Fog is a Part of Lighthouse Weather
August 18, 2024 was a foggy summer day on Penobscot Bay. The obscurity is a custom of the sea at this time of year. Page through history, be it a cursory or passionate examination, and one will discover ample evidence, centuries in the making, of the menacing effects of fog up and down the Maine coast.
Therefore, to experience another murky day at Owls Head Lighthouse is nothing new, yet there was a sense of magnetism amid the swirling mist. A profound quiet permeated the air, save two blasts of the fog horn that was sounding every twenty seconds.
On this particular morning, the water temperature was a half-degree warmer than the air temperature according to NOAA’s Penobscot Bay weather buoy; however, at sixty-one degrees, there was nothing mild feeling about the wafting vapor.
The chill, stillness and vast blankness of gray was all-embracing. Melancholy was the mood, I sensed. Even some leaves from the venerable apple tree were falling along the walkway. The fallen leaves – now more gold than green and randomly strewn about, were a stark reminder that a change in seasons was not too distant.
As I normally do, up to the lantern I went to check on the lamps inside the fourth order Fresnel lens. During my climb of the short staircase, I stopped midway to listen to the fog horn sounding outside the sturdy brick walls of the 1852 lighthouse. I enjoy hearing the bellows resonate through this encirclement of history. The phenomenon is always a rhythmic interlude for the spirit.
A minute later I was aloft, basking in the brilliance and warmth emanating from the classical lens. Peering inside the lens at its ethereal realm aglow, a sense of order was evident straightaway. The lamps were good to go!
I could now turn my attention to the limits of visibility beyond the lantern – and it was meager. Sight fell off before it had time to frolic much farther than the foothold of rock at water’s edge. There was nary a sound of a motorized boat, and only occasionally did I hear a distant vessel – somewhere, sound its horn in defiance at the misty mantle.
Throughout, the fog came ashore wave on wave upon a southeast wind. Relentless was its silent march. Cool was its touch. Immersed in the foggy fascination, I soaked up the experience to the fullest. After all, the light was shining, the fog horn was sounding and history was ever-present around me. Lighthouse weather – I love it!