We wake up to dense fog. WTF?
Now I’m from London and I know fog but this stuff is THICK and there is no wind to shift it. I don’t recall fog this thick since I was a child and we still used coal on our fires! On top of that, I am completely unprepared for this phenomenon – at least I didn’t realise it got this bad at this time of year (I presumed that it was an autumn/winter kind of thing).
I can just about make out the two boats anchored next to us and that’s it. Fog horns sound all around us in a regular pattern - automated ones from the lighthouses and navigation buoys I presume. There don’t seem to be many coming from boats but that’s because most people probably aren’t stupid enough to go out in it if they don’t have to.
We wait until about 1030 and Mike says it’s starting to lift, so we pull the anchor up (which is covered in a thick, slimy dark grey coating of mud) and start to motor into the channel. As luck would have it a large fishing boat is heading out too and Mike decides to use him as a pilot boat and tucks in behind him. Unfortunately he motors a lot quicker than us and soon we lose him in the fog.
It’s so weird. Everything is muffled and we have no bloody idea where we are as we can’t see anything. By using the distance gauge on the radar we are able to work out that we have about a quarter of a mile of visibility – and we have 35 miles to go. The water is dead calm again and there is just enough visibility to be able to dance around the fishing pots.
Our method of getting through is for Mike to sit at the helm and dodge the pots, and I sit in front of the charts and the radar, frequently shouting out things like ‘there’s something dead ahead – half a mile’ which Mike is unable to see but at least he’s prepared for when it appears out of the gloom. Every couple of minutes he blows our fog horn. Amazingly our gas one has run out of gas – I think some charterers may have been playing!
Occasionally the fog seems to lift and we can see for up to about a mile, only for it to descend just as thickly a short while later. The small lobster boats dodge all over the place, completely unfazed by it all but I am terrified every time it descends. I keep thinking about the James Herbert book “The Fog” where dead mariners rise up out of the fog and murder everyone.
It’s chilly in the fog too. Half way through the journey I have to give in to the need for warmth over style and wear my only pair of socks with my trainers. Worn with 3/4 length trousers, I am very glad I don’t have a mirror. Oh, the shame!
So we carry on in this merry way for the 35 miles which takes us 6 hours but amazingly and without mishap, at 1630 we are gliding, hopefully, into Boothbay Harbor – it could be anywhere – we can’t see it! Joe has described their house to us but the fog is too thick to make out any houses. Then suddenly Mike spots the blue hull of Brown Eyed Girl, their boat, and a dinghy races out of the gloom to greet us – Joe had seen us coming (although he’d already raced out to meet another boat presuming it was us).
He takes my lines and ties us onto one of his two mooring balls then takes me ashore in his dinghy to find Judith.
It’s great to see them again and Judith immediately presses a large glass of SB into my hand before giving me a guided tour of their beautiful home. She tells me the views are spectacular and I hope I’ll see them before we leave! We go back to the boat to change and suddenly the fog lifts for a while and their house is revealed.
We go out for dinner in the evening after meeting some of their friends at the local yacht club. Dinner is lobster. What else! Twins in fact (meaning you get two of them). They are delicious and I hope I have many more!
We have a great evening in great company but after the stress of the day, my bed calls. The boat is cold and clammy but the bed only feels a little unpleasant and it’s not long before sleep comes.
Position: 43 deg 15 min N, 69 deg 38 min W
Distance so far: 1630 miles
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