FOGGED IN

By Ben robicheau ~ brobicheau@cogeco.ca

I always enjoyed September on the Island. You start to feel a bit of a nip in the air, and though sad to see another summer go; it’s often a relief to finally leave the fog season behind and be able to enjoy the sometimes brilliantly clear days of early Fall. As a kid I thought that the quality and quantity of fog we experienced, sometimes on a daily basis, was unique to the Islands. But after spending a summer in Louisburg, Cape Breton, I know that there is at least one other place that can equal us for the density of its summer air. One of the things that always amazed me about fog was how many different types there are. I’ve often thought that we should be like the Inuit, who have many different names for snow, depending on the quality of it.
As a kid I would sometimes forget that the whole world wasn’t living in a thick, cold, wet cloud. In those days we didn’t leave the Island as frequently as people do today. I remember going up through Long Island after several weeks of being socked in on Westport, and by the time we reached Lily Small’s place in Central Grove, I was amazed to see the sun. I had forgotten that not everyone was living their summer under a wet, grey blanket. Of course, by the time we approached Tiverton, the fog had crept back and we were driving with the headlights on again! The Neck was usually clear most of the way, except for brief dips back into the soup again at Little River, Sandy Cove and Seawall Hill.
In those days clothesdryers were still not a common item in most households, so most back yards had a clothesline. Because of the fog, it was not unusual to see the same clothes on the line for several days in a row, still trying to get dry. My mother did the laundry for our large family, usually with one or two kids in cloth diapers, and trying to get things dry on a line was often frustrating. If the fog was in solid, nothing dried at all, in fact they usually got wetter than when they came from the wringer. If the fog did clear out, you had to time it just right to bring the laundry in again before the fog rolled back in or any drying achieved during the brief period of sun would be lost. Sometimes the fog could drift in and out several times in a day, alternately wetting and drying your washing. Many times Mom would give up on the outdoors and string up the laundry in the porch or across the kitchen.
Of course the fog always lingered the longest over the water and this made for some interesting situations for a fog-watcher. I remember seeing the fog densely covering the harbour to a depth of three or four feet with nothing but clear, brilliant sun above. A boat would go by and all you could see would be the cabin and spars moving along above a grey mist. At other times the fog would reverse itself and hover a few feet above the water. In this case you could clearly see the hull of a boat going by with the upper part hidden from view. Some days the fog would move aside like a curtain, granting us a few hours of sunshine over the Islands and Passages, but hovering just offshore ready to sweep back in at a moment’s notice, a constant reminder not to get too used to that rare commodity, sunshine!
I remember in the mid-sixties when the Digby scallop fleet was fishing out of Westport. At that time they had a reputation for being, shall we say, economical, and only one boat in the whole fleet had radar. On foggy days the whole fleet stayed at the wharf until that one boat left, then they all followed him out. When he decided to come back in they all followed him in. If he decided to return to Digby a day early, the whole fleet left a day early. Without radar or the intimate knowledge of the area that local fisherman had, the fog made the whole Digby scallop fleet helpless.
As teen-agers living on the Island, the fog had a major effect on our lives too. We used to listen mostly to radio station WMEX from Boston because they had disc jockey Arnie (Woo Woo) Ginsburg with all the late breaking news on those new bands from England, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and all the other important things we wanted to know about. They also had weather reports and it always seemed to me that if they had very hot weather in Boston, we could be assured of thick fog the next day. We still continued to do the things we always did, but Saturday night weiner roasts in Pond Cove were not quite as much fun with banks of cold wet fog rolling in off the sea and the Western Light moaning in the background. Riding our bicycles, or later on, motorcycles, was also not so much fun either, especially in the evening when the fog seemed to take on an even denser, heavier quality. Besides the difficulty of seeing where you were going in the fog after dark, within a few minutes you were usually freezing cold and dripping wet. Also, the fog collected in puddles and made the grass wet and slippery, making it dangerous to zip through people’s back yards and between houses playing "bike tag".
Another social event affected by the fog was the weekly Saturday night dance at Lloyd’s Hall in Freeport. In those days the ferry stopped running at dusk but would make special trips after dark if the weather was good. Sometimes you didn’t even get to the dance, either because it was too thick to make the trip in the first place, or because you knew it was going to be that thick soon and you wouldn’t be able to get back. The dance ended at midnight and the ferry would usually arrive to pick up the dance-goers at quarter after twelve. Many times, long before Fats Domino sang "I Want to Walk You Home", signalling the last dance of the night, a rumour would sweep the Hall that the fog was coming in and the ferry was making it’s last trip. Most of the Westporters would have to cut their evening short and head for Fish Point. Sometimes the fog came in so suddenly that everyone would be stranded, in this case some people found accommodations with friends if they were lucky, walked the foggy roads until morning if not so lucky or maybe spent the night cramped and shivering in their car.
Even though it can sometimes be depressing and after eight straight days or so, you might think that you’ve seen enough fog to last a lifetime, I have to admit that it can also sometimes be spectacularly beautiful. Lifting over the Passage with the brilliant sun glaring off it, or hanging in the harbour entrance like a great grey giant, it is an impressive and in some ways unique force of nature that we might not always appreciate.
When my sister Virginia first went into the hotel business she had a guest from the States who booked one night in order to go whale watching. The next day was thick fog and the boat didn’t go out so he stayed another night and spent his time walking the Island in the fog. The next day was fog again, no trip out so he stayed one more night, more walking. When the third day was still foggy, Virginia, thinking he must be getting bored of the fog and endless walking, told him the forecast called for several more days of fog so maybe he might want to go somewhere else. He told her he was from Arizona and after a lifetime of hot, dry weather, he thought the fog was wonderful, fascinating and refreshing! He stayed several more days, just to enjoy the fog.