Glory Day

My fourth-born burst into the house at noon after an early morning shift at work, and that was my first sign that something special was about to happen.

Most days she droops in, ready to eat a quick bite and crawl back into bed. 

But today she was hyped. 

"Hey, there's some really cool clouds down by the water. Wanna go to the beach and check them out?"

We live just up the cliff from Puget Sound, so maritime clouds are our daily business. But my daughter has a keen eye for interesting and unusual scientific phenomenon so if she wanted to go, I was down. 

"Birds!! Shoot 'em, Mom!"

A half hour later, we were marching Gracie around on the rocks of a low tide. A wispy layer of fog lay on the water, obscuring our vision from the optical effect my daughter was hoping to find.

After our brave hunting girl got plenty of time to stalk the seagulls and pigeons, and wade into the cold water, my daughter offered a Plan B.

"Maybe if we took a ferry ride, we'd get a better perspective."

At high tide, this heap of rocks is deep underwater; at low tide, it's a throne for seagulls. 

"A ferry ride? Yes, please!"

So off we headed to the ferry dock, just a few hundred feet away, Gracie on her long lead running circles around us to chase after the birds on the ground, my daughter beating a path to the walk-on ticket window.

Grey water merges seamlessly with purple fog. 

Lucky for us, we stepped onto the deck of a waiting ferry, and the boat immediately left the dock. We rushed to the side of the lower car deck and looked out to find...

Fog.

Fog, fog, and more fog.

F O G

Fog, in fact, for dayz. 

"Ok, this has been fun. But isn't it time for a treat?"

"It's a little chilly out here for a girl with a wet coat."

Gracie was not horribly impressed. Drooling delicately, probably from drinking too much salt water, she sat patiently as we watched hopefully for glimpses of the sky from our seats behind the wind screen.

But to no avail. 

Kingston Landing

After our fifteen minute crossing, we landed on the other side and saw that the fog was showing signs of lifting. "Maybe we will have better luck on the trip back," my daughter said hopefully. 

I was still not sure what we were looking for. 

But as it turned out, she was right. 

On our first crossing of Puget Sound, the fog had been too thick for the fog bow to appear. 

But on the way back, conditions were perfect. 

What we saw as we stood on the outdoor passenger deck with the sun at our backs looked like a white rainbow, arching across the water just beyond the ferry.

"It's a fog bow," my daughter explained. "Like a rainbow only the colors are much weaker because the water droplets of the fog are much smaller than the drops of rain that create a normal rainbow. 

Very cool. 

We could see the entire half-circle within a good stone's throw of our deck. We could even make out what must have been a reflection of the fog bow on the water which gave the impression that we could see the white arch reaching down beneath the grey waves. 

Very, very cool.

When viewed in real life, each person can only see their own glory. 

This one belongs to my daughter. 

"Now," my daughter told me, "look at your shadow. What do you see?"

Looking out at my shadow projected high and tall across the water that still lay mostly hidden in the dissipating fog, I noticed a white circle glowing around my head.

A halo.

And as I stared at myself in the flickering mists, I noticed something more. 

When the density of the fog was just right, the white circle around my head burst into colors from red on the outside edge to blue inside. 

A rainbow halo. 

This effect is called a glory and it is, in a word, amazing. 

Gracie, at this point, was not impressed. Still very patient, but not impressed. 

Deep in our own thoughts, my daughter and I stood and stared at our glories until the loudspeaker announced our arrival back home. Our feet touched the ground as we walked with Gracie back downstairs to the car deck. 

But our heads were still in those beautiful clouds. 

 Homeward bound on the Kittitas, looking back at the marvelous mists. 

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All photos courtesy of my science-loving fourth-born daughter..