By Bruce Davidson
I took this photo 5:37 pm Thanksgiving Day, October 9th, 2017 (The sun sets one hour later at 6:39). It shows two guys, undoubtedly qualified to star in the next sequel to the movie Dumb and Dumber, emerging from behind Snug Island and having the opportunity to behold for the first time what awaits them in the open Bay. As you can plainly see a monstrous wall of fog is rolling in apparently from the south-west and rapidly consuming everything in its path. Now do they:
a) STOP, check out what is happening and make a plan? Of course not, that would be sissy.
b) Execute a quick u-turn and head straight back to Snug Harbour sticking as close to shore as possible, thanking their lucky stars should they make it? No way man, we’re not going back!
c) Make a hard right figuring that with their mighty 10 hp motor they will outrun the beast? But of course, what’s a little cloud gonna do?
And how did that fine decision turn out, you might well ask?
Well truthfully, I really don’t know. What I do know is that I heard the motor going at the same pitch for a minute or so until they were quickly swallowed up by the primary fog front cascading unseen from the west right over the rocks and trees of Franklin Island. The pitch then reverted to a much lower and quieter whine which I could hear for quite a while, then nothing. It’s very quiet in a pea soup fog in dead calm conditions. Scary quiet. In a ‘tin’ boat without a compass, no wind and no sun you have no clue where anything is.
As you might expect now comes the lecture. I’m not going to embarrass myself by telling you about the occasions when I, myself, have made similar bone-headed decisions in the fog. What I can admit to is that I have gained immense respect for the peril of the clammy grey beast and have no desire to encounter it again under any circumstances. It’s a real ego-crusher because no matter how carefully you try to steer in a straight line, you eventually end up crossing your own wake. Not that you will admit it at first, anything but. There’s no way that can be my wake, I’ve been steering dead straight, you claim. And then the aweful realisation takes hold—there’s nobody else around! It has to be my wake! And isn’t that the most sickening feeling imaginable?
Not to leave everyone up in the air, I have to reveal that in this particular occasion the fog bank lifted after about a half hour, leaving about 30 minutes until sunset, so our heroes doubtlessly survived the ordeal. But they were very lucky. They could just as easily have spent the night freezing on some barren rock or worse huddled in their tiny 14 ft. aluminum boat without heavy overcoats or sleeping bags.
So the next time you see a fog bank rolling in, remember that Mother Nature doesn’t have to play by our rules, or any rules at all for that matter. A rolling fog bank can close in from more than one direction with surprising rapidity. When it overtakes you, you will be humbled just as surely as God gave us the wondrous Georgian Bay. Best not learn the lesson.
Download this story and the entire WCA Spring Newsletter May 2018 in PDF format (1.5MB).