A day of bridges

On Wednesday we departed the Blount dock in Warren well in advance of the publicized sailing time of 2:00PM.  All the passengers were aboard and enjoying a first meal and the tide was going out.  If the captain had waited until 2:00, we would have likely ended up enjoying dinner in Warren.

Last night the tables were turned; our departure from Newport was delayed by an hour and a half.  Given the unsettled weather the captain advised us to take advantage of the motion sickness remedies being offered and explained that we would not leave Newport until 9:30.  We were going to be in the Atlantic Ocean for about 90 minutes as we left the mouth of Narragansett Bay and made the turn west to enter the protection of the Long Island Sound.  His hope was that everyone would be in their cabins and ready for bed before the "rockin' n' rollin'" began.  Oh, what a ride.  And, then what a marvelous sleep as we sailed through the night.

We awoke, not surprisingly, to dense fog.  As we approached the East River after breakfast, the fog experience was made more intense by the regular sounding of our fog horn and several of the crew at the bow on both levels straining for sight of channel markers and other boats and obstructions.  The moment the Throgg's Neck Bridge miraged into view was ... well, beyond description.  (See my photographic effort for this date at my Flickr page.)

From there we sailed the East River to the southern tip of Manhattan and paused for a leisurely time bobbing about at the feet of Miss Liberty.  As we admired her and relished the moment, some thoughtful soul on the crew played Kate Smith's rendition of "God Bless America" over the PA.  Then, we made our way into the Hudson (not actually a river until beyond Albany, as it's tidal for 150 miles inland, making it an estuary of the Atlantic Ocean that far).

In total, we sailed under 14 bridges today (and, from Miss Liberty I could see the Varazanno-Narrows in the distance through the mist).  Need I say I photographed every one?  Probably not.  I shall refrain from "sharing" either images or bridge names in the proper order.  But, my parting shot is below -- looking back through the sea smoke at the fading George Washington Bridge from some distance up the Hudson.  Sigh ...

  

To linger at the edge

After supper last night we gathered for a lecture on Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef, the next two national parks we are to visit, and I went to bed ready for my first view of Bryce's luminous windows, fins and hoodoos. We awoke to the thickest fog I have ever seen. The temperature and the dew point matched exactly at 46 degrees.

We dragged our feet at every opportunity, Chrystal and Marc changing the schedule, moving our going out to the rim later and later in the morning: stopping at Bryce's visitor center to see the excellent film about the park and take in the museum, including a "geomoment" with Marc, and then at the lovely, old-style, hospitable lodge (front porch view to the right and dining room above) for another cup of coffee, all the while willing either the temperature or the dew point to change -- which, stubbornly, neither did.


Off to the rim with us (my first-ever view captured in the large image above). With zero visibility, I think our group slogged on with amazing good cheer, asking questions and responding to Marc's instruction as though the wondrous view were actually there before us.

Then, to our utter amazement and delight, the fog began breaking up, blowing, swirling to reveal mysterious formations, more and more of them out from us, below us, the scene changing with every nanosecond that passed. A truly magical, mystical experience that no words could ever describe. Enthralled, we walked from Inspiration Point to Sunset Point and moved by coach to Fairyland Point (the park's northern most outlook and where the wind howled), our precious time at Bryce growing short.








I wonder, had we simply walked up to the rim, the air clear and the view perfect, if I would have left Bryce with the same reverent feeling. I suspect not. Surely, viewing the clearing of the fog is a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Rain or shine

These two photographs pretty much tell the story of this Sunday. Through all our activities it rained. The precipitation didn't stop us from doing what we needed to do, but we waited it out to see if we could manage a walk without rain gear. When we set out at 3:15, the skies were still heavy. But, as we came back up the driveway at 4:30, the sun shown, light streaming across the backyard, spotlighting the bench between the house and the pond.

Almost before we got inside and had supper preparations underway, though, things had darkened again, a heavy fog settling on the water, in the trees, casting a luminous glow over our little part of the world.


I hope I never tire of the wonder of it all.

A gray day

The days of late have been wet and cold. And, today dawned foggy. With errands to do -- like the grocery story and the pharmacy -- requiring moving a vehicle, we included a walk on the Governor's Rail Trail (a two-mile round trip) in Edgefield part of our outing. While we set out across the dam at Slade Lake in dense fog, that fog eventually formed drops and we ended up wet. And, everything we saw dripped.


This sort of damp darkness doesn't necessarily have a negative effect on me. In fact, I rather like overcast days. (I've been known to say that they match my personality.) This one, though, took a turn toward a heavy sadness.

The county coronor called during the afternoon to ask a favor. He had with him at the funeral home two twenty-something women, daughters of a man who had died. They were the next-of-kin, one living in Charleston and the other in Chicago, planning a funeral and coming to terms not only with his death but with his suicide. Would I help? Would I officiate? No time to fill the silence after the question mark with explanations of canon law. Planning a funeral to be held on Monday is next.

But, before that. The late afternoon, still and grey, was perfect for another attempt at a panorama of a favorite spot on our usual walking route -- recently trimmed pampas grass at the 13th green on the Pine Ridge Country Club golf course. This one is better than previous efforts, but not the one just yet. But, I think it sets the tone for the end of this day. Somber and sedate.