Where the Coast Resists the Fog

It was a lark, really. I woke to a dense fog blanketing the island; mystery would be in plenty that morning. But would I find the right photo? I rushed outside, unsure what came next. You never know. In this respect, photography is like fishing—you may or may not catch what you're hoping for, but you'll enjoy the effort of trying to make it happen.

I love fog. Its thickness shifts from minute to minute, making the photo you envisioned come alive or vanish just like that. My first stop was my best. Heading on to the loop road, I pulled over near the headlands. In the pea soup of fog, almost no one was around. I set about looking for my subject, settling on a nearby rock ledge. A storm offshore had sent up waves made for the scene. The rest was magic.

I gave thanks to the ocean and ledges. Moments like these bind me deeper into Acadia's fabric. I was home again.