all. You feel like you\u2019re suspended in this strange motionless bubble, floating in space.<\/p>\n
No sound, except the whirr of the engines, and the padding of little cat feet\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
When I was a child I read a poem about fog, and how it came on little cat feet. Nowhere is that more appropriate than in the middle of the ocean. The fog simply comes down and engulfs you, muffling … Continue reading