Urban poetry

Here's an old picture: a foggy wharf in Halifax, Nova Scotia, in 2019. It has been so unrelentingly humid here recently (like 90% or close to it) that any outdoor exertion, however mild, leaves me literally soaked to the skin with perspiration.

Which for some reason reminded me of the thick fogs in Nova Scotia, which were just as drenching but not nearly so unpleasant.

A change in the weather is known to be extreme

(When I typed this Dylan quote as the title of the post, it occurred to me that I might have already used it. So I checked—I've already used it for three different posts, including one about Antarctica in 2018. But there are more than 5000 posts on this blog, so I think I'm allowed to repeat myself.)

It had been sunny and (reasonably) warm in Fortuna Bay in the morning, but by the time we got into the zodiacs in Prince Olav Harbour after lunch it was chilly and overcast. After about an hour, the mists rolled in over the mountains, looking like a backdrop in a movie where something very bad is about to happen and the wind started to pick up. And by the time we got back to the ship there was a thick fog and heavy swells and the zodiacs were bouncing around like giant rubber ping pong balls.

Spooky seas

After mostly clear and occasionally sunny weather, this afternoon the ship was travelling in an eerie mist, with no visibility in any direction. It would have made an excellent setting for a Stephen King story.

When my baby, when my baby smiles at me I go to Rio

This time it really is Rio.

De Janeiro.

My-oh-me-oh.

Though that might not be your first guess looking at this picture, taken on Copacabana Beach this afternoon—it looks a lot more like the chilly Northern California beaches of my childhood. I'm here until Friday and it's scheduled to rain every day, but at least, despite appearances, it's not cold.

A foggy day in New York town

A picture of the Hudson from last winter: fog, a ferry, a gull soaring overhead.

Plus you can't even see New Jersey.

Cloud forest

 

The weather was surprisingly sunny my first two days here—yesterday was actually hot—but there was a light rain for the start of the birdwatching hike I took at a local reserve early this morning, and when we were driving back to the hotel afterwards, there was thick fog everywhere. (Oh, so that's the cloud forest I kept hearing about.)

The rains started in mid-afternoon and have been steady, occasionally torrential, ever since. We're not just sitting in a cloud, we're sitting in a cloud that's leaking very badly.

It's Monday again

Readings and assignments are starting to pile up, and I have class tonight, so it is definitely a Monday, and unfortunately it feels like one.

Here's a magnificent tree in the morning fog near our place in Wallkill.

The view from a detour

One of the roads we didn't mean to be on headed up a mountain; I pulled into an alleged scenic overlook to turn around.

The view from the overlook was a sea of blank white, but when I turned around I saw this: fog-draped trees heading up the mountain.

Snow

It actually snowed yesterday, not long and not hard, but proof that winter is icumen in.

Here's a picture from Antarctica (Pleneau Island, I believe -- I'm too lazy to verify) a place so fond of winter they have it all year round.

BL OW HO RN

I can't post anything about the virus right now, because I'm vacillating between fear and rage and do not want to Go There today.

Fortunately, this truck barreling through a foggy morning on a highway in India makes me smile. Usually I spend a lot of effort getting rid of vignetting -- those shadows in the corners -- but I think it works here, adding to the otherworldly effect.

More urban poetry

I did actually have one day of sun in Toronto, but this picture of the CN Tower is more typical of what I saw there.

The end of the pond

The boat stopped near the far end of the fjord so a group of hikers could get off and start a three-day hike out through the park.

Though it was a little bit like the setup of a bad horror movie, I was most impressed by the idea of carrying all the food and water you would need for three days -- plus a tent and a sleeping bag -- to hike over the mountains. I know people do it, but I don't think I ever actually saw a group of people hoisting all that gear on their backs and heading off into the trees.

And smiling as they waved goodbye.

Cliffs

I've been lucky enough to sail through several fjords now. Although the cliffs at Western Brook Pond rise a mere 2,000 feet -- half the height of Milford Sound -- there's nothing quite like sailing through still deep waters while walls of rock tower overhead.

But it's definitely a different experience with this heavy mist draped over the clifftops -- solemn, a little spooky. Though I rode on the top deck of the boat all the way out, when we turned around and the wind was in my face, I only lasted about fifteen minutes before moving inside.

Where, in typical Newfoundland fashion, a singalong was in progress. One of the crew was playing guitar, and I played the spoons on a couple of songs, which was so much fun I may buy a set to play at home.

Getting closer...

I would like to see these views on a sunny day sometime, but once again, the Newfoundland mist and the fog created such a beautiful, if eerie, atmosphere that I'm having a hard time picking just a few of the pictures.

...And the trees

The lighthouse at Woody Point

Woody Point is the location of the Discovery Centre for Gros Morne National Park, and incidentally contained one of my favorite lighthouses on the trip.

Norris Point

This little town is outside the national park; we took a water taxi from here across Bonne Bay (which I kept hearing as “Bombay”) to Woody Point.

I love the pop of that yellow building against the gray skies.

Sunday bird blogging

      A gull in Halifax.

Two last pictures of foggy Halifax

Boats in the fog

More pictures from that foggy evening in Halifax.