It’s been difficult to see the beauty and grandeur around us over past week. We have “felt” our way in and out of anchorages in dense fog. To “feel” our way, we use radar (thank goodness for radar!) that allows us to see land formations and any other boats that might be in our area (so far, none) and we use navigation software on the iPad and Macbook. Using GPS, it shows our position on the chart–but the chart isn’t always accurate:
Trust me, we were not on land!
Traveling in fog means both Ron and I are “on duty” while underway. It’s not relaxing. Our foggy days have been mostly dead calm which means we are being powered by our diesel engine and not by sail. That means it’s noisy. We prefer sailing. We prefer being able to see where we’re going.
These dark days (light doesn’t get through dense fog) have been tough on me. It’s cold. It’s damp. It’s hard being so isolated and far from family. I’ve been concerned for loved ones going through challenges right now back home. And when we were able to download our email last week, I discovered that my cousin–our families grew up together–lost his second son to accidental injuries earlier that week. I cannot imagine the pain of losing one’s child. How does one deal with losing both their children in similar accidents just 5 years apart? My heart has been heavy, and the dark and dampness has added weight to my sorrow and concern for this family. It is so hard being days away from loved ones, isolated on a small boat in the wilderness, with the damp cold darkness closing in around us.