Looking north to Cape Foulweather on the Oregon coast, one is first impressed by the 500-foot abutment of bare rock jutting out into the Pacific Ocean.
Gazing inland, one sees a steep meadow of ground cover yielding to deciduous then the abundant coniferous trees that blanket the region.
In the clear light of a bright _ if cool _ summer day the natural beauty of verdant flora and graceful soaring fauna inspires lofty thoughts not unlike these.
However, when one looks west toward the ocean, suddenly the view diminishes markedly.
Why?
In a word, fog.
Dense, shifting, sight-restricting fog. Summers on the West Coast generally feature the ever-present fogbank.
While I am no climatologist, my understanding is that shoreline fog occurs when the cool, moist ocean air collides with the warm, dry inland air, condensing into that thick, gray, visual muffler. The greater the air differential, the greater the condensation.
Fog made San Francisco famous (along with cable cars, sourdough bread, and the Golden Gate Bridge, but I digress).
Fog is the stuff of mystery and movies, danger and consternation. It is why ships approaching coastal bays and rivers listen for deep-throated foghorns warning them of hazardous rocks.
The song, "On a clear day, you can see forever," may be true ... until you run into fog.
A whale-watching boat departing "the world's smallest harbor" in Depoe Bay, bathed in sparkling sunshine, may become quickly enveloped in the aforementioned moist monochromatic stuff, temporarily thwarting their goal of seeing some of the world's largest mammals.
Likewise along the shoreline, sun worshippers and beach walkers may suddenly experience temperature drops when fog and wind converge.
On the one hand, I think about this three-letter phenomenon at times when I or others suddenly can't seem to think clearly or the way forward becomes hidden.
Fog (and its word derivatives fogged, foggy, or clouds, cloudy) is often used to describe reduced sight, insight, thinking, reasoning, judgment and other human capacities. On the other hand, since fog is one way nature waters the forests, perhaps the metaphor can extend to a gentle way of satisfying one's spirit.
When one's view is curtailed, the reduced line of sight provides an opportunity for looking inward instead of outward. Many a good book has been read on a foggy day. Many a deep thought has been pondered or insight discovered while staring into the blank mists.
This article was written on such a morning.
Of course fog occurs elsewhere, including mountains, valleys and deserts. My musings are mostly applicable wherever one encounters this natural occurrence. A sunny walk is simply a different personal experience than one in the swirling mists.
So here's the thing: Fog ain't all bad.
It can quench the thirst of plant and human. It can force a slowdown and cooldown of one's feverish pace. Fog can provide space to reflect in the presence of the momentary unknown or of the Great Unknowable.
And remember, sooner or later, eventually the fog will lift or dissipate. And then, oh the view!
