By Essie Martin
As a new member of the hurricane island crew, I had no way to picture, before coming to the island, how intertwined our lives would be with weather. Days of fog and sun have a great impact on not only the mood of the island, but also how much (and what kind of) work we can get done in a day.
I often bemoan the fact that I have no way to predict rain, and harbor a certain envy for those in sync with the atmosphere. Without a trick knee, I am sorely reliant on my phone’s weather app. More than just predicting precipitation, I want to learn to read the sky. One of the things that has struck me most about this place are the clouds. On the island’s aquaculture site we have a clear view of clouds that catch over the Camden Hills and spill out into Penobscot Bay. They bloom in great stacks, long wisps, checkerboard expanses, or fluffy pillars with flat bottoms.
Cumulus clouds underneath cirrus
Clouds in Maine play an important role in local folklore: Most people have heard the phrase “red sky at morning, sailors take warning, red sky at night, sailors delight.” A red sunrise results from dust particles of a storm system passing from the west (typically in the form of cirrus clouds), indicating that a storm system may be moving from the east, and rain is on its way. This phenomenon has been recognized for many centuries: in the Bible Jesus told a fisherman “When in evening, ye say, it will be fair weather: For the sky is red. And in the morning, it will be foul weather today; for the sky is red and lowering.” (Matthew XVI: 2-3,)
Mackerel sky
Another cloud formation attributed with predictive power on the Maine Coast is the mackerel sky– an expanse of dotted or waved clouds said to indicate a change in the weather. Propagation of high altitude atmospheric waves creates this pattern of clouds to represent the scales on a mackerel. While the fish itself is common, and generally only used as a bait fish, its zebra pattern has become infamous along the working waterfront for predicting changes in pressure systems.
Mare’s tails
Fishermen are also quick to point out mare’s tails: high-altitude-cirrus clouds shaped like lackluster check marks. These are said to point to an approaching storm. Cirrus clouds trap warm air close to earth, hampering the cycling of warm and cool air currents, and creating a positive warming feedback loop. On the aquaculture site we often see these whisps pointing out thunderheads rising over the Camden hills.
Sometimes, the island is stuck in a whole cloud bank as thick fog settles in. Our weather-dependent life on the island dictates indoor work during these times: splicing line, puttering around the lab, writing blog posts. I can’t say I have ever lived so much at the mercy of the atmosphere. So, with our lives so tangled in salt and weather, what meaning can we seek from the clouds? Where will storms settle in over our little island? Will mares tails mark days of fog and rain? Will I start to feel this place not in my joints, but in my bones?
Cumulus clouds underneath cirrus
