Le fog

This morning was another peculiar micro-climate morning. Foggy and 56 in SF where I woke up. Condensation covered the car and kept re-forming on the windows as I drove. The key: heat up the windows, and the fog won't condense.

Crossing the Golden Gate, there was fog at the SF side toll plaza, and then none just 20 feet beyond it on the bridge. Perfectly clear.

Fog in the valleys as I approached the boat house. My coach called to tell me he was under the weather and couldn't make practice, so I set up boats and we went out.

There was no fog over the creek. Yet as we pulled into the ferry channel, right next to the creek, over the miles of salt marsh, hovered an ethereal and wispy patch of fog. But only there. Not on the highway. Not over the water. Just over the marsh.

These days, first light hits about 15 minutes into practice.

As we rowed east toward Oakland, I noticed that the new, jet black carbon fiber oars, when wet, reflected the daybreak behind us. As the oar moved to bow, the angle of reflection changed, giving a panning view of the colors pushing over the horizon, then, just before the blades dropped into the water, a sideways silhouette portrait of the crew. I wished for my camera.