Todd Duncan Tennyson
Well-known member
In the fog,
I peer through the windshield wondering where the road is.
Ol' Alex is still asleep, curled up on the waders and my heavy coat.
He wakes for a moment,
closes his eyes and drifts with the fog.
I am alone, no buddies could attend, and navigation is just about not possible.
The worst fog I have ever encountered.
With the window down, I can hear, but I still can not see.
The air is cold on my cheeks, and the trailer creaks and groans,
chains clank against the cold metal, and the whole rig surges with the weight of the duckbomber.
Studded tires claw at the ground, but they are as lost as I am.
Going 20 feet at a time,
looking for the lines on the road,
driving by braille.
The fog sleeps in the hollows and coves.
It builds up like a drift of snow.
Now all is turned around.
I have been in the water with this type of fog.
Up and down are no longer guaranteed.
They must be questioned and cross checked.
It is a tough deal to run the boat, cross check the instruments and make ones way in these conditions out on the big water.
I thought about it for a few minutes, and pulled over to rest my eyes and listen to mexican music that made its way to my radio somehow.
Accordions and guitar lost in the fog with me.
Bouncing off the Ionosphere clear from Mexico and safe in the pre dawn.
I got out and opened the door behind the drivers seat.
Alex looked up at me and I said "sorry man, I want to go, but I am not ready for this."
Alex is a seasoned and wise hound.
He yawned his half breed yawn, stretched his legs and said
"don't sweat it, lets bag it and come back another day. Besides, we can still eat some of that duck that we made yesterday."
I gave him a pat on the head, and in agreement, we turned the duckbomber around on the highway, and limped on home through the fog.
I still couldn't see a thing.
Never had fog so thick that I had to do that before.
I have waited an hour on anchor in the channel so that I could find the shore, listening to wings overhead, wondering where I was, where the north star was.
Wondering if Orion was lost too?
Perhaps everything was lost.
Perhaps it was just me.
We made our way back to the house and I managed to back my boat into the fence!
Was glad to fall into bed next to Anya.
She slept through the entire adventure, but said that I was a wise man to listen to all of the clues that I got along the way, and to come home alive to hunt another day.
I have flipped my rig in the snow with a boat in tow, (Alex was there for that too, and sleeping as usual).
These days, when that little voice inside says "go home fool" I do.
I used up my stupid luck a long time ago.
I peer through the windshield wondering where the road is.
Ol' Alex is still asleep, curled up on the waders and my heavy coat.
He wakes for a moment,
closes his eyes and drifts with the fog.
I am alone, no buddies could attend, and navigation is just about not possible.
The worst fog I have ever encountered.
With the window down, I can hear, but I still can not see.
The air is cold on my cheeks, and the trailer creaks and groans,
chains clank against the cold metal, and the whole rig surges with the weight of the duckbomber.
Studded tires claw at the ground, but they are as lost as I am.
Going 20 feet at a time,
looking for the lines on the road,
driving by braille.
The fog sleeps in the hollows and coves.
It builds up like a drift of snow.
Now all is turned around.
I have been in the water with this type of fog.
Up and down are no longer guaranteed.
They must be questioned and cross checked.
It is a tough deal to run the boat, cross check the instruments and make ones way in these conditions out on the big water.
I thought about it for a few minutes, and pulled over to rest my eyes and listen to mexican music that made its way to my radio somehow.
Accordions and guitar lost in the fog with me.
Bouncing off the Ionosphere clear from Mexico and safe in the pre dawn.
I got out and opened the door behind the drivers seat.
Alex looked up at me and I said "sorry man, I want to go, but I am not ready for this."
Alex is a seasoned and wise hound.
He yawned his half breed yawn, stretched his legs and said
"don't sweat it, lets bag it and come back another day. Besides, we can still eat some of that duck that we made yesterday."
I gave him a pat on the head, and in agreement, we turned the duckbomber around on the highway, and limped on home through the fog.
I still couldn't see a thing.
Never had fog so thick that I had to do that before.
I have waited an hour on anchor in the channel so that I could find the shore, listening to wings overhead, wondering where I was, where the north star was.
Wondering if Orion was lost too?
Perhaps everything was lost.
Perhaps it was just me.
We made our way back to the house and I managed to back my boat into the fence!
Was glad to fall into bed next to Anya.
She slept through the entire adventure, but said that I was a wise man to listen to all of the clues that I got along the way, and to come home alive to hunt another day.
I have flipped my rig in the snow with a boat in tow, (Alex was there for that too, and sleeping as usual).
These days, when that little voice inside says "go home fool" I do.
I used up my stupid luck a long time ago.
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