This morning was an unusual and entirely unexpected experience for those of us who
row in the desert. When we got up at 4AM, RUdder looked out the window and
commented it might be too foggy to row. Fog in the desert is usually an evanescent
thing, though, and wind or fog at our house don't necessarily imply the same at
the lake, 10 miles away. The fog was unusually thick in our neghborhood and on up
the highway, though, enough to have me driving a little slower than usual even in
the more-asphalted areas. Once I made the turn to the west, though, I noticed the
air was much clearer and I could see the lakes and its bridges with no trouble. As
usual, we were the first two there (I swear, this trait in Rudder comes from a
minor haunting by my grandfather).
We joked about coming home and
snuggling instead of rowing, but he was supposed to row with She-Hulk today and it
wasn't really anywhere near foggy enough to justify taking the day off.So we took
down the oars, carried the boats to the water, and set off. Even down right there
on the water it was fairly clear, as I headed to the western dam, then turned
around and came back toward the east, but by the time I'd completed my first
thousand meters or so, it was looking a bit hazier. Two hundred meters past the
bridge and I could only see the lights on top of it. I passed the ASU stadium and
saw only a bright white haze, and then moved on to the darker eastern end of the
lake. There are no lights or buildings, or much of anything else out
there.
The Rural Road bridge was nothing but a dark shadow until I
got close to it. After it, there were only a few distant lights on the shore, and
then nothing. There were no sounds from the highways, and nothing I could see but
water and grayness, that would have been blackness but for the lights on my boat
and a fwe by the edges of the lake. It was like moving through cotton. I couldn't
see the buoys that mark the eastern end of the lake until they were 50 meters
away, even with the lights right behind them. Very spooky. I kept thinking of a
story by Larry Niven (I think) about a man who wandered into a dense fog and
wandered out again in a different universe. I made my turn wide, and stayed close
enough to see at least the shadow of the shore, and decided to head back in. I
don't mind the occasional risk if there's a payoff for taking it, but there was no
reason to risk this. And it was dangerous; rowing shells flip easily, and I knew
some of the other boats out there might not have good lights on them. And if I
fell in, the chance of anyone else noticing and coming to help was very low,
something necessary to consider in the water temperature of even an Arizona
winter.
By the time I'd gotten my boat up and rinsed it off, everyone
else had made the same decision, even Coach DI's juniors. Rudder and She-Hulk came
up last, so I made sure to give them a healthy helping of shit for not doing the
safe thing until even the juniors had come in. He tried claiming he was flying
IFR, but I pointed out that She-Hulk was actually the pilot (rowing bow) and she's
not IFR rated, and that even in an airplane it's only legal to fly on instruments
if both pilot and aircraft are IFR rated. No nav instruments on these
boats!
We used to have to stay on shore for days in a row when we
lived in Houston. Out here we rarely have to cancel practice because of weather.
Next time it happens, I hope it's obvious far enough in advance that I can just
stay in bed.