The sun comes up around six now. We were on the water by quarter past, with our headlamps on, in the fog, heading east. For this foggy morning, Todd chose a fog-colored plastic kayak- just to see how the other half lives. His boat was still in his shop, where he'd been repairing the fiberglass (see earlier blogs that should have been titled "Bashed against the Rocks").
We hardly saw anyone else out there. We heard a few boats, and barely saw a few. When we waited out of the way for a lobster boat to pass, the fishermen waved at us. That happens seldom enough that it's worth mentioning, and it always makes Todd wonder.
Possible reasons lobster fishermen wave at us:
1.) They recognize us as responible fellow mariners, and out of this sense of fellowship, feel compelled to offer a greeting.
2.) They're fulfilling their quota to the Chamber of Commerce, which pays them to wave at a certain number of probable tourists.
3.) They know us and we just don't recognize them.
4.) They were waving to the pretty woman on the beach behind us.
5.) They harbor a secret desire to be kayakers themselves.
6.) They're just friendly guys.
We thought the fog might lift, but we paddled out around, Millet and Saddleback, navigating as much by feel as by compass. That's something we couldn't do if we were paddling elsewhere, and makes us appreciate kayaking so much among these islands and getting to know them. Even so, there's always a few surprises. We took a break on Enchanted, which is just as gorgeous when you can't see beyond its shore. As we returned to Stonington, the fog cleared, and it felt as if we were emerging from a surreal nether-world, returning to the place we work and know people.